I blame Alex yet again. More errors were fixed, and more scenes were added. Enjoy! Remember to leave reviews as they feed the dragons.
Chapter 25- Slayer Scrolls
Chapter 22- Borazon and Samuel
Day 14 – Morning- Dark Revealing's
Priest Home Falls Creek Cemetery
Borazon, tense and primed for a confrontation, abruptly halted his preparations at the sharp rapping on the Priest's door. The dusty room seemed to hold its breath as the old priest cast a scrutinizing glance at Borazon. Silently, the seasoned warrior abandoned his gear, his piercing gaze fixed on the door. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension as the priest, expression unreadable, approached the entrance.
"Good morning." Zira's voice could be heard from the other side of the door.
"Good morning. My dear, how may I help you?" Runil asks as he slightly opens the door to ensure it is just her. When he sees her alone, he opens the door enough for her to slip in.
"Morning." Borazon and Samuel say as they see who it is.
"Is something wrong, my dear?" Runil asks as he closes the door.
"No, but I spoke with Lotz this morning, and he can do your Axe if you like," Zira says.
"Do you know how long it will take?" Borazon asks.
"He said it shouldn't take more than this morning. He has already heated the silver and poured it." Zira remarks.
"Okay, but I don't want to part with it."
"Bogroll is locked in the Jarl's house."
"Why?"
"He was injured, and now he is suddenly sick," Zira commented with a secret smile.
"So, we can walk around town?" Samuel asks.
"I was hoping we three could go and get more herbs, especially wolfvane. I am already sold out on it. I could also use some more Naco berries."
"I found those over by the bandit camp."
"I didn't see them." Zira remarks.
"There are several bushes back by an old bear cave."
"You went into a bear cave without me?" Borazon growls.
"No, they were at the entrance, but I think there may be more there."
"Let me guess, the horses are ready." Borazon remarks.
"Yes, they are."
"What about Nelly?"
"We can take her with us. I have put all your starts in my shop." Zira explained, and then she turned to Borazon. "Also, I was told to remind of the deals you have and they are wanting even more if you can.
"When are they going to bury.?" Samuel quietly asks.
"Not for a few more days. The parents need time to grieve. I promise you we won't hold it without you." The priest says.
"Thank you." Borazon mouths to the priest.
"So, how soon can you get ready?" Zira asks.
"We just finished breakfast, so it should only take a few minutes. Where are the animals?" Borazon answers.
"All of them but your goat are waiting by the gate. Nelly's cart is even there. The guards offered to keep it there for you if you mind don't."
"Why would they want to keep it there?"
"It smells like wolfvane. And a couple of them mention that they feel safer with it outside their barracks."
"What if?"
"The guards said they would claim it was theirs while it was there. They are even trying to figure out a spot for it inside their barracks. That reminds me that Runil, I, Nenya, and the guards have been putting these runes." Zira explained and showed them a mark on her knife. "On buildings all over town while Lotz is helping people put them on their weapons. I was wondering if you might know of others that may help."
"That is a good runes. It's weak to start, but the longer it is on an item, the stronger it becomes. The only drawback is it takes a lot of time to work. I might know of a few, and I believe Sheldon has some archaic dwarven books on symbols that might help."
"Where is he?" Borazon asks.
"He is staying in my apprentice home," Runil answers. "Why don't you go and get the herbs? I'll take your axe to Lotz. Then I will work with Sheldon on some of the runes."
"Are you feeling up to traveling?" Borazon asks Samuel, who is sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Yes, sir. If I get a headache, I'll chew on some dere root." Samuel says.
"Dere root for headaches?" Zira inquiries about the new information.
"Yes. You chew it for a little while. You don't take it anymore once it loses its flavor, and the headaches are usually gone." Samuel explains as he gets up. "Don't swallow the pulp, or you will get sick. If it is distilled it becomes a vary lethal poison."
"Oh, this is going to be a fun trip," Borazon grumbles with a smile as he thinks the two will chat all the way.
"I suggest you take everything of yours just in case." Zira remarks.
"Good idea with how things are going," Borazon comments as he and Samuel gather their belongings.
"Just so you know, there is a Burial Route through the Hall of the Dead if you don't want to go through town," Runil suggests as he hands Borazon his sword back.
"What kind of spell is on this?" Borazon asks.
"Not a spell a blessing. The Divines seem very upset that a Werewolf attacked when it wasn't supposed to." Runil explains. "This blessing will do more damage to unnatural creatures such as Werewolves."
"Thank you," Borazon says.
"Thank the Divines," Runil says.
"Which one?" Borazon asks.
"I am not sure as I placed the blade in the center room so that all the divine could see it. I left for just a few minutes, and when I returned, it was blessed." Runil tells them. "Which way would you like?"
"Burial Route would be smarter." Borazon remarks.
"What is a Burial Route?" Samuel asks.
"If a traveler passes away in the town, their body is brought into the Hall of the Dead for the honor walk through the Hall. The body is placed on the altar of their god for a time. After that, they would be walked out through the Burial Route to an awaiting carriage or wagon to return them to their home or location where they were buried." Runil explains, then asks. "Zira, do you know where it comes from?"
"No."
"About a mile out of town down the east road, you will find some stacked rocks. That is where you can wait for them."
"What about Nelly's cart?" Samuel asks.
"It's hooked to my cart. We can put it on Nelly when we meet up." Zira says as she leaves.
"Are you ready?" Runial asks, to which they both nod. At that point, Runial moves a few books aside, pushes a button hidden behind them, and part of the shelved wall of books slides into the Hall of the Divines.
"Neat trick," Borazon remarked with a voice that said he was genuinely impressed.
"Why do you have this?" Samuel asked.
"So, I don't get wet when I go to the Hall of the Divines or the Hall of the Dead. It won't look very good for the priest to show up wet to a sermon. Now, would it?" Runil smiles at the boy.
"That is true," Samuel answered as he followed his grandfather and Runil into the Hall of the Divines.
As Borazon's muscles coiled with anticipation, a metallic scent of aged weaponry lingered in the air. The room, adorned with religious artifacts and dimly lit by flickering candles, exuded an ancient solemnity that now brimmed with an undercurrent of uncertainty.
The knock echoed like a distant drumbeat, resonating through the quietude of the priest's chamber. Borazon's rugged exterior, etched with scars earned in countless battles, spoke of a lifetime spent navigating the perils of warfare. He cast a stoic gaze upon the aged priest, who met his eyes with a wisdom that betrayed a myriad of experiences.
Wordlessly, the priest reached for the door, a gesture heavy with both solemnity and apprehension. The creaking hinges seemed to amplify the unspoken weight, filling the room with a palpable tension. In the pregnancy pause that followed, Borazon's battle-honed instincts honed in on the threshold, ready for whatever awaited beyond that door.
"I hope she hasn't been a bother," Borazon says.
"She's been a comfort." The weak voice of Lavinia's mother, Luciana, says as she appears in the doorway.
"I am sorry for your loss," Borazon says gently. "If there is anything we can do."
"There is. If you ever see that thing that hurt my baby, promise me you will kill it, but make it suffer first," Luciana begs of him.
Borazon nods his head.
"I am sorry I couldn't have saved her," Samuel says as he sees the covered body of his first friend just inside the room.
"You attacked that thing with a silver knife and hurt it badly. Thank you. From what I have been told, the knife will forever pain that creature." Luciana says with a sad smile.
"My dear, the room of grief is ready for you." A woman comes out and tells her.
"Thank you. I will rest there until it is time." Luciana says as she approaches a room off the side and closes the door.
"I hope she isn't alone," Borazon says.
"No, there are several of the women who will watch over her long after we put to rest her daughter," Runil explains as they continue their journey with Nelly in tow for several minutes.
Suppose they came to a thick, large stone double door with ancient symbols on it after a bit of traveling. Borazon looks at it with great interest and is a bit surprised.
"Something wrong?"
"No, it's huge to be a burial route, is all," Borazon remarks as he studies the strange symbols.
"It was here long before we started using it as that. No one knows what it was used for before." Runil answers as he shifts some levers, which causes the door to slide open. "The path up to the main road may be a little overgrown, but just follow the standing stones."
"What about when we come back this evening?" Borazon asks.
"I'll be here about an hour before dusk to open the door. You will see a lever on the other side of the door. Pull it down, and it will cause this stone to go down. That will tell me you are out there, and I will open it then." Runil explains while pointing at certain pieces on the wall beside the door.
"Thank you again. We will try our best to return by then." Borazon says while giving the man a handshake and his Axe, then heads out with Samuel and Nelly close behind. As Borazon walks through, he notices it isn't just made of stone and metal.
Gratefully, the trail unfolded before them, winding through the underbrush that appeared untouched by human presence for years. Although the path seemed to have faded into the folds of nature, Borazon expertly navigated it. Within a mere ten minutes, the dense vegetation gave way to the open expanse of a road, and right on cue, Zira materialized as if summoned by their emergence.
Borazon wasted no time on checking over Ember, the equine companion that had faithfully carried him through their journey. The reunion between man and horse was palpably joyous, Ember's expressive eyes reflecting an unmistakable happiness at the sight of her rider. Satisfied with her well-being, Borazon and Samuel shifted their focus to the practical task at hand – preparing the smaller cart for travel.
Efficiency marked their every movement as Borazon and Samuel seamlessly orchestrated the process of attaching the cart to Nelly, the second horse in their company. The rhythmic clinks of harnesses and the subtle sounds of leather meeting leather echoed against the backdrop of nature's symphony. Samuel perched in the cart, drawn by Ember, while Nelly dutifully trailed behind. Borazon, astride Zira's horse, felt her warmth at his back as she nestled against him.
In the midst of this familial tableau, Borazon overheard his grandson's playful remark, "Gramp pa got game." A fleeting smile touched Borazon's weathered features as he shot his grandson a mock stern look, conveying a silent message of 'you're in trouble.' Zira, suppressing a laugh, shared in the unspoken humor that seemed to knit their small group together.
"We will ride back to the camp. You, too, collect what you need. I will not hunt unless the opportunity is too good to pass up. Other than that, I will watch your backs," Borazon declared, taking charge with a sense of purpose. With a gentle urging of the horse forward, they set out, the camaraderie of their makeshift family, the rustle of leaves, and the distant whispers of the wilderness accompanying them on the journey back to camp.
Day 14 – Morning- Dark Revealing's
Jarl's Lodge Falls Creek
"I don't understand. He should." Nevlie, the Healer, remarks as he checks Bogroll's temperature.
"It came on all of a sudden. It could be from his injuries." Nenya remarks from the door.
"He was healing nicely except for the wound on his backside… Hmmm.. I have done all I can. He may require a surgeon. I will contact the House of Healing in White Run to send one as soon as they can." Nevlie says as he gives the elf an herb drink. "I recommend you keep him hydrated and give him soft foods to eat…"
"I'LL EAT YOU! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" In a fever pitch, Bogroll growls out as he tries to leap up at the healer but is pulled back by two guards.
"This place seems too warm for him. I recommend he is moved to the jail next to the barracks by the western gate." Nevlie strongly recommended while jumping back away from the crazed man whose teeth started to get long, but the elf suddenly passed out.
"Guards, take him to the Stone jail cell," Nenya ordered.
The guards quickly did as they were told.
"Who will tend to him?" Nevlie asks.
"He is my brother. He is my responsibility." Nenya remarks.
"Are you sure that is wise?"
"My responsibility." Nenya cold snaps back.
"Take precautions," Nevlie suggests as he heads back to his hut in the forest.
"I will," Nenya replies, wondering what her brother meant that it was the healer's fault but then brushed it away.
Day 14 – Mid-Morning- Dark Revealings
The Healer of Falls Creek Home
Nevlie, the supposed Healer, entered the healer's dwelling, firmly shutting the door behind him. A sudden eruption of malevolent laughter echoed from the shadows within, signaling the unveiling of the deceptive facade. The being, once masquerading as a benevolent healer, shed its illusory guise with an eerie transformation.
The thick, substantial form of the healer contorted and twisted, the air filled with grotesque sounds of slurping and bones snapping. A macabre spectacle unfolded as the body cannibalized itself, shedding layers until a diminutive figure emerged, barely half the height of its former guise. The skeletal structure, now exposed, wore the remains of its former form like a grotesque costume, the skin appearing as if painted on.
The creature, with a visage of haunting emaciation, exuded an aura of malevolence as it licked with a slender, forked tongue. A single elongated, bony finger traced a lubricated path across its sagging features, ascending to the pointed coronal horns. The being's disappointment was palpable, anger rippling through its skeletal frame as it realized the horns had failed to grow as anticipated.
In this grotesque metamorphosis, emotions of rage and disillusionment pulsed through the being, a testament to the thwarted expectations and the sinister reality beneath the healer's mask.
The torchlight casts long shadows on the weathered walls, emphasizing the absence of the once-vigilant sentinels.
"WHAT DOES IT TAKE?!" The creature's roar reverberated through the dimly lit chamber, a guttural expression of frustration and anger. Chaos and bloodshed had been sown, yet the coveted growth of his coronal horns remained elusive. Iurgiun, servant to the Infernal of Chaos and Destruction, unleashed his wrath upon the stagnant transformation, a living embodiment of strife.
His fiery gaze shifted to the lifeless body of the real Nevlie, slain the night before. "You are no help," he spat disdainfully, his voice dripping with contempt. "What does your kind know of power? I am Strife-given flesh from my lord, Iurgiun, the relentless agent of chaos." The creature seethed, recounting his malevolent accomplishments while seated across the table from the stiffened corpse.
As Iurgiun continued his dark monologue, he voraciously slobbered down an entire pitcher of mead, the liquid failing to satiate his insatiable thirst for power. "This mead shall not quench my thirst," he declared, his tone dripping with entitlement. "I deserve something of greater quality, such as the blood wine of children to suit my stature."
Leaning over the table, Iurgiun reveled in the advantage provided by the stolen guise of the Healer. "With you as my smelly friend, I could keep the wolf amongst the sheep," he mused, relishing the chaos he had sown. He reveled in recounting how he manipulated Bogroll into antagonizing powerful deities such as Thor, Baalnar, and the Divine Calborn, setting the stage for more discord with Necktara, the Infernal of Blood and Darkness.
The creature paused, a momentary break in his diatribe, as he scanned the surroundings. "I need food," Iurgiun declared, his attention abruptly shifting. "I see you will give your hand and arm." With a savage motion, he tore off the Healer's arm, the sound of rending flesh slicing through the air. As he began to voraciously munch on the gruesome meal, a macabre tableau of horror and malevolence unfolded in the twisted chamber.
"Since you've been so generous, I'll indulge you with the when. My master, amidst releasing the dead lizard, tasked me with diverting the attention of Divines, Gods, and other Infernals. I'm not privy to his grand plan, but that's inconsequential; the revelation will come in due time. Now, as for how I keep them occupied, it's elegantly simple—an elf, albeit with a few other marionettes for variety. This particular one, however, is truly entertaining," Inurgiun remarked, crunching on the radius bone with a chilling nonchalance.
"Allow me to regale you with the tale of a treacherous and vile elf, my kind of elf. But my lord's desires supersede personal inclinations, and he wanted me to employ this elf for a purpose," Inurgiun continued, his voice a sinister symphony as he elaborated. "This elf had already irked his own Divine by massacring an entire family of his kin, cunningly framing his sister. Dastardly, isn't he?" Inurgiun nonchalantly spat out a ring, then proceeded to slurp the marrow from the humerus.
"He secures a job eliminating Thor's servants, you know, the supposed Dragon Born turned God. While he's immersed in that murderous task, it becomes child's play for me to slip in and manipulate... Speaking of it while dining is a bit tricky. Nevertheless, let me show you; I relish witnessing my handiwork," Inurgiun declared as he tore off another arm. With a swift incantation, a sizable blood-red orb materialized, unveiling the past in all its malevolent glory.
Flashback- months back
High Elf Camp
"Chancellor Bogroll, we have found another Shrine!" An elf guard said as he ran back to the camp they had made.
"Where is this heathen shrine to the false god?" Bogroll demanded as he stood up.
"This way." The elf guard answers as he turns and heads into the dark forest to a shrine with the Chancellor and other elves following.
A short while later, they find a cave and are about to go in, but one of them stops.
Outside of a Cave
"Sir, I don't think this shrine belongs to Thor." Another guard says before they enter.
"Why do you say that?" The other guard demands.
"All the other shrines to Thor's we have dealt with have been outside in the sun."
"It' doesn't matter. This is one of those heathens' shrines to a fake god, and we will destroy them all!" Bogroll yells as he casts a fireball spell into the depths of the shrine, killing those who were just praying before their God, not knowing the danger when it entered until it was too late.
As the high elves surged forward with a relentless fury, a malevolent being, disguised as the guard who purportedly discovered the shrine, twisted his features into an evil grin. He nonchalantly strolled away, shedding the facade of the guard to reveal his true form of mischief.
The unfolding tableau on the blood-red orb came to a sudden freeze, and Inurgiun's laughter echoed in the eerie stillness. "Don't I look barbarous? Oh, let's continue, as here comes a good part," Inurgiun gleefully declared. The scene resumed its macabre dance.
Within the cavern's depths, the high elves waged a merciless onslaught, sparing no quarter for those few who managed to survive or were left wounded by the earlier explosion. Chancellor Bogroll, a sadistic gleam in his eyes, took perverse delight in thrusting his elven sword into the heathens, relishing particularly in the brutality unleashed upon the female victims. The cavern walls absorbed the haunting echoes of agonized cries and the grotesque symphony of violence, creating a chilling harmony in the depths of the darkened cave.
Rewrite with more detailed action adjectives, details, environmental, and emotional.
"Sire, this is no shrine to Thor; it's dedicated to Baalnar, the God of the Hunt," a guard urgently informs, pointing towards the stone figure of a robust hunter, whose bow typically signifies unseen prey. This time, however, the bow's aim is unmistakably directed at Chancellor Bogroll.
"Thor and Baalnar, they all look the same to me, for they are all heathen false gods. Calborn is the only true god for pureblood high elves," Bogroll asserts defiantly. He moves to cast another fireball spell toward the stone figure but halts abruptly as his yellow eye locks with the unyielding gaze of the statue. Bogroll stands frozen, his intent thwarted, as the stone eyes shift from blue to red and then back to an unyielding stone gaze.
"Sir?" a guard queries, confusion etched across his face.
"Let us leave this vile place now," Bogroll sneers, departing with his guards trailing behind him.
"Sire, where is that other elf?" a guard inquires.
"Strange?" Bogroll's voice echoes from the entrance of the cave. "He must have gone to find another false god shrine for us."
"I don't like it," the last guard expresses unease, glancing warily back at the stone figure of the god just before exiting the cave. The lingering sense of foreboding pervades the air as the guards depart, leaving the cave and its mysterious shrine behind.
High Elf Camp
Under the high moonlight, the elven revelry unfolded, a celebration of their recent triumph against the perceived false gods of the heathens.
"With the rate we are obliterating these false shrines, I'll have to pay a visit to my little sister sooner than planned," Bogroll chuckled malevolently. He took a sip of wine and a puff of his marry weed, reveling in the satisfaction of their victories.
"When is she expecting you?" Bogroll's servant inquired as he diligently served the Chancellor his dinner.
"She's not expecting me, but an inspection is on the horizon in the next few months," Bogroll disclosed with a wicked glint in his eye.
"Then she will be surprised."
"Oh boy, will she," Bogroll retorted, his laughter carrying an ominous tone.
"What was that?" one elf on sentry duty questioned, his ears perking up at the unnatural low growls emanating from the darkness.
"What was what?" The other guard standing next to him asks.
"What was what?" the other guard standing beside him asked, straining to discern any unusual sounds in the mysterious nocturnal stillness.
"That sound?" the first guard questioned, the metallic resonance of unsheathing his sword echoing in the night.
"You're hearing things!" the other guard dismissed, an undercurrent of unease in his voice.
"No, I am not."
"You have been jumpy ever since we left that last shrine."
"I don't like that we haven't seen that other elf and that he sent us to the God of the Hunt shrine."
"So, one false god is the same as another."
"Not this one. Legend has it he created the Werewolves."
"There is no such thing as a...AAAAHHHHHH~!" The guard's words were cut short as a black wolf, swift and silent, lunged from the shadows, snuffing out his life and spiriting his body away.
"What is going on?!" a very upset Bogroll demanded, his hands crackling with the energy of an impending fireball spell.
"It's a WER!AAAKKKK." The next guard's cry rang out, only to be abruptly silenced as the stealthy black wolf returned to claim its prey. Tension and fear gripped the air, punctuated by the anguished cries of the elves as the mysterious assailant continued its deadly assault.
Every time Bogroll cast his gaze upon another elf, that elf became the next victim, swiftly succumbing to the relentless dark wolf in the blink of an eye. Soon, Bogroll found himself standing alone, a solitary figure against the ominous onslaught.
The shadows quivered, and Bogroll unleashed a volley of fireballs at the elusive forms within, but the flames dissipated into the surrounding darkness, futile against the unseen assailant.
"Infant prey? Did you honestly believe you could get away?" A chilling voice echoed from the shadows, dripping with disdain.
"Who's there?" Bogroll fearlessly demanded, his eyes darting to and fro in search of the mysterious speaker..
"Mortal infant prey. You know who I am." The voice, filled with menace, resonated as a colossal, foreboding figure emerged from the shadows.
"No. You can't be…"
"First, you dare to enter my shrine. Then you dare to claim that we divines are all alike! You think yours is superior to that of Thor, who earned his place. For your transgressions, your divine has withdrawn his protection, and I can do whatever I wish to you and yours..." The dark voice of the night hunter laughed with malevolence.
"No… He would never abandon one of his most loyal servants."
"Loyal?! You are far from that. You think we do not know of the treason you have committed, not only against your kind but also your own sister?"
"If you spare me, I will serve you." Bogroll gulped, desperation creeping into his voice as he fell to his knees before the imposing wolf, its eyes ablaze with crimson fury.
"Spare?" The wolf laughed mockingly. "You should be begging me to end your life for what is about to happen to you!"
"From this moment forth, you belong to me. You will hunt and be hunted at times for your transgressions against the Gods, Divines, and others, you are yet to know. Though the eyes of those you hunt will forever remain as a warning to those trying to defile the Gods." The dark voice of the hunter God booms in that moment. Bright red and purple lights pierce the elf's body, causing immense and unexplainable intense pain as Bogroll changes from an elf into a Werewolf.
As the radiant red and purple lights pierced Bogroll's body, an agonizing and otherworldly pain gripped him, searing through every fiber of his being. Waves of arcane energy surged within him, distorting his once-elven form. Bones shifted and cracked, muscles contorted, and fur erupted from his skin as the transformation took hold.
The air crackled with the arcane forces at play, and Bogroll's screams melded with the eerie howls of the unseen God of the Hunt. His body contorted, elongating and reshaping into the formidable and fearsome figure of a Werewolf. The once-elven features now twisted into a lupine visage, complete with sharp fangs and predatory eyes that gleamed with an unholy light.
Bogroll's limbs stretched, his hands morphing into powerful claws. The agony intensified as his spine arched, tailbone extending into a coarse, bushy tail. The fur, now a dark and mottled coat, covered his transformed body, a stark contrast to the elven guise he had once worn.
Through the excruciating metamorphosis, the Werewolf emerged—a creature caught between the realms of man and beast, bound to the will of the enraged God of the Hunt. The echoes of the transformation reverberated through the desolate landscape, a haunting symphony of pain and metamorphosis that forever marked Bogroll's destiny.
The Orb freezes again.
"By all that is Dark and evil, what was that!" Inurgiun violently spat out the digit he had been nonchalantly gnawing on as the radiant purple light engulfed the surroundings. His eyes widened in disbelief, and a shiver of unease coursed through his sinister frame. "That is not possible. She would not? Maybe I should tell my master about that? No, he would do something abominable to me, like turning me into an elf or human, if I were to inform him of her return... But she vowed never to return unless one of hers was present. Thor was the last of hers, and now that he is a god, she turned her back on him. We should be safe from her interference. It was just my imagination. Moving on."
Inurgiun's twisted narrative continued with a hint of lingering disquiet. "There is now a Werewolf prowling the territories of one of Necktara's favored lovers. They believe they are safe from the elf wolf, but he has forged his own pack now." Inurgiun's voice dripped with malevolence as he reveled in the unfolding chaos. "Yes, he discovered a bandit cave and transformed them all. Soon, they must come for him. That's where he's been hiding, attempting to master his curse. He has made some progress, but he still cannot fully control it. Oh, the impending chaos is a symphony to my ears." Inurgiun concluded with a diabolical laughter that echoed through the shadowy recesses of his malevolent existence.