Zedrelthus [Archive] - The PokeMasters Forums

Tainted

28th January 2004, 08:56 AM

Entry One
Broken wizard meet eye to eye
Twisted wizard full of lies
Wizard, wizard against the wall
Who bleeds the darkest of them all?

The grizzled, well-equipped man walked through the worn wooden door of the pub on the corner. His feet, which were covered in soft black leather boots, moved silently on the wooden floor that would normally creak for the other customers. This didn’t necessarily mean he was a man of small size, as he held height above many other customers—standing at a respectable six feet. It was just that he moved so sly, so sleek and careful as if every false step could result in death.
He looked to be in his late twenties, or maybe early thirties. His jet-black hair messily shrouded his head and the black stubble on his face showed that he had not shaved in a few days. Bloodshot lines crowded the edges of his ice blue eyes, pasting upon them a label of insomnia. His skin was pale and he wore a pair of sturdy black work pants, which matched his sleeveless black shirt quite nicely. A poorly designed leather sheath attached to a belt rested on his left leg, a sword asleep inside the hard leather covering. He carried a two-handed spear in his left hand, the spearhead on the top looked very sharp, which did not match his personal appearance. The shaft of the spear was wrapped around tightly with gray bonds in two places; they appeared to be grips of some sort.

“Your usual tankard of mead, Zedrelthus?” the bartender asked this man. The bartender was middle aged, many signs of the harsh life were apparent to his facial features. His eyes bore wrinkles at every nook and cranny.
“You got that right” Zedrelthus replied smugly, a small smile slipping across his serious demeanor. He placed his spear down beside him, not paying much further attention to it.
“Aren’t you afraid of somebody stealing that nice spear of yours?” the middle-aged bartender questioned.
“Of course not, by now they should know that anybody that values their life should place not a finger on it” Zedrelthus answered slyly. He swallowed down a large gulp of mead and wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand.
“So, then, how’s the haul been going?”
“Rather well, actually.” Zedrelthus gulped down a mouthful of mead. “I recently raked in quite a load of Anarikan coins.”
“The gold ‘uns?” the bartender’s accent took the best of him when money came into the conversation.
“Aplenty.”
“Boy, if I didn’t know you for who you are—the lying, murdering thief, I’d kill you and take that money” the bartender slurped annoyingly.
“Well, that’s too bad now isn’t it? I’m about to go traveling again—this time I hope to bring my haul in from the neighboring lands of Slalomen.” Zedrelthus declared.
“It’s supposedly very cold in those lands.”
“I look forward to purchasing a cloak of sorts to protect me from that. I think ahead you know, after all the years you’ve known me you haven’t figured out that yet? I’m ashamed, sir, just plain ashamed.” Zedrelthus replied sarcastically.
“Zed, my boy!” a slurring drunken stupor emitted from the mouth of a loud, fat, bald man filled the air with a sheer stupidity.
“You know that I regret ever bringing up that childhood nickname of mine,” Zedrelthus spoke into his tankard.
“Got yourselves a new weapon, I see” he stumbled, touching the spear that had been placed to Zeds left. In a quick and steady motion with his left hand, Zedrelthus pulled his sword from its respective sheath and placed to point to the drunken man’s neck. His face remained burrowed into his tankard of mead.
“See with those pretty eyes of yours, not with your dirt-stained hands.”
The drunken man seemed not to even notice what had just happened, but regardless he took a step back and a small trickle of blood ran it’s way down the middle of his neck.
“You handled that one like a pro” the bartender leaned and whispered in Zed’s right ear.
“Steel swords are a bit too sharp in my opinion, and they don’t look as good as bronze ones.”
“What about iron? Isn’t bronze weak also?” the bartender asked, puzzled.
“Iron’s a bit too brittle to make good use of, Bronze is still my favorite, cheap, and if it’s forged correctly it can be quite strong.” Zed answered.
“You’re a man of traditions” the bartender replied.
“I’m a man of simple needs” Zedrelthus corrected “I need something that’s going to look good and function well, steel does function best but it’s much too dull looking for my tastes.”

The night carried on as most nights did, sour faced drunks continued to riddle the air with questionable singing. There were one or two fisticuffs between Slalomenians, but they were good-natured men, and known for loving fights—so no offense was taken from either fighter.
It was quite some way into the night, far enough that one could call it morning, when the most peculiar thing happened in all of Zed’s life. Zedrelthus had become overfull with mead many times, but this time he had only had two tankards, which was still a lot, but not as much as he’d had in his past.
The tiniest little gray kitten walked on silent feet across the bar until it met Zed’s tankard. It nudged up against it once and then turned to face Zed. In the quietest little kitten voice it meowed, but then surprisingly began to talk. It talked in such a fashion that even further confused Zedrelthus. Its mouth did not move, yet Zed could hear this kitten talking. It had to be one of those mead-induced hallucinations—but no, this was much too real.
“You’re Zedrelthus, correct?” it purred softly, nobody else seemed to be able to hear the kitten but Zed.
“Yes, that would be I” Zedrelthus replied aloud. The bartender stared at him questionably.
“You don’t need to speak aloud, you fool. Just think, it’s a much quicker way to talk as well”
Zedrelthus was confused.
“Instead of speaking think your words, it can’t be that hard”
“What gives you the ability to talk to me, kitten?” Zedrelthus spoke to it through his thoughts.
“You can call me by name, and I’m not a normal kitten. I’m—oh, how do you put it—a messenger of some sort. My name is much too complicated for you to pronounce normally, let alone after two tankards of mead. You can call me by Sooz.”
“How are you not normal, kit—Sooz?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Think, can normal kitten’s talk?”
“Well, no.” Zedrelthus answered.
“Then that makes me different.”
“Well, I guess so.”
“Now, on to business. I’m not so much a messenger as an advisor, you can choose not to listen to me, but the fate of the world you live on depends upon your reply.”
“Just wait one second” Zedrelthus stopped her “What do I have to do with all of this?”
“We have been waiting for you for six thousand years, Zedrelthus.”
“Who’s we?” Zed asked.
“The gods.”
“And what at all do I have to do in relation to gods?”
“That alone cannot be answered, I’m here to guide you, not reveal your whole life ahead of time. I’m—a prophet if you could so call me. I know what will happen if your life is not carried out frame by frame, in a specific order, and I can say it will not be good if you do not. You are the chosen leader of light.”
“This subject’s a bit too shaky for me, chosen leader of light? Yeah, the only lighting I’ve done in my whole life is when I went to that Noïretté smoke room once.” Zed replied cockily.
“This is not to be taken lightly, for from now on your whole life is a race. Just as you are the chosen leader of light, there is a chosen leader of black. Really, this is a big race to the finish, the Ohkrian Prophecies against the Chronicles of the West. I represent the Chronicles, and that is the prophecy you must fulfill. I mustn’t reveal anymore to you, as with every extra sentence I speak, my opposite may reveal just that much more to the chosen of black.”
“I’m confused.” Zedrelthus spoke with little to none comprehension of the kitten’s words in his head.
“You should be. Once you awaken in the morning, you must seek out a pair of mercenaries. You will persuade them to join you in a traveling party to Slalomen, it is there that your true destiny will unfold…”
And with those final words Zedrelthus rested his head upon the bar and fell sound asleep…

* * *

The sun was only beginning to graze the skies that morning as it rose up above the horizon to boast about itself. It’s rays caught Zed’s eyes and woke him from a strange, yet somewhat heartwarming dream. A pounding headache throbbed intensely in Zed’s mind—all he could remember from the night before was a small talking kitten. Now, one waking after a night of drinking would tend to shrug it off as a hallucination, but Zedrelthus thought it was much, much more.
Zedrelthus rose to his feet, picking his spear from beside him. Even when he was drunk nobody dared take the spear from his side. He coughed quietly once and ran his left hand through his hair, leaving his right tightly clenched on his spear. It was then that he heard a small rustling behind him—he didn’t turn around, as somehow he knew what was going to happen.
It was a thief, or as it sounded, a pair of them. They were approaching Zed to attempt to take his valuables. Zed knew that they had to be new to the town, or else they would have stayed way clear of his path, let alone trying to steal from him. Zedrelthus closed his eyes temporarily, then almost as if on cue, whipped around and parried a thrown bronze knife from hitting him.

The thieves then both drew curved swords made of bronze, which gave Zed two hints at where they were from. Weapons made of bronze, and the curvature of the swords meant that they had to be from Cheekien, which wasn’t all that uncommon to find in Anarika. The two countries had always shared sort of a trusting bond with each other, so things like this were always acceptable. Of course, thievery was never encouraged, but it happened—just as murders and corruptions in government happened.
They wore identical uniforms, which were rather bland for coming from Cheekien descent, even for a thief. Thievery uniforms normally consisted of black clothing, and they had nailed that one on the dot. Their costumes consisted of black slacks and shirts, with soft leather shoes and black wrap that covered their whole heads except for a thin line at the eyes to see from.

Zed didn’t really intent on killing them, no, he had much worse planned—he would crush them from the inside—where it hurt most. Zed would crush their pride.
Zedrelthus approached the first one quickly, thrusting his spear at the man’s wrist. The man cried out in pain and dropped his weapon as his wrist began to pour blood. The second man approached cautiously, not wanting to face the same fate as the first. Zed dropped his spear and rushed at the man barehanded. The man readied himself, but was tackled to the ground.
Zed sat on his chest with both of his hands around the man’s neck.
“Now, I run a ‘give-gold-no-die’ sort of operation. This particular one will cost you all that you have—now exactly how much do you have?” Zedrelthus asked.
“You’re robbing a thief?” the thief choked up.
“You got it, scum.”
The man that Zed had taken care of previously had risen to his feet. He held his sword in both of his hands and held it over his head. He approached to the back of Zedrelthus, who was much to busy “interrogating” the second thief.

A single arrow whizzed past Zedrelthus’ ear and hit the thief attempting to kill him in the chest. The man groaned loudly, which distracted Zed. Zed turned around only to be stabbed in the side of the stomach by the second thief. Zedrelthus winced and rolled over on his good side. The thief readied himself for another oncoming arrow, but one didn’t. He turned around briefly for only one second to look at the fate of his comrade. His friend and companion had been killed, his face pasted upon with the final shock of death—his mouth agape and his eyes wide open staring into nothingness.

A man ran out of the fog with a steel sword in his right hand. He held it above his head like a highlander, yet, as Zed could see through pain-filled eyes—he was very young. This man, of whom was more so a boy, fought very majestically for a boy that charged into battle so aggressively. He fought with such a skill; he needed only enough strength to lift the sword off of the ground. He easily made nothing of the thief, in a couple of seconds or so. Zedrelthus noticed that the boy’s technique was similar to his own as a child, but Zed had changed, as he got older and more powerful.
Zedrelthus’ head began to wobble and his eyes closed tightly together. His head fell limp as he passed out.

* * *

Zed awoke to a slightly muffled voice. He opened his eyes to notice that it was the same boy that had saved him from the thief. Beside him, Zed saw another boy that looked the same, if not very similar to the first boy. Zedrelthus rubbed his eyes in fear that he was having double vision. He sat up, noticing that he had been lying on a very comfortable bed.
“Where am I?” Zedrelthus asked quickly.
“You’re in the residency of Ghet and Dett Hunter.” The two of them said simultaneously.
Zed was now reassured that he was not seeing double.
“Mercenaries, sir.” Ghet said. Ghet was the swordsman that Zedrelthus had watched save him from the thieves. Dett must have been the archer that fired the arrow at the other thief. They both looked very similar, but appeared to have very different personalities. Ghet appeared very wild and open while Dett was much more reserved and well kept.
Zedrelthus then remembered a small fragment of the conversation he had with the kitten. He recalled distinctly having to find two mercenaries, well, there were two of them in front of him, and he didn’t have to do much looking to find them. Perhaps it had been a very odd coincidence, or maybe it had been much more.
Zed looked up at the two mercenaries and opened up his lips “Have you two ever considered travel to Slalomen?”

PancaKe

28th January 2004, 11:24 PM

Gotta love the talking cats! Dude, I didnt get this far in the thing you gave me, and although fantasy fics arent really my thing, this one is pretty damn captivating. :) I like the talking cat most of all :D

God bless

~Mist

Tainted

31st January 2004, 03:18 PM

This weeks special: Entry Two of Zedrelthus, char broiled lightlyto perfection. Bon appetite, enjoy.

Entry Two
At the peak of nights, who is belittled?
Burning inside as my heart is whittled
Perhaps confusing to you, yet everyday to I
It’s just the torture of a man who never will die

The travel to Slalomen was easygoing and paced very lightly. This travel had come at a cost, however. The three horses had cost quite a lot of the Anarikan Coins Zedrelthus had just raked in, and hiring both Ghet and Dett cost him twice as much. This left Zed with just enough to be considered above middle class—which was a place he was just fine sitting at.
The very smooth travel became more and more harsh as Zedrelthus’ party hit the foothills of the Slalomenian Mountains. From there on it only got worse as they ascended the mountains, having to walk the horses along with them. They became more and more exhausted, which was healed after a well-cooked supper. If Zed had known that Ghet and Dett could also cook, he would have paid much more than he had.

Their exhaustion had subsided after they reached the other side of the mountains and traveling began to pick up again. Supper was now in much larger quantity due to the appearance of more harvestable animals—which was a definite plus to drawing closer to the capital city of Slalomen.
Slalomen was known as a very police-driven country, with police parading every nook and cranny of the streets making sure everything is safe and sound. The police forces of Slalomen are the most highly trained warriors in all of Lannia, or so the legends go. Slalomen also has a bit of a dark side, and they share a trait with Noïretté for loving their entertainment proposed illegal in all other countries.
This ‘dark side’ is the arenas that they fill with slaves, criminals, thieves and others that do not obey the law and they make them combat against unbeatable odds, normally against a group of Slalomenian guards. Some men train all their lives to become one of these men combating against the police forces—only to be slaughtered by the well-trained Slalomen warriors.
These arenas are very good for the community as they not only get rid of crooks and villains, they also provide a service of gambling and money making for the country as millions of people will pay to see such events.

Zed, Ghet and Dett were on the long, straight, forest-lined stone path that lead to the entrance gates of Slalomen. Their horses were paced at a slow trot, barely moving at all.
A whisk of air cut through the trees and Zed halted. He drew up his spear from its resting place in the saddle of his horse. Immediately after this had happened, five ruffians jumped from the woods. One of them had a broken crown worn on his head, and he was quite muscular and towered over everyone else. All the others appeared to be mirrors of each other, dressed in leather armor—all wielding a bronze short sword.
Dett was quick to react as he spun around on his saddle and drew his bow. His horse reared and paced into a canter as Dett fired off one arrow. The arrow lodged in a ruffian’s neck.
A man jumped from the woods a good fifty paces in front of Dett’s horse and fired a rock from his sling. The rock hit the horse square in-between the eyes and the horse fell to the ground.
Dett fell down with it, falling to his back. He looked up at the man with the sling, who now had a dagger drawn in his opposite hand. The dagger was pointed directly at Dett’s throat.

Ghet battled fiercely with the tall hulking man, who appeared to wield his two-handed sword with no fatigue. Zedrelthus handled three of the ruffians, impressing them with his quick actions, but impressing them most with his elusive evasion.
Zed ducked under a sword swipe and knocked at the shins of one of the men with the blunt of his spear. The man fell to his knees and Zed drew his sword, cutting the man’s throat in one swift movement. Zedrelthus sheathed his sword and rose to his feet in an instant, kicking one man hard in the gut, while he jammed his spear through his other opponent’s stomach—pinning him squarely to a tree.
Zedrelthus left the spear in the man’s stomach, drawing his sword to meet his last foe. Their swords clashed in a mighty spark as Zed combated in very close quarters. This man appeared to have the most skill with his weapon, but regardless, Zedrelthus made quick due of him with a couple slashes to his chest.
Zed dropped his sword upon killing his last enemy and pulled his spear from the discarded man’s stomach. He then threw it, to what appeared an aimless target. What could not be seen through the fog, however, was that it had pierced right through the back of the man just about to finish off Dett. Zedrelthus picked his sword up and sheathed it, looking over to Ghet who dueled with the leader of the band of ruffians.

Ghet’s strategy of combating left all audiences at a state of awe. With every swipe, thrust and parry, he lured everyone watching into a seamless stare. He fought with little to no power used at all, his strength purely resting upon his agility.
The tall man swung wildly, wearing himself out throwing his sword about like he was. Ghet charged in closer, thrusting his sword at his opponent. His foe retorted by grabbing Ghet’s sword with his bare hand and ripping it from his grip. The discarded sword was thrown to the ground and Ghet now faced his opponent armless.

Zed contemplated drawing his own sword, but he dared not for his own reasons. He wanted to see if Ghet really was worthy of the title he wore upon his head. He then began to wonder how Dett was doing; he could now only briefly see him as the fog loosened its tight grip on the world.

Ghet looked up at his opponent, leaping backward out of the way of an overhand attempt at splitting his skull in two. Ghet then quickly took a fast opportunity. With two quick steps he ascended his foes sword and kicked the man squarely underneath the chin—proceeding to leap from the now dangerous position.
“Feisty little bugger, now aren’t we?” the tall, gruesome man barked while wiping his mouth with one hand. The other remained gripped tightly around his large sword.
Ghet brushed his right hand through his golden hair briefly, almost as if to anger his opponent with arrogance. Zed then noticed now, which caught him on stupidly as he had not noticed earlier, that Ghet wore a compact leather armor chest and back piece. He had never noticed before as the front blended in so well with his clothing and the back was covered with a crude black cape.

He saw Dett approaching in the distance and it was now that Zed noted he was also wearing the same leather armor piece. He had known before that they both shared the same cape—which was a common trait among workers—especially mercenaries. Dett walked slowly, without a care in the world. Zedrelthus then saw why, for behind him stood three large, heavily armored Slalomenian guards. Zed sighed with relief; they would easily dispatch this foe that troubled them.

The guards caught sight of Ghet dueling without a weapon and quickly ended it. One guard ran as fast as he could at Ghet’s opponent and tackled him to the ground. One of the remaining two proceeded to run towards Ghet, gripping one of his arms tightly. The guard that stayed behind had a firm grip on Dett’s left arm.
The head guard, which was the one that had tackled Ghet’s opponent, approached Zedrelthus. He muttered, “I’m sorry we didn’t hurt you sir, these scoundrels will pay for their murder” facing his tackled victim.
“What’s this all about?” Zed asked.
“We saw everything,” the lead guard told him.
“Oh, then you saw how—”
“You brutally murdered those five people” he cut Zed off.
“ No, that’s not it at all!” Zedrelthus protested.
“I’ve had enough of your insolence, killer of innocents” the lead guard silenced him. He firmly placed a hand a Zedrelthus’ arm and twisted it behind his back, proceeding to march him—along with Ghet and Dett—into town.

Zed had never seen so many heavily armored people. Armor was so expensive in this day and age that it was rarely worn, unless it was leather. Yet so many guards walked the streets that every tenth person was fully clad in a suit of steel. They walked down the crowded roads as criminals, yet no one even dared look at them or mock them—they were but normal passing.
They had only begun to think about the horrors that awaited them—the stake—the flogging post—or hell, even beheading with a dull axe. They each probed halfway through their thoughts when they were all knocked unconscious simultaneously…

* * *

While Zed was dreaming he drifted back into his adolescence, when he received a good majority of his smarts from his father—of whom chose to teach him about the world. He remembered his father telling him about the wars of Slalomen, and how the Slalomenians always fought in such an order. Them and Anarika shared that factor of their armies. The main difference between the two was size and strength. Slalomen people tend to be stronger, and since there are less of them, they have much stronger equipment. The majority of Slalomen warriors are swordsmen. Anarikans grow up rather slim, yet quick, and while they are strong in a huge number, they are somewhat lacking in the strength of a sole man department. The majority of Anarikan warriors are pike men, which is something not too explored by the rest of Lannia.

Zedrelthus remembered most distinctly his father explaining the elaborate ‘war costumes’ that each nation wore to distinguish from one another—but also to boast their countries boldness. Zed could still remember his father’s exact wordings, as he fortified every word with an emotion to please a ten-year-old child. This was long before Zedrelthus had moved to Anarika—this was long before anything significant had ever happened in his life.
“Slalomenians are indeed the most intimidating warriors to walk to battlefields, as they march in full suits of armor—littered with all the trimmings. All of the armor worn is very ornate and polished to perfection. The helmets they wear are bucket-like, with a squared-off top and a single line for the eyes to see through. This is also a big disadvantage, as with all of the armor they wear the only thing they can do in battle is fight with pure power. They all wear ankle length blue capes with a shiny silver trimming.

Anarikans rely solely on their strength in numbers and their very well structured strategy in battle. They fight very formal as well as the Slalomenians, fighting in lines made of equal men with swordsmen in the front, archers in the very back, etcetera. They wear shirts made of chain mail and helmets that have the face cut out of them except for a skinny nosepiece that comes down from the head of the helmet. They wear red pants and a gold sash over each man’s armor.

Cheekien, that’s the country we live in son, has some of the most unique uniforms. So unique, some think very strangely of them. They wear no armor at all, but wield mostly curved swords and large two-handed swords, made of bronze normally. They wear light leather shoes instead of the heavy boots that all other nations wear, and in some places boots made of steel, which gives them a huge advantage in speed—along with wearing no armor. The soldiers are given kilts to wear—male skirts—and they are decorated with a plaid like pattern using different shades of yellow and green. To go along with the kilt they wear knee-high green and yellow socks to complete the attire. A form of shirt is normally not worn, but if it is, it consists of nothing more than a plain white shirt. War paint is often present in the warriors, being made up of green and yellow patterns drawn under the eyes and on the cheeks.

Zelwig does not believe in fighting, and only a reckless, emotionless beast of a man would attack Zelwig. That country is so peaceful not even the wild animals on it’s lands attack people. If they ever do have to fight they fight in their brown, black, white, or red robes depending on their class, each robe worn with a purple sash. Each one of them would wield a mace, as that is the only weapon they believe in using—somehow they think it is less brutal than other manners of tools for killing.

Lastly we have the men of Noïretté, and they are almost as bad as Daemonals themselves. First of all, they worship demons, so their laws in total reach the limits of a single digit. They are wild and vicious, very primitive and barbarian like. Strangest of all, their skin is black in coloration—some say due to the sun being more present where they live, but most say it is a price they pay for worshipping the dark lord himself. They wield weapons made of stone, and wear no armor, and very little clothing also—most of the time just enough to cover what needs to be covered.
I won’t get into what Daemonals are like, for they are the demons themselves, the ones that the Noïretté worship. With every word formed about the Daemonals, I feel more and more of a weariness come over me—that area does not need to be explored. Some day, you will find out everything you need to know about them…”

Zedrelthus recalled on how his father liked to make a large speech out of everything. He was only beginning to remember his father when he slipped into other memories, re-living his life as a child over and over again until it was too much to muster. He was beginning to come to, and when he did, he was not going to like what position he was in.

* * *

The dark, musty smelling room that Zedrelthus was in was filled with an abnormal crew of people. He saw Ghet and Dett in here, up against the cold, stonewall that surrounded every one of them. He assumed this was some sort of dungeon, a prison perhaps. That was, until he heard the music. A loud booming bass drum beat in rhythm over and over again, occasionally accompanied by a sharply played snare. The music began to pick up, and now Zed could hear people outside.
“Where are we?” Zedrelthus asked to anyone who knew the answer.
One of the ten men inside spoke up. He looked to be about twenty, quite young, but not quite as young as Ghet and Dett—who were both going on sixteen. This man had murky black hair and wore bland leather armor, which had been dyed black. His skin was extremely pale and he held a dagger in his left hand, appearing to have several more fit into a belt around his waist. His calm, green eyes met Zed’s cold, harsh ice blue ones.
“Hell. Or at least it comes close…”
“And Hell to you is?” Zed asked.
“The arenas—the place where they send us thieves and murderers to face unbeatable odds—and surely death. Hence the whole advertised ‘Death Arena’ bit.”
“I caught that much” Zedrelthus replied.
“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing a bit.
“You know, I could ask you the same question.”
“Not a man of introductions, huh?” he said “I’m Elexus Garland at your utmost services sir, a B class thief, apparently, considering I’m trapped in this hellhole.”
“I’m Zedrelthus—I suppose you can call me Zed although I don’t really approve of the nickname. I also trade in thievery.”
“Is that why you got thrown in here?”
“No, they caught us defending ourselves outside of the town—and I guess they figured we started it. Is this your first fight?”
The man beside Elexus laughed.
Elexus leaned forward a bit “This is everyone’s first fight, Zedrelthus. Nobody survives these fights.”
“What’re we up against?” Zed asked, a lump slipping to his throat.
“Depending on how many of us will be let out to fight, we normally face a few high ranking Slalomen guards along with the Sandman himself.”
“Who’s the Sandman?”
“The general of the Slalomen armies, he does this as a pastime, putting away more people in two days than you can count on your fingers and toes.” Elexus answered.
“Why do they call him the Sandman?” Zed asked.
“For all the people he puts to sleep.” Elexus piped up.

A large stone slab slid out from one of the dungeon walls, revealing bars that could not be seen before. These bars swung open in a door-like motion allowing light to fill up the dark chamber. Zedrelthus stood up and gripped his spear tightly in his right hand. Even though he had Ghet at his left, Dett at his right and Elexus at his side—this would be the most challenging thing Zed had ever run into in his whole entire existence…

Tainted

16th February 2004, 03:30 PM

Sorry. Forgot to update.

Entry Three
And inside my mind lurk the darkest of thoughts
Breathing and planning to seek what is sought
Bled out and needing, fallen from twisted and worn
Strangled and dangling from nigh ‘til the morn’

Zedrelthus felt his heart race, as it pumped so hard he feared it ripping from his ribcage. The next few seconds of his life were so drawn out and complex that he would remember them for the rest of his life—if he did live through any of this that was. He looked to the ground and saw sand, an abnormal thing to find this far north. He quickly came to the conclusion that it was imported, and used to soak up blood—as sand was naturally good at that…

Zed transferred one of his leather boot-covered feet from the cold stone floor to the warm sand, sighing comfortably as he discovered it was no trick. He looked out to the field where four Slalomenian strongmen stood, one considerably taller and more built than all of the others. He had a two handed broadsword in a sheath on his back, but the weapon he wielded was so peculiar and unique that it caught Zed’s attention. It had a long shaft, much the length of a spear, but on each end of the wooden shaft was the blade of a sword about medium length. This weapon looked to be highly deadly, even from the eyes of Ghet and Dett—who had encountered more weapons than they could count on both of their hands and feet.
This man wore armor tainted black and a helmet of pure darkness, lined with the same broken crown that the man outside the town gates had worn. This was the same man, proving that this had all been a set up to draw more prisoners—meaning more paying audience members, which leads to the town receiving more money for entrance fees.
“That tall man in black is the Sandman” Elexus cautioned “Be wary of that one, although he looks like a brutish slug, he packs more than a pure offensive punch.”
The Sandman looked to Ghet and Dett, remembering Ghet as the quick swordsman he had battled prior to this spot. He somehow feared Ghet, as he knew that the young man’s skills matched—if not surpassed—his own.

Elexus leaned over to Zedrelthus “This is where we address ourselves.”
“You act like you’ve done this before” Zedrelthus replied with a chuckle.
“Nope, I was a fan of the sport, though.”

Zed looked behind him to the five people backing him, not including of course Ghet, Dett and Elexus. He noticed the absence of fear in their eyes, and how he knew there was a strong presence of fear in himself. He wondered how anyone could remain so calm in such a situation, but each man’s eyes were so set in stone that you had to wonder if they were human—if they could feel emotions.

“How is this whole introduction done?” Ghet asked.
“Oh, don’t worry about it” Elexus remarked slyly “Only one person does the talking, and it is never the leader. Zed here leads you two, correct?”
Zedrelthus chimed in “Correct.”
“Then I’ll announce him as the leader of us and then they’ll announce and we start brawling it out—simple as that.”

The man resembling a referee of some sort silenced the crowd, turning to Elexus who stood in front of every one of the criminals that were about to face the undefeated guardsmen.
Elexus drew in a deep breath and shouted at the top of his lungs, impressing many with his loud, audible voice. “We have here a man of despicable evil, killing poor highwaymen, slaughtering of them at once and managing to save a friend from a fourth. He is your favorite lying, murdering, relentless scoundrel—driven by a lust so demonic, so possessed with his own power that he would kill god himself if not stopped. He is the one and the only Zedrelthus!” The crowds were set into a lull, they clapped regardless of the fact that they knew not of what Elexus said.
Zed looked to see that Dett’s sheath on his sword had been loosened, meaning he might actually use it for once. His bow appeared to be aiming at something, without an arrow on it.

The guard holding a bow stepped forth beyond the two swordsmen and the Sandman. “No introductory is really needed for this man—the Sandman—the slayer of the dead, the healer of the living, the man who will soon incapacitate the gods themselves. We have here, the black, the well-deserved—Sandman.”
The crowds roared into a state of clapping, but soon shot deathly silent as Dett loaded an arrow in the blink of an eye and fired it at the neck of his opposing archer. After this he drew his sword simultaneously with Ghet, awaiting an oncoming attack. Nine against three, with a little bit of strategy, Zed thought he just might be able to pull this battle off.
Bad news though, the five men that were backing up Zed appeared to have no combat experience at all—he sent them to fight one of the guards, while him and Elexus made due of another. He left Ghet and Dett the tough job of handling the Sandman, which would be another huge test to their worthiness.

The five men lashed out at the single guard, whipping swords and various other weapons so unprofessionally that one would wonder if they had ever lifted one in their lives. The guard made quick due of three of them, but fell to death in his obvious state of being outnumbered after one of the remaining two drove a crudely made spear into his back, with a lucky shot that pierced his armor.
The very young Elexus was very nimble when it came to fighting, but he did not share the grace that Ghet and Dett both had. Zedrelthus noticed that Dett was not very good with a sword, but only in comparison to his brother, who by far reigned supreme in that aspect of battle.

The guard that Zedrelthus and Elexus battled against ran over to where Zed’s untrained two stood. He somersaulted, grabbing his partner’s sword in his other hand—and in the same motion—piercing both the stomachs of Zed’s untrained companions.
The guard now equipped with two swords turned to Zedrelthus and Elexus, who approached him and continued to barrage him with attacks. The guard whipped out and caught Elexus’ cheek just briefly with one of his swords, cutting a large slit from his temple to his chin. This, although putting Elexus to the ground, left Zed a big wide-open stabbing area. Zedrelthus took this gift, leaping forth to plunge his spear into the guard’s side.

Zedrelthus pulled Elexus aside to tend to him while he also watched Ghet and Dett deal with the Sandman.
“Are you alright, Elexus?” Zed asked.
“Yeah, I’m just fine” he replied.
“That’s good—but not quite as good as that Sandman’s armor” Zed observed as Ghet failed at trying to break the Sandman’s chest armor with a swift blow. “Why does he paint it black though? It makes it look quite unprofessional.”
“It’s not painted black, Zedrelthus, it’s forged that way. That there is most likely the strongest metal there is on earth. It’s refined in the mountains just northeast of Zelwig. The way it’s forged makes it go black—don’t ask me how—it just does.”
“What about the golden armor of Noïretté?” Zed asked.
“That’s a myth, there’s no armor that strong. Gold is very poor for armor, much, much too weak. One shot from just about anything else and you can say goodbye to your armor.” Elexus informed Zed.
“If that’s the strongest metal on earth why don’t you see too many blades made out of it?” Zedrelthus questioned.
“Well, you can’t sharpen the metal very well. It can be crafted very easily, and is made very thin—yet it is still stronger than steel—also lighter too. It just doesn’t make very good swords, it’s too awkward to wield. Legend has it that there is only one person in the world that can wield a sword made of this metal. The ‘ancient black sword’ is fabled to be called the Sardonyx” Elexus looked at Zed’s spear, the blade all smeared with blood. “You got a story to that spear? You seem to hold it closer to you than a man with his wife…”
“There’s a bit of a story to it. I made the shaft myself, purchased the blade—attached the two and well, this is what I got. This thing’s saved my life on many occasions, I once killed a bear with it that was attempting to claim my life.” Zedrelthus went on about the story.

The Sandman noticed his odds of winning as he began to grow weary of battling Ghet and Dett. The large decorated iron gates from which the guards normally entered swung open and the Sandman made a run for it. He sprinted through the gates, letting Ghet, Dett, Zed and Elexus remain in the arena. The crowds cheered, although the four did not defeat the Sandman, they were the first never to die in the arena.

“You four are free, now” a loud-mouthed guard spoke quickly, giving Elexus a shove in the back. They stood outside of the arena; it was a couple hours after the event that had taken place. The government of Slalomen decided to let the four of them go due to what they had accomplished. Zedrelthus was now officially a name that would be remembered in Slalomen, perhaps forever.

“Well, well, well” the grotesquely hunch-backed man with little teeth left in his mouth bent over a woman in her mid-twenties. This woman was small and apparently fragile, she was very short and had stunning black hair. Her big blue eyes shot open and she tried to scream. She could not, because another man—of whom appeared to be the hunchback’s son—held his hand over her mouth.
“What do you think her name is, pop?” the hunchback’s son asked.
“Well I just don’t know, son, but I can tell you she’s a pretty one. Good enough to be me new wife!”
The woman began to wriggle in pain. Her name was Evalyn; she was a beggar and had never had a home in her whole existence. She was feisty, but small and helpless when it came to physical fighting. She reached down slowly for a dagger at her belt, but her hand was stopped and held by the hunchback.
“No, no, no” the hunchback told her “We don’t do that do we?”
She began to wriggle even more, but it was helpless, she was stuck.

Zedrelthus looked down to that same small furry kitten while Ghet and Dett attempted to barter with the local innkeeper.
“Where to now, Sooz?” Zed asked aloud.
“Have you forgotten already?” the kitten asked Zedrelthus “You don’t need to talk aloud, use your thoughts to keep this conversation more private.”
“Alright” Zedrelthus replied strictly through his thoughts.
“Your next destination is Zelwig, there you will look for a priest by call of Landon. He will guide you on your next few steps to destiny.”
“Will he be joining us?” Zed asked.
“Hopefully” Sooz replied “He’s not very good to negotiate with—but before you leave you’ll find another teammate.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you anymore, my counterpart is also revealing a lot.” Sooz told him.
“Goodbye for now, then” Zedrelthus thought.
Sooz then turned itself around and scampered off on silent paws.

A shrill scream broke the silence. Zedrelthus picked himself from his state of thought and looked sharply to his left. He saw a young lady, along with one man and a hunchback. The man hit her sharply across the face with a powerful backhand.
“The little maggot bit me!” he cried out.
His other hand now covered her mouth so that she could not speak. If Zedrelthus only had his spear or his sword he could have easily freed the lady. He did not; unfortunately, he had given them to Ghet and Dett to check in.
He slowly stepped a couple feet forward, eyeing up his opponents. The hunchback looked much too old to fight, and the man he was with wasn’t exactly at his peak of strength.

Zedrelthus picked up a discarded metal bar from the ground beside him and approached even closer. He threw the metal bar with precise aim and hit the man square in the head. He fell to the ground limply, making this an easy fight with the old man. Even if he tried to defend himself he’d be hopelessly outmatched physically.

“So you’ve come, Zedrelthus” the old man rambled through crooked teeth.
Zed looked a tad puzzled for a moment, but quickly regained himself and said boldly.
“Hand over the woman, you cannot treat her as so” Zed boomed powerfully, his voice echoed like your common vigilante throughout the empty streets. For once there was not a single guard policing the area.
“You speak as if you wear shining armor with a white cape of vigilance. Reality bites doesn’t it, Zeddy-boy. When you find yourself knee-deep in life’s everyday bollocks without even a weapon to help you free this girl.”
“What makes you think I’ll need a weapon against you, old-timer?” Zedrelthus replied.

The old man stood his ground quickly and stared with two blank beaming eyes. He stood a good ten feet or so from Zedrelthus, but he threw his hand out as if he were standing close enough to strike him. Zed’s eyes opened sharply as he felt one of the most painful blows of his life hit him square in the ribs. He felt crippled.
He fell to his knees and shouted in pain.
The old man smiled “That’s why. I’ll take the wench for now, if you want her, you can seek me out and claim her.”

Zedrelthus grasped his chest with both of his hands, looking down to Sooz who had made her way up to him.
“That was Polaeus, he’s a magician.”
“A magician?” Zed asked.
“A branch of sorcery… You must have a lot to learn, Zedrelthus.” Sooz spoke.
“I thought magic was just in stories for children.”
“Afraid not. Soon enough you’ll be able to use a bit of a type of magic, but it’s very hard work to learn. You’ll have to kill him you know” Sooz instructed him.
“Why?” Zed asked.
“So foolish, child. Think for once! He’s got Evalyn! We need Evalyn! Right?” Sooz shouted through her mind. It pounded inside of Zedrelthus’ head, appearing to bounce inside of his brain.
“When does all this magician stuff begin?”
“In the morning—You won’t be learning the arts of a magician, it’s very different from what you’ll be learning. You will be practicing sorcery.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Of course! I’ll go into more detail on the ‘morrow, but to break it down. Sorcery is the study of using the elements to your advantage. Magic is much more towards causing physical pain with the mind. You’ll learn that too, but not much at all—it’s a very dangerous practice. There is one more branch of sorcery that I will teach you about, but you will never learn.”
“What’s that, Sooz”
Sooz paused for a second, but then spoke, her words filling the thoughts of Zedrelthus’ head. “Necromancy.”

Tainted

20th February 2004, 08:51 AM

Enjoy, I'm almost done Entry Six, for those that are wondering-- trust me, it's starting to get real good...

-----

Entry Four
To the cross I shall die, yet shall live forever
Bleeding eternity from wrists which shall never
Wizard, oh answer the question I’ve asked
“The darkest of blood seeps right where you’re at”

“I am the greatest sorceress in the world. My counterpart, a puppy, is the greatest necromancer in the world. However, as we are in a race to see who can complete their prophecy first, we have both agreed never to use any form of magic unless we are trying to be captured ourselves. And even then we are only allowed to use enough to get free.”
Zedrelthus laughed. “I’m sorry—that’s a little funny. This wee little kitten is the best sorceress in all of Lannia.”
“I wouldn’t laugh, Zedrelthus, or else I’ll have to enjoy my bit of laughter when I watch you fail at attempting sorcery.”
Zed frowned. “You always take my fun away, kitten.”
“Alright—on to business then. There are three disciples to magic, one being named simply ‘magic’ and the other two being called sorcery and necromancy. Necromancy takes the longest to learn, but is the most powerful—normally the people that use it have prolonged lives due to their study of Necromancy, making them very old and feeble yet the most powerful being in the world. Magic is like our old friend Polaeus used, very physically painful to their opponent. Just think of Magic as the offensive art and sorcery as the defensive art. Sorcery, however, is the use of the elements to protect oneself. Fireballs, frozen ice streams, electricity, blasts of water—will be all at your command once you’ve mastered sorcery. Normally a sorcerer chooses an element to first start off at, and then progresses into other elements… Would you have a favorite?”
“Out of all of those, I’d say fire is the most painful. I’d take it.”
“Actually, all of them are equally painful, but fire is normally chosen by beginners so we’ll stick with that. Your first spells will consist of making your hands blazing hot so you can burn anything with your touch, throwing small fireballs about the size of your fist, that sort of thing.”
“What’ll be the end result?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Well, the most powerful fire based sorcerers in the world can set people on fire by just concentrating on them.”
Zedrelthus nodded, noticing that he would never become that powerful in the allotted amount of time he had to ‘save the world.’ That lead Zedrelthus to thinking, what if the other side thought that they were the good ones, perhaps there really is no evil in the world. Maybe it’s just a claim of one of the good guys. From this he figured he would no longer call them the bad guys, but instead opponents—he then noticed he would most likely slip up a couple hundred times, so he didn’t make the promise aloud.
“The main part of sorcery—and any magic for that matter—is concentration, if you can’t do that, you’re, well, out of luck I suppose” Sooz preached.
“Can I ask you a question, Sooz?” Zedrelthus asked.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Why are you a kitten, why not something a little more… ferocious?”
“If I were something more ferocious there’s a much higher chance of me being killed, if I were in true form—well—I’m certainly not a kitten I’ll tell you that. The puppy necromancer hates being in his form, but he would be powerless in any other form as agreed by the two of us at the beginning of time. In his true form he’s a demon.”

* * *

Zedrelthus entered his room in the inn where he, Ghet, Dett and Elexus were all staying. He had a look of grim dissatisfaction on his face. His eyes searched the room until he finally took a deep breath and spoke up.
“Rest well” Zed said softly “For tomorrow we start ride to Zelwig. The next member of our party has been taken from us—she now lurks in Zelwig, along with another soon-to-be member.”
“Party?” Elexus asked.
Zedrelthus continued to inform Elexus on the purpose of their journey, and make the dull faces of Ghet and Dett liven up with remembrance.
“So—Let’s go get him and rip his guts out!” Ghet exclaimed.
“I’m sorry it’s not that easy, if it would have been we wouldn’t have need to do all this. He’s a magician, a very good one at that. He doesn’t look all too intimidating, but you’ll find yourself fooled pretty quickly…”
Elexus leaned back in a stately wooden chair, cutting a chunk from a green apple he had began to feast on. He went to place the piece in his mouth, but stopped momentarily.
“He powerful?” Elexus asked.
Zedrelthus sighed “He wove his hand at me and knocked the wind out of me—but it was so much more. It was the worst feeling in the world, felt like my ribs were closing in on me…”
Ghet looked down at the ground.
“It’ll take all four of us to take him down—but I have a little bit of a secret weapon up my sleeve.” Zed touched his fingertips together.
“What’s that, Zed?” Ghet asked.
Zedrelthus looked to Dett who was staring straight ahead without any form of movement seeming to come close to crossing his body. “The kitten’s teaching me sorcery.” He then went on to explain sorcery to the three of them, and tell Elexus about the kitten.

After everyone was done with their questions, it had grown quite a ways into the night. The four of them settled down and laid to rest, rising in the morning after a good six or seven hours of sleep.

* * *

Zelwig was an extremely peaceful nation, not believing in fighting or wars. They did not have police in the streets, but oddly enough, crimes never happened there. The only thing they had close to a military was fifty or so monks with maces and a very small militia. They had a large fort a ways in the distance; it could be seen from inside Zelwig, but only because it was such a clear, crisp day. Zelwig had no walls to protect itself, it seems their only method of defense was that very large, yet very old fort—that looked to be made of wood.

Zed rode in casually with Ghet and Dett on separate horses beside him, and Elexus on a small white horse behind.
“So, what type of person are we looking for?” Ghet asked in a burst of energy.
“Sooz said a forty year old balding priest in white robes—it’s the first time she’s given a decent description, which means there has to be some sort of catch. I can’t wait to meet the guy though, I’m sick of being around people ten years below my age, makes me look much older than the twenty-eight so I am” Zedrelthus replied.
“You aren’t aware of your own age, Zedrelthus?” Dett asked—for once making his way into a conversation.
“Nah, I never chose to keep track really… Not much sense I find. Doesn’t do any good for you on the battlefield or anything, when I hit forty I’ll know though.” Zed answered.
Dett and Ghet both nodded and they continued riding to the large cathedral, which towered over any other building in the town. It was made of old stone but it was carved with a specific craftsman ship that a man would describe as otherworldly. According to stories passed on by pub walkers, this was the true cathedral, the only one that meant anything about anything.

As Zedrelthus approached the cathedral he noticed the catch—there were a good thirty or so men dressed in white robes that were in their forties, the others all appeared much older.
“Why are they all so old?” Elexus asked.
“Priesthood begins around the age of forty in Zelwig” Zed replied casually. He dismounted his horse and rubbed his palms together. “We’ve got a priest to find.”

Zedrelthus approached one of the priests on the steps on the cathedral. “I’ve come to see your head priest about very pressing matters.”
“The head priest is in a meeting right now” the priest replied.
Something hit Zedrelthus so he spoke up “With the princess of Anarika, this concerns her quite a bit.”
“Oh—then—just keep down. Go right on in, the priests inside will direct you to the two of them.”

Inside the head priest’s room there stood a very petite-framed woman who showed signs of great beauty. She wore a red and golden gown trimmed ornately, and was fit to match her tiara, which was studded with red diamonds and made of pure gold. The woman had pale blonde hair and a beautiful smile. She stood beside a man beginning to bald who wore white robes like all of the other priests—he looked close enough to forty. They definitely didn’t want the head priest who wore a large hat; he looked so close to dying it wasn’t even funny—well, maybe just a little.

“Ah!” the beautiful woman exclaimed “Finally you have arrived, dear Polaeus. You don’t quite fit the description I had pictured, but you’re close enough.”
Zedrelthus raised one eyebrow at the comment comparing him to the old, barren sorcerer that Zed had been unlucky to come into contact with.
“The Noïrettés are almost at the border of Zelwig, at which time they’ll have only two days or so march to here—the capitol. Recent scouting has determined that they aren’t really causing havoc in towns unless there is resistance—which there isn’t much of. They are passing to hit directly here for some reason.”
Zed smiled, he loved playing war strategist. Apparently, Polaeus must have been a tactician of some sort—hired by this young lady. “My princess,” he bowed, knowing instantly that this lady was the princess of Anarika “I will make my introduction short for this word concerns me. I am, as you know already, Polaeus, these are my three generals: Ulaeus, Elaeus, and Alaeus. Their names were changed as soon as they ascended the rank of generals—it’s strictly a clan thing.”
The princess of Anarika nodded. “We have two forts that you will need to hold with the militias and the priests given—you have Fort Zelwig and the Fort of the Eastern Worlds. To put it blatantly, Fort Zelwig is the old wooden one you can see from here—straight walls, little defenses, easy to burn. The other one you cannot see, but it rests about a half a days march away. It is made of strong stone, has walls that overhang, a moat, everything you could imagine in a good fort. You need to decide who goes where and such, easy job, but if we fail it’s all blamed on you.”
Zedrelthus smiled. This whole situation was very good-- even better for him, as if he failed his name wouldn’t be tarnished—Polaeus’ would.
“It’s easy” Zed began “The Fort of the Eastern Worlds will house our main protection, I will leave Elaeus and Alaeus in charge” he waved his hand to Dett and Elexus. “We will line the walls with archers—how many men do we have to hand out?”
“Of the militia—one thousand footmen, two hundred archers. Then we have fifty priests armed with maces.” The princess answered.
Zed’s eyes opened in shock, that amount of poorly trained men was no way to win a war against likely tens of thousands of men at the least. Noïretté was full of men, and whoever was attacking with them would likely not care if a couple were sacrificed.
Nevertheless Zedrelthus replied “We throw one hundred archers in each. One hundred footmen and twenty-five priests will go in the stone one. The other nine hundred footmen will be put in the wooden one; there’ll be a hell of a lot of fighting going on in the streets of that fort. There is a settlement inside each fort right?”
“Correct, rather large ones at that.” The princess replied.
Zedrelthus began to get into his acting a bit too much, swearing under his breath and turning around. He only turned around so that the princess would not see a smile slip over his face—as he knew how good this was going for him.
He turned back around and coolly swore “We assemble the troops by morning, that way we’ll still have a day or so to prepare.” Zed then turned around and met eyes with Ghet, Dett and Elexus, proceeding to exit the room.
“Wait just one second, Polaeus!” the princess exclaimed loudly. Zedrelthus worried that he had been caught. “My name is Raia Edmunson, it was a very good talk we had.”
Zedrelthus bowed “Thank you, my princess—goodbye until tomorrow.”

* * *

“Pretty decent deal I’d say” Elexus pointed out, easing back in his chair. “We get a large inn all to ourselves without having to pay for it—hell, this is like a dream.” Zedrelthus smiled casually, but then shook his head a little.
“You do notice that we’ll still have to defend the forts—right?” Zed replied.
Just as he had finished speaking Sooz leapt in from the window and purred in Zedrelthus’ direction. He looked down to her, still smiling. Zed knew that what he had done pleased Sooz.
“Defending it shant be that hard,” Elexus muttered.
“Shant?” Zedrelthus questioned.
“From staying in Slalomen too long—you start to pick up a bit of their dialect—most of them speak funny, they sound like old men.” Elexus replied.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d been hit in the head with something—shant isn’t a word,” Zedrelthus laughed.
“It means ‘should not’ or shouldn’t in Slalomen—don’t ask me—I didn’t invent their dialect.”
“Back on topic—why do you say it won’t be that hard?” Zedrelthus inquired.
“Well—we’ll be fighting Noïrettés, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then won’t they be a little easy—I’ve heard that most of them aren’t properly equipped because they’re poor.” Elexus stated.
“That is entirely true” Zedrelthus began “But one must take into consideration what they will work for—literally nothing—and how many of them there will be. Strength comes in numbers, Elexus—I wouldn’t be surprised if we all had to flee tomorrow with the princess under one arm and the priest under the other.”
Dett looked silently ahead. “Let us sleep—for the morn shall suck our energy, I feel.”

Otto=ottO

28th February 2004, 12:46 AM

Wow! You're actually posting it here! Well, maybe I'll see more timely updates this way. Maybe not. I hope readers actually come. Either I'm a critic among fools or a fool among critics to read this and like it. Or maybe I'm just a friend. To those who see this! Read and reply!

Tainted

28th February 2004, 12:53 PM

Entry Five
But how can my blood bleed black if I’m sane
“Your blood bleeds black because of your pain”
Answer me wizard—when will this ever end
“Not until reality is yours to twist and bend”

A cold breath escaped from Zed’s lips as he sat atop the roof of the inn. It had just become dawn—he did not sleep well the night prior. Sooz’s training had been hitting him hard lately, it had gone from being a lot physical to strictly subliminal. Now it was the shaping of his mind. Now that she had taught him the techniques of properly throwing a fireball—or whatever the spell may be—Zed’s mind would have to learn what to do, how to act, how to respond and how to efficiently ‘shape reality to his likings’ in a sense.
There are supposedly many adepts alive—but most don’t know it—so they don’t pursue their lives in training meaning they don’t really unlock their attained skills. Anyone can be a sorcerer if they train long and hard enough—but an adept can learn how to do so in months—and can learn much more than a sorcerer, magician, or necromancer can. The thing is—an adept can bend the limits of the world, twist things in a way never imaginable—but even so, an adept cannot get away from reality. No one can ever get away from reality.

Zedrelthus got to thinking. He was risking the innocent lives of hundreds of men. He knew himself that they weren’t going to win—but he could always instill that fake little cheer that is always present in stories of great wars, and hell, maybe a miracle would come about. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to that many men—he couldn’t let them leave their wives and children behind. Zed—although a very devious scoundrel—was growing a little soft on this subject.

* * *

The wind blew absently across Zedrelthus’ face, he didn’t mind, it relaxed him a little. He stood in the walkway on one of the walls, looking out over the horizon for any possible attackers. The moment they became visible it was like Zed walked straight into a brick wall. The pain of a loss hit him hard in the chest.
He raised his spear into the air, closed his eyes and began to shout.
“People of Zelwig!” he began, the crowd lulled to sleep—they all knew they would very soon die. “I am Polaeus, savior to the saviors of the world. Zelwig—raise your arms. For under my wing, you shall not die a dead man, but a relieved one, knowing you died for the sake of lives everywhere. I say raise your arms, Zelwig!”
“Polaeus!” echoed throughout the small encampments inside the Fort of Zelwig, his speech could not be heard by anyone in the other fort, obviously, but he was sure that Elexus and Dett were making speeches of their own.

The black men of Noïretté marched to the forts slowly, casually reaching the point where an arrow can clearly hit a man. There were plenty of them—enough that if they all had a stone in one hand, which some of them did, they would still be able to conquer both forts. Then again—the Fort of the Eastern World was built rather well—and since it was lined with archers it’d take a long time to break through. Once they did get through, however, it would be over.

In the other fort, Elexus took up his Slalomenian accent to impress the Zelwig warriors with his own speech. He was quite the linguist for fifteen years of age, in a sense that he knew what to say to what type of people. His speech was nearly ten times as long as that of Zed’s but was very gripping and left each warrior of Zelwig waiting for more. When he was finished the cheers from the warriors could almost be heard at the other fort.

“Release!” Zedrelthus’ and Elexus’ voices sang simultaneously in opposite forts. They both were now dug deep into the moment—like they were playing out the vigilante in one of the stories they had heard as a child.
Arrows spewed from untrained archers, surprisingly most hit their unarmored foes. These men hit the ground, regardless if they died or not, and their own men behind them continued the charge—trampling them all.

The Noïrettéans smashed up against the walls and the gate—all the while being fired upon by archers. Several of them appeared to be appointed “lighters” in which they would try to set the fort on fire.

* * *

Bodies littered the grounds around the two forts, and a victory was beginning to look nice and easy. Neither one of the forts had been broken into yet, nor had one of Zedrelthus’ men been injured.

Then there was fear. Two loud consecutive booms could be heard in the distance, repeating after one another consistently, keeping a pace. Zedrelthus remembered that sound—but not by his owns ears, his father had told him this story before. The Daemonal—it was them. Creatures spawned of pure hell, black rotting skin, flesh dripping from loose bones. The closest thing to undead you would ever find existent in Lannia.
The legend went that they could never rally together and be lead, though, because they conflicted so much individually, which struck Zed as just a little odd. His eyes sharpened as he remembered the deepest of what the legends told—these creatures could never die. That meant that if they weren’t slain in battle they would live on forever, and this showed as each individual Daemonal fought as if it were the last battle of their life—most of them probably wanted to die at this point in time. Life for an eternity probably hurt more than most can even begin to comprehend.

Zedrelthus could see what appeared to be a man leading them. He was completely encased in black armor that was intricately designed and looked to be very thick. He wore a dark black cape that would reach his ankles if he weren’t riding the strange beast that he was. He wore a black helmet with a sharp, angular jaw, with several black spikes encircling his head in a crown like fashion. The helmet was full in a sense that it covered everything put the mouth, which was lined with two long spikes that trailed down past the chin. The eyeholes were very angular and on almost a forty-five degree angle upward. From the eyeholes burned one of the darkest of black fires imaginable. The little bits of skin that could be seen, most around his mouth, were as white as snow, but you could almost tell that he was not human. Maybe it was the black fiery eyes; maybe it was the listless voice or maybe it was just because he was the man devoid of any emotions whatsoever.
This man rose up his black sword, sending a shockwave of pure evil throughout the lands. Zedrelthus then felt a sudden, sharp pain in his head. It was Sooz, she must have been excited and spoke to him a little too loudly.
“Zed! It’s the iceman!” she said in his thoughts. He pondered briefly about what an iceman was. “The iceman, Zedrelthus! I told you about him before! I made you dream about him before to properly ensure an image of fear into your head!”
Zedrelthus felt an unsure feeling hit him squarely in the stomach—and it had nothing to do with the Zelwig meals he had been eating recently.
“He is the iceman because he feels no emotions—no pain, no fear, no mercy—it is said that he has a heart made of pure ice. He is the disciple of my counterpart—the dark god Zcin, as you are the disciple of myself.”
“So he is my equal then” Zedrelthus messaged Sooz through his mind.
“You can try to fight him if you wish, but the outcome does not look all that well at the moment. Zcin is the most powerful lone god to begin with—he is one, I, Sooz, am the representation of seven ‘good’ gods combined into one. Then only do we match Zcin’s power.”
“You know, if I would have known this beforehand, things might be a tad easier for me.” Zed replied sarcastically.
“But I’ve been implanting all of these things into your head as dreams while you sleep!”
Zedrelthus stared blankly into the marching armies, this time speaking aloud “I haven’t dreamt in years.”
To that there was no reply.

Zed looked out over the horizon to see both Elexus and Dett atop horse riding at blinding speed towards them. Zed prepared himself, as he knew that this meant they would have to flee. He turned around, over his shoulder watching as the iceman blew open the door to their fort with sheer willpower.
Zedrelthus picked Raia, the princess, up under one arm and slung the priest he wanted over his opposite shoulder. He ran down the stairs with Ghet following him, finding three horses. Ghet hopped upon one and began to ride over to meet up with Dett and Elexus. Zed placed the priest on one and sat Raia down on his horse in front of him.
Zedrelthus pulled his horse out of the back entrance of the fort, where Ghet had left from also. The priest was smart enough to follow along, although he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

They fled, even further east. Across into the uncharted, unmapped lands that no human ever dared live in. Zedrelthus was not sure why, as Sooz had always told him great stories on the east. The east was where they would have to settle for a while, it was where they would have to get Evalyn back, but most importantly, it was where Zed would fill in his two new recruits.

* * *

The six of them sat at a round table in a large bar, the largest bar Zedrelthus had ever seen at least. They had crossed into the eastern side of the world and found it to be nothing like the stories had said. Humanity was, well—a little odd to say the least but it was not scary at all. Technology was even slightly better out there, they had things they called guns that fired little metal things at people—and these things were dangerous. However, a big weakness came in the time it took to reload them, so they were often used as a support weapon as opposed to whole armies wielding them. Also, they were very expensive—another reason not to stock up on them.

The men out here were very strange and reminded Zed of the stories of midgets his father used to tell him. These people were just like ordinary men, except only about three feet tall on average. They called themselves Eastings, people of the east, simple enough, but they took high offense to the word midget or dwarf.

They had found out plenty about the priest of whom they hadn’t even caught a name of before. His name was Landon Bridges, and he was only in his third year of priesthood. A young lad, but still held quite a few years over Zedrelthus. He knew a lot about people, but seemed to not be very politically correct, especially when it came to dealing with Eastings.

They learned a lot from the people out here, in this large town of Stronghelm. The whole place was inside of a huge stone fort. The people here appeared to be excellent craftsmen, they could make arches out of stone without them collapsing.

They learned about this group of people called the Sinerik—the only humans to inhabit the eastern lands. Supposedly they were cannibals by nature and had tattoos all over their whole bodies. Word had it that they were also nomadic, meaning they wouldn’t set place in one spot for very long. To Zed, this reminded him of old stories husbands and wives would tell their kids to keep them inside when it was their bedtime.

Zedrelthus and his party had learnt of one more odd thing, the Sarakians. These creatures were like the Daemonals of the west in a sense that all mankind feared them both. Their skin color was of a deep purple hue, very dark, such a color that one could be sucked into for staring too long. They had very angular features such as an angular jaw, protruding nose, and very defined cheekbones. Their incisors were very sharp, generally sticking to eating stray child Eastings. The strangest of all—they have a long scorpion-like tail that has a tip, and they use this tail to inject venom into their prey. They only need to feed once every couple of months and they normally do this individually—but every harvest moon they all feed in a large group. Each child is not allowed to have hair until they are considered an adult; some earlier than others, and at this point their hair is allowed to grow. When their hair exceeds the length of their shoulders they are allowed to hunt for themselves. For every Easting they kill they make one braid out of their hair, so the veterans of war may have a full braided head—but this is rare as they are physically strong but considered stupid. As so, they are often killed when they attempt to feed solo.
With these tales came an assuring notion that they knew a little more than they had thought about the east. They wouldn’t need to stay here for long—just as long as it took to build up enough courage to take a stab at getting Evalyn back.

* * *

Lightning struck wickedly, awakening Zedrelthus from a deep sleep in which he was not dreaming, like he hadn’t been for quite a while now. He could hear loud screams coming from outside the room of his inn. Zed reached to his bedside where he picked up a Flintock single shot pistol from the ground, along with his spear. In only several months he had grown to like these single shot pistols and the rifles of which could hold a few more shots—but were too large for Zed’s tastes. Dett had grown quite a liking to the technology and was seemingly already a master at using them.

Zedrelthus lurked over towards the window, jerking back to blinds to get a good view at what was going on. There knelt a woman in the streets, deranged to an extent. She rocked back and forth as if she were on some meticulous schedule, looking down every so often and bursting out into tears. She was screaming wildly, without care to the rest of the world that lay asleep. The woman wept uncontrollably, clenching something tightly to her body. Looking closely, Zed could see that it was a body of someone much younger, looking pale and limp. There was little doubt in Zed’s mind that this child was not dead.
Zedrelthus walked out somberly, keeping his eyes on the woman who appeared to be going insane in front of his eyes. He walked out to meet her, his mind filled with grievance. As he approached closer he could hear her whimper in agony, mumbling to herself wildly.
“Oh god—why did you have to take my kid? Why this way, god?” she murmured to herself.
As Zedrelthus approached she turned around quickly and pointed at him. “You killed him didn’t you?” and she leapt to her feet, in her hand a knife that she had pulled from the ground.
Zed, without much choice, pulled his pistol up to meet her waist and fired once. The shot blasted through her body, leaving an exit wound the size of a large grape. Her mouth was agape in shock as she collapsed to her knees—and then to the ground face first.

Zedrelthus looked behind her and spotted a very young boy emerge from beside his older brother. He looked to be only three at the absolute oldest. This boy looked up at Zed and a frown slipped across his face. Zedrelthus had killed the boy’s mother. He had to watch his mother and his brother die, right in front of him with no way to avoid it. Zed dropped to his knees, his eyes drooping in sorrow. What had he done? He had claimed life, and now forever he would be stricken as the bad guy to the child when really all he wanted was to put the mother out of her misery.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said gently, shaking his head solemnly.

Tainted

13th March 2004, 08:32 AM

Entry Six
Pass it on, you know of truth
Bleed on him as I’ve done to you
Pass your disease, make him sick if you will
And only then will your wishes fulfill

“We’re keeping this grubby little bugger?” Raia spoke outrageously. “He’s all filthy—and—” she shivered in disgust.
“It’s the best I can do, Raia. The poor boy here watched his brother and mother die, his mother under my own hands. What I don’t quite understand is he appears to be human, but his brother and mother were both Eastings.” Zedrelthus spoke up.
“How is this going to work?” Landon brought up “Taking care of a child isn’t easy, not like I would know from experience.”
Raia rubbed her hand down Landon’s bicep attempt a mock seduction “Of course you wouldn’t, Hun, you’re a priest!”
Landon shuddered; he hated being “tempted” as he put it, by females. In general, he hated being around females in fear of him being thrown into that “temptation.” Being a priest he was restricted from courting females on any occasion, unless it was strictly for business. Unfortunately, he had not yet found an excuse to bank in the business category.

Elexus was staring out the window, thinking about normal things that any fifteen-year-old boy would be wondering about: girls, being away from his family, girls, how the party was going, girls, the new adolescent and girls. Yeah—everything was strange in this new place, but he was getting along just fine. He looked up to Zedrelthus for some reason; he looked up to a man that had recently killed a woman in front of her son. Odd, but that’s how life worked sometimes. There had to be a reason, but Zed refused to give any details. Elexus looked out the window and his gaze caught Ghet and Dett who were dueling.

Ghet and Dett trained outside the Inn, they seemed to do this a lot. They’d get alone, just the two of them, and to any other eye it would appear as if they were fighting to the death. Really, all they were doing was training—very harsh and brutal training. They helped each other often, and worked, as brothers should—hell, they were twins after all. Ghet was the better swordsman of the two, but Dett could fire an arrow like Ghet couldn’t even imagine, so there was a nice trade-off. Dett seemed to be a bit smarter too, and he was getting very used to the technology out in the east.

“He doesn’t look like an ordinary child, though” Landon complained a little. “He’s yet to cry or whine or even make one silly little movement.”
“I figure he’s in a temporary shock—how long this will last I don’t know” Zedrelthus replied. “I know I wouldn’t be all too cheery if my mother had been shot in front of me.”
“That’s a very wise thing to say, Polaeus” Raia added.
Zedrelthus didn’t respond for a moment, until he had caught that she was talking to him. “Oh—yes, quite—about that.”
“About what?” Raia asked intrigued.
“The whole Polaeus deal, I’m not who you think I am—and I never was.”
“Pardon me?” Raia interrupted.
“Let me finish.” Zedrelthus began “I am Zedrelthus, not much more than a common thief to many eyes. The two outside are Ghet and Dett—hired mercenaries, as you might have already figured out. Elexus is the young lad at the window, he is sort of an apprentice of mine, learning how to thieve as I used to. You two are supposed to travel with me, ultimately in a quest to support life.”
There was an awkward silence while the mood set in, then Raia broke out into laughter. “So you’re telling me that we followed you here thinking you were a dear friend of my father’s, and now we’re out here with no one to save us—stuck with a scoundrel devious for his murders—oh, and you want us to trust you?”
“You got it.” Zed replied. “But you don’t have much of a choice.”
“So you’re saying if I try to leave right now…” she was cut off.
“You surely will not make it home, as there is an opposition we’re up against remember. If we break up into separate groups the weaker of the groups will be killed—therefore giving the enemies the advantage. So—if you choose you try and get home you will ultimately be throwing millions of lives straight into the fiery depths below.”
Landon cringed.
“Boldly put, friend” Landon spoke up “Perhaps we do need a friendship of sorts—even if it’s to get us back to the west.”
“There is one more party member we need to find, and then we’ll be complete—that is Evalyn.” Zed said.
“Who is Evalyn?” Raia asked.
“I’m not entirely sure.” Zedrelthus answered.
“Then how do you know we have to find her?”
“Because a talking cat told me so, alright?” Zedrelthus replied with a hint of false sarcasm. “Actually—that sarcastic tone was faulty, a talking cat actually did tell me.”
“You can’t be serious” Landon brought up.
Elexus turned around to face the three of them arguing. “I’ve heard of the cat, so have Ghet and Dett.”
Zedrelthus nodded “She’s the combination of all of the light gods, because only then does the power of light match her opposition—the one lone dark god.”
“I think I know a little more about gods than you would, humble Zedrelthus” Landon stepped in.
“Do you personally know seven eighths of the worlds gods?” Zed asked him.
“Well, no.”
“Then keep quiet.”

* * *

“Zed!” Sooz screamed inside his head. He stumbled back in pain.
“What?” he answered back.
“Zin—Zen!” Sooz shouted back.
“What the—” Zed was confused “What’re you trying to say?”
“Zin and Zen! The equivalent of Ghet and Dett on the bad side—they’re attacking their opposites early. You must prepare Ghet and Dett for these two could come at any time!”
“This early?” Zedrelthus was shocked, he had completely forgotten about the opposite forces.
“You or anyone else cannot intervene either, it must be a challenge for only Ghet and Dett.”
“How do they match up competition wise?” Zedrelthus asked.
“The outlook is not all that good, Zedrelthus” Sooz replied “They are female Sarakian assassins.”
“Sarakian? They’ll slaughter Ghet and Dett!” Zed was outraged.
“It’ll be closer than you think, but your party is still at disadvantage—remember, their technology won’t be all that great. If we manage to win this one we’ll be two people up on them.”
“We’re still missing Evalyn, though.”
“And he is still missing the last member of his party, and from what I gather, if we keep at this pace, we’ll have all of our members before he does.”
“That is good. But we need this one, Sooz, we’ll need all the luck we can consume.” Zedrelthus finished the conversation, feeling overcome with a bit of worry—and to put it frankly, he wasn’t the worrying type.

* * *

“Ghet, Dett—I want to speak with you.” Zed called the two mercenaries over. “It’s concerning Sooz the kitten.”
Ghet and Dett nodded simultaneously. “Bring it on us” Ghet spoke loudly.
“Well, as I’ve already told you, we have an opposition—and each of us has an equal opponent on the other ‘team’ if you’d like to put it. So eventually, all of us will end up facing someone on the other side.”
“I understand” Dett spoke solemnly, nodding.
“Both of you get the first shot at this. Two female Sarakian assassins, and nobody can help one bit; this will be quite a challenge for you two. I suggest picking up your training a little, because if we win, we’ll have plenty more time to get Evalyn. If not, well, it’ll be only me against that magician—and that’s such a task I would not like to face as of now.”
Ghet swallowed hard. “We will train harder than ever sir, to successfully equal what you paid for. This is our chance to prove everything to you, Zedrelthus.”
“You have already proved too much for me to handle. Win or lose, that money stays with you, even if I have to bury it with you.”
Elexus’ eyes lit up, he heard them talking from across the room. “Exactly how much money is each one of them carrying?”
“Never mind, Elexus.” Zedrelthus warned the boy.
“Understood, Zedrelthus” Elexus backed off, a bit curious as to just how much they each had.

* * *

That night was very quiet, one of those where no one could sleep. Ghet and Dett’s challenge may not have come tomorrow, but regardless they had to act out everyday like it would be their last day living. Everyone knew now. Raia was shocked, as she knew sometime in the future she would have to face off against an opposition as well, so would Landon, and even Elexus.

Raia slept with the young kid nestled in her arms, he was wide-awake like everyone else, but not crying, and strangely he didn’t look the faintest bit tired. He just stared at the ceiling, lost in his own little world of confusion. Maybe he knew what was going to happen soon, maybe he didn’t.

* * *

Ghet and Dett had both spent the past few days completely armored and equipped, and they played out each minute as if they would be attacked at that instant. Sarakians were known for walking on silent feet, and if one were to be stabbed in the back that would leave quite a task for the other one to bear.

The day finally came. There they were, standing in the very lightly populated streets—feet atop the cobblestone brick. It was dusk, the sun just setting. The Eastings cowered away from the two, surprisingly enough they were ready to attack Ghet and Dett full force. They had taken no opportunities to blindside Ghet and Dett, which struck the two of them as odd.
Zin and Zen were identical, both sharing blood red piercing eyes and clean-shaven heads. Apparently, Sarakian women always shaved their heads bald, and the males kept their hair long. Their skin was deep purple, scars scattered across in various places. They wore light brown loincloths, and nothing more, which gave them no protection to back them up armor wise. Zin and Zen both wielded curved stone swords, crudely crafted and very primitively made.

Dett drew his rifle, cocking it and readying it to fire. Ghet drew his own sword and held it up in a very aggressive stance, motioning for Zin and Zen to instigate combat. Dett took no heed, firing immediately at Zen. Ghet and Dett both gasped as they realized this battle would not be as easy as their outfits appeared. Zen moved at lightning speed to dodge the bullet, leaping away and to the ground. Ghet charged and did combat with Zin while Dett drew his dual flintock pistols and fired away at a half advancing, half dodging Zen.

“Zedrelthus, it appears Zin and Zen both show very minimal adept abilities. Regardless—it’s still more than you’ve uncovered yet, so be wary. What appears to be poking at my brain is that Ghet and Dett are too adepts, but of a lesser quality than Zin and Zen. It is said that when an adept slays another adept he becomes more powerful, but even the gods do not know if this is true.”
“They’re fighting as we speak?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Yes—but stay where you are and raise no alarm. This is a challenge for them and only them.”
“Understood.”

Ghet watched in astonishment as Zin back flipped and lunged at him. He parried the attempted strike and countered with a vertical slash. The slash was dodged and followed up with another stab. Ghet leaped backwards—leaping them forwards and bringing his sword down on Zin. Zin screamed out in pain as she toppled over and fell to the ground; she was no dead, however, so Ghet approached slowly to finish her off.
As he did, Zen ran wildly at him. A panic swept across Dett as he pulled the trigger on one of his flintock pistols, firing at Zen. The little round bullet soared through the air, just missing the right ear of Zen and plunging itself into Ghet’s right shoulder. Dett was damned at the fact that Ghet was right handed, unlike himself, and his shoulder played a large part in sword dueling.

Despite the blow to Ghet’s arm, he rose up and cleaved Zen’s left arm from her body. She screamed in pain as black blood squirted from the freshly carved wound. Zin rose up, however, and jumped into the air—kicking Ghet in the head with a force so hard it sent him spiraling to the ground. Dett rushed to him, helping him up while Zin only stared them down. Zen was still holding her wound, screaming in agony. Sarakians had a lot of blood, and very strong hearts apparently, as blood squirted wildly, probably the length of a meter or so. Ghet drew Dett’s sword from his respective sheath, now wielding two swords. Dett was confused as to why his brother would continue fighting under such wild circumstances.

Ghet rose up, beaten, bruised, all around looking like hell. Blood stained his face, caked around his eyes especially. His left eye was crusted shut with the amount of blood that had previously poured consistently down from that side of his forehead. His newly acquired steel helmet that covered both the top and sides of his head was dented on one side from Zin’s kick. Ghet knew himself that the helmet would take a lot of effort to get off because of that. And so he walked, not yet a dead man, a sword in his left and a sword in his right.
Zin acted quickly, picking an unneeded sword from the now corpse of her dead sister. She leapt at Ghet, flailing both swords wildly about as if she were an animal. Hell, she was an animal. Ghet took it smoothly, taking a step back and defending by crossing his swords into an X. He parried the attack by swinging his swords away from him, sweeping her blades away from her. She was left completely open, and Ghet took advantage of this—swinging upward with both swords and cutting her head from her body.

The head rolled to the ground, a shocked expression on its face. Ghet sighed momentarily, pausing as he collapsed to the ground, barely breathing.

Tainted

15th March 2004, 12:30 PM

Writing's going a little slow lately. My band and I are playing a lot more frequently, and I don't have much time to write, and when I am given an ample opportunity to write, I normally blow it off to go chill with friends. So *shrug*. You'd figure that in a week where you don't go to school you'd get more writing done, but I actually get less...

---

Entry Seven
Jealousy burns even hotter than fire
Whoever says other is much of a liar
You try to avoid, as much to your strife
For you cannot conquer time, but you can life

It appeared that Ghet had only suffered symptoms of a minor concussion, and had temporarily slipped into comatose, but only momentarily. Now he was under the loving care of Raia, who mothered him to death, and who also took care of the baby a majority of the time. Casual days now consisted of Landon and Zed discussing various things, later Zed training Elexus on how to be a past decent thief, dinner prepared by Raia, and Dett sitting alone silently like he had always done. Now he didn’t even have Ghet to train with, and as soon as he did, they would be setting off towards the tower of Polaeus, ultimately to retrieve Evalyn.

Elexus had become more and more interested in money; Zedrelthus had noticed after one particular day of training—he seemed almost eager to take his first victim. Zed tried his best to calm the lad down, but to no avail, he wanted to start off picking pockets, just as Zedrelthus had done when he was a boy.

* * *

On one night, the group had enjoyed a fine bit of drinking; even Landon decided to take his try at a little bit of the local ale. Zedrelthus, however, stuck to his favorite drink—mead, along with Ghet. Dett chose not to drink, but Elexus seemed to be making up for that. The fifteen-year-old lad drank so much that Raia feared he would die of a high blood alcohol level.

When they had returned home all passed out, drunk out of their minds, Zedrelthus, Landon, Raia, and Elexus. Ghet and Dett had not drunk enough to put them under the weather; in fact, Dett did not drink at all. Ghet was still confined to his bed, the trip to the bar had injured him quite a bit—only making his bruises just that much more sorely. So he lay there, not being able to do anything but stare at the ceiling, because he had been given herbal painkillers made of white leaves and spring nuts that numbed his body. Dett arose from his bedside, a smile of sadistic behavior slipping across his face. Ghet was awake, and he could see his brother, but he couldn’t react the slightest bit. He watched as his own brother took step after step closer. Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Ah, my brother.” Dett said, bestowing fear into his brother’s heart. Ghet tried to cry out, but he could not, the best he could do was let out a tiny little whimper. “It appears that the man under divine spotlight—the famous and invincible Ghet, who pushed his own brethren aside and took both fame and fortune—is now naught but a cripple.”
Ghet once again attempted to shout at the top of his lungs, his mind raced thinking of things to do, but there was nothing that could be done. He let out yet another whimper, but inside of his mind he screamed, sadly, that was where it could not be heard.
“Oh sure—you normally can move, but now you those drugs have retarded you to an immobile, whimpering fool. Listen to yourself, brother—you are the epitome of weak!” Dett spoke, raising his voice gradually.
Dett then slid a sharp bronze knife from his belt with a blade that curved like the body of a snake. It was clearly a Zelwigan sacrificial knife. Ghet tried to squirm, but he couldn’t—his failing attempts resulting only in him whimpering like a child.
“Oh brother dearest, Ghet—with this knife I shall release you from your pain, and take your money into my hands. Do not worry brother, none of this is about the money, it much rather closely involves you taking what should not be yours. Credit. I was the one that bared the sword for you; I lead to you killing the enemy. For that, I shall put you at rest. Sleep well, my brother—for your sleep will never end.” And with those final words he slid, very lightly, the sharp knife across his brother’s neck. A very thin wound opened and began leaking blood; it wouldn’t be very long until Ghet passed out, never to wake up again. Dett looted his fortune, burying it with his stash underneath a floorboard near his bed. He took one idle coin and flipped it with his thumb, it landing on Elexus’ bed. Was he to flee? No—he had much better thoughts in mind.
The young lad that Raia constantly had taken care of had watched the whole thing. He sat up in bed, wide-awake, staring at Dett with the compassion of a man condemned to hell, yet at the same time it was so emotionless, so cold—with every little bit of distaste in the world trapped his eyes.
Dett contemplated killing the child when he first crossed eyes with him, but then his plan would not fill out properly. If he were to do this, he would have to do it right, and right he would. “Right” to this plan did not involve killing children, no matter how far past purity a single gaze reaches.
Dett slept well that night, surprisingly feeling no guilt whatsoever. He had gained a huge surge of power, too, which he would not reveal to the others in fear of him being caught. In reality, Ghet was at a huge peak of his power, just as Sooz had told Zedrelthus: if an adept slays an adept, he gains a surge of power. So, Ghet had killed two, roughly doubling his power—now that Dett had killed him during Ghet’s surge of power, well—he gained all of that plus his own power. Dett himself was growing in power, and after one event in one night he had become nearly as powerful as Zedrelthus himself.
Dett, in his sleep, mumbled very quietly in a deep, somewhat chaotic voice “Zedrelthus, I, Dett Hunter, hereby declare your damnation.”

* * *

Landon had finished up the last words of the ceremony a day later; things were beginning to get a little hectic as people pointed fingers at one another. To Zedrelthus, Dett did not exactly appear emotionally crushed, but then again, Dett had never shown many emotions so he did not take that into account. Landon was a priest, he would never kill, but then again—maybe that’s what he was trying to get him to believe. Raia was a woman, but once again, it could be a disguise to hide the fact that she was a trained assassin. Things tightened up quite a bit, as no one really trusted each other anymore. Any solid bit of proof would solely throw everything back together again, as they would know who did it, and be able to sleep at night without having to worry about someone gutting them in their sleep. Finally, proof was summoned.

“You have absolutely no defense, Elexus” Zedrelthus said with pure hate in his eyes. “You know, it is maybe just a little odd that you were always anxious to try out what I had newly taught you—and then he shows up dead with all of his gold missing!”
“And that’s without taking into account the gold piece I found in your bed” Dett replied “Or all of Ghet’s money that I found buried with mine—attempting to frame a man of killing his own brother.”
Zedrelthus was a bit shocked by the sudden outburst of rage on Dett’s behalf. He figured it had to be tough for a twin brother to be murdered, he had made his decision, and apparently, everybody else had as well.
“Elexus, be gone. You are no longer part of our party, you can die by the blade of our opposition for all I care—your acts are dishonorable. This is the cut off point, young lad, you could have made much more of yourself.”
Elexus stared in a shocked disbelief, he hadn’t been able to say anything for the past bit, he was too overwhelmed with the fact that they thought he had murdered Ghet. Elexus left that day, telling himself that someday they’d want him back, maybe that someday would be closer than either side would ever expect…

* * *

Almost a whole year passed without doing much, and it was a tough year. The whole issue had stalled everything to a near halt, but now it was finally the last opportunity Zedrelthus would have to have Evalyn join his party. Elexus had returned to Slalomen after traveling for a few months, and had enlisted in the armies under the fleet of The Sandman, of whom luckily to him, was the best general out there. He was the best general because he did not lead from a tent at the back of the war; he fought ahead of all of his men, leading them into every battle. Normally this would kill off a general the first time he set foot out on the battlefield, but The Sandman was something else, skilled to others, but he himself called it luck. Lucky old Sandman, no one even called him by his real name anymore, and a lot didn’t even know it, he would just be The Sandman until his existence had expired, and he liked it just the same.
Elexus had done well in the army, gaining much needed combat skills, and strengthening himself into a hard-faced man. He was sixteen now, the point of a coming of age in Slalomen, and this meant he was now considered to have a free will. So garbed in a light gray shirt of chain mail, a blue sash with silver trim draped over one shoulder, and a steel helmet with a rounded top and narrow nose-guard, he would charge into every battle in the frontlines, which was where they stuck the lightly armored men they didn’t care too much about. All the lines behind the first, the men were equipped in complete steel suits of armor, all common foot soldiers, but looking like only the uppermost Sergeants in the Anarikan armies, of whom relied more on pike men than the straight-forward offensive Slalomenian swordsmen. Slalomen’s cavalry was the best there was, but sadly they didn’t have as many men as their opposition on foot to even out.
Slalomen at this time currently was running a campaign in Noïretté, pushing on the borders of the country, blazing at the black men every opportunity they got. All the while they fought, Elexus missed Zedrelthus, and Zedrelthus had missed Elexus as well. Not in the way a man misses a woman, obviously, but in the way a father misses a son, and the way a son misses a father. Elexus was like a son to Zedrelthus, and Zed himself knew that, but wouldn’t admit to it after Elexus allegedly killed Ghet. Raia and Landon didn’t have much to miss, and neither did Dett, so it seemed Zedrelthus made up for what they lacked in his own wishes that Elexus hadn’t killed Ghet.

“The first step is acceptance, Zedrelthus” Landon spoke to him “Elexus killed Ghet, and that is that, there is no need for that voice in your head to speak to you.”
“It’s not the cat, Landon” Zedrelthus began “It’s me this time, the cat hasn’t talked to me since Ghet wound up dead. I just can’t see the kid killing him now, after I’ve had almost a year to think about it—and now we’re so behind, our opposition has probably lapped us a couple times.”
“But you forget that we killed both Zin and Zen, the equivalents to Ghet and Dett—they will need some time to get off of the ground as well, won’t they?”
“Well, if they’re evil, why don’t they just move on, the evil cannot have hearts, can they?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Even the emotionless understand death, Zedrelthus. It touches us all in ways unimaginable.”
Zedrelthus nodded acutely to the man of priesthood, standing up and looking him over. “I think I can imagine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can imagine what it feels like to die.”
“What is it like, then, Zedrelthus?” asked Landon, with a mock expression of wonder.
“It can’t be explained in mortal tongue, it’s more so a feeling than an actual thing you can describe.”
“And how would you know this?”
“Landon” Zedrelthus began.
“Yes, Zedrelthus?”
“I have no clue how I know, but I know I’m right.”

That night Zedrelthus wrote a letter, he hadn’t known how to write all that well, but he tried his best, and when he was finished he gave it to the local post office to be given to a runner. He knew the runner would have his work cut out for him, considering he himself did not know where the recipient was located—but if Elexus got it, hell, it’d make life worthwhile. It just told Elexus that they were now headed for the tower of Polaeus, and that they missed him—of which was a lie; Zedrelthus knew that nobody else had cared for the boy much.

* * *

It was war. War was never glamorous, only made to look so in novels about the victories and triumphs of a man who rides a white unicorn, a creature of which Elexus had thought to be mythical from his childhood, but had found out to be factual in his visitations to the east. Elexus, having now experienced war, wanted nothing but to get it over with, but war was never short. Even if war was over, it never technically ended—another one would always begin, and Elexus began to fear his whole life would consist of him sitting idly in trenches waiting for signals to rush out and hack black men to pieces. If it weren’t black men, it were char-skinned Daemonals, who might as well have been compared to the Noiters in Noïretté, Noiters being the offensive term for them, the term the Slalomenians used when blazing the hell out of them.

Elexus had grown to be quite the little fireplug. He had strengthened considerably and now wielded a two-handed broadsword with relative ease, shedding it for a lighter sword at his belt only when he absolutely needed to.
A booming noise thundered from the opening of a horn that commanded the Slalomenian armies. This was the signal to attack, and Elexus did not take it lightly—if he had—he would have been trampled with some of the other men in the first line that had already gone down. He raised his broadsword in the air and yelled as he ran, the whole while hoping not to be hit with any arrows—or more importantly, rocks. The Noïrettéans didn’t use arrows too much as there weren’t many trees in Noïretté—but there was a never ending supply of rocks, so they crafted slings and still used catapults while the rest of the world had moved onto cannons.
Elexus looked up into the sky to see thousands of fire tipped arrows sailing through the sky. Only recently had the Slalomenians discovered that you could put both a tip and a fire liquid soaked rag on an arrow. Fire liquid had been around forever, and there was lots of it in Noïretté—it was an extremely flammable liquid, which although very flammable, still burned slowly enough to not be dangerous to the side wielding it. Since cannons were now being commonly used, gunpowder was being put into bombs, which were used to take down walls, but seldom worked—as the technology was new. Most often, these bombs would explode prematurely, causing a threat to the people of their own nation. The Noïretté had taken gunpowder a step further and often planted metal disks into the sand that they filled with gunpowder and a flint. If these were stepped on, they would explode. The Noïretté used them because they were seemingly always being invaded, and they provided an excellent means of taking down their opposition, or at least weakening them enough to make the real fight easier. These disks were named mines, the Noïrettéan word that loosely translates into ‘boom-rock.’
Elexus picked up his pace, seeing that his line would soon pass the mine-dowser, a profession that nobody really wanted to do, but the takers received a lot of money. Mine dowsing was a skill that involved using a magnetic metal rod on the ground, which worked in giving information on where mines were. However, if the mines were buried too closely to the surface, the rod would often become too attracted and be pulled right onto the mine, causing it to explode.

Zedrelthus was jerked suddenly from his sleep. There was a loud noise outside, a screeching noise so loud it could raise the dead. He looked all around him to see that none of his party was present. A cold chill crept across his spine as if playing with him, and one by one the hairs on the back of his neck stood still. He reached to the side of his bed for his pistols—they weren’t there. It was then that he heard the sniveling breathing—that dreaded, raspy and inconsistent breathing that he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Pig on the Wing

20th March 2004, 04:13 AM

Thank you for advertising, or I might never have found this fic. It's very good - all seven entries.
Elexus is my favourite character so far, damn them all for kicking him out :mad:
At the moment Dett is my worst character, I hate him so much.
The daemonals were very cool as well though.

Farewell.

EDIT: Daemonals not demons

Tainted

20th March 2004, 11:38 AM

Replies are appreciated. Lots of work over the march break-- and I mean work as in hanging out with friends, jamming with my band etc...

You like Elexus and dislike Dett? Heh. I like all my characters, but currently my favorite to write with is Dett, he's just got the most personality developed in my eyes so far.
Remember, Daemonals, not Demons-- heh, Demons may appear later in the story if I choose to throw them in.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

Tainted

1st April 2004, 06:33 AM

Sorry for the lack of updates, writing's been harsh.

---

Entry Eight
Dig the grave ahead of time
Inevitabilities never came
Fresh bodies curse so sublime
Inevitabilities aren’t always the same

It was Landon Bridges, the priest, his shoulder freshly pierced by the fangs of a Sarakian intruder. Zedrelthus could now hear people screaming outside, he feared the worst. He leapt forth and brought a strong closed right fist onto the back of the Sarakian’s skull, watching as it fell to the floor limply. Zed’s eyes scanned Landon, he didn’t look too well, but he was alive, which was what mattered to Zedrelthus most.
“What the hell is going on, here?” Zedrelthus asked, a little outraged. A burning javelin made it’s way through one of the windows in the room. Zedrelthus hit the ground and brought Landon down with him. That meant one thing; Sarakians were invading with weapons, and in mass numbers.
“Sarakians” Landon stammered and struggled to speak “Sarakian got me, with his tail.”
“Injected venom into you?” Zedrelthus asked softly.
Landon nodded, and Zed cringed as he saw a milky white puss seep from Landon’s eyes. He felt his own eyes begin to water, but he paid no attention to them. He had two things to do now, protect Landon, and protect the town. How would he do both at once? He couldn’t, that was the thing. The room was beginning to set ablaze from that lone javelin. Did he dare take Landon outside into a possibly dangerous scenario? He didn’t have much choice, he would have to eventually, and he chose to do so before the fire got too out of hand.
He picked the wounded priest up and carried him over his shoulder to the burning world outside. The houses were in flames, fire was seemingly everywhere—Sarakians wielding javelins and long crudely made wooden poles with blades on either end. Their long scorpion-like tails that had not been present on Zen or Zin for a reason unknown to Zedrelthus, were being used to their full efficiency, stabbing and poisoning away at the poor little Eastings to cross their paths.

Zed found temporary refuge in an alleyway while he waited for a couple of Eastings, or even Dett, to help him out. He wondered how Raia was doing, and the kid especially—even how Dett was doing, although he figured the mercenary was doing all right.

* * *

The men that fought in Elexus’ regiment were being crushed by the Noïrettéan forces, who were cutting the Slalomen lines in half with mounted camel riders. The camel was not such a good animal for anything but hitting horses head on, it seemed, as horses were afraid of the big lumbering beasts. They jumped frantically away from the snorting beasts as riders fired arrows from in between the two large back-lumps that provided safety from incoming Slalomenian arrows.
Elexus charged forth, cleaving several legs of stationary camels in half—knocking the riders from their formerly safe mounts. Elexus’ breath stopped momentarily as an explosion blew forth from behind him. Some ******* hadn’t been watching the arrows being fired and was hit at an awkward angle, sending his body falling to a spot marked off for mines. The explosion blew Elexus forward, lifting him off of his feet and dumping him on his head a few yards ahead. He attempted to get up, but couldn’t move—he couldn’t feel himself breathing either, he felt dead, but as far as he knew, he was still alive. He could hear the battle raging on around him; he could hear his men being crushed by the opposition. Elexus felt like his insides had been ripped apart—he heard many familiar voices cry out in pain, but he could do nothing but lay in wait of his own countries’ loss. Eventually his mind just fell into a sleep, his tired body finally got some relaxation as he was mistaken for dead on the battlefield.

* * *

“Anyone alive?” a booming deep male voice called out across the battlefield littered with Slalomenian bodies. Elexus stood up and attempted to shout back, but he could not. Instead he waved his arms back and forth, searching for the voice. He eventually found where it was coming from—a large immensely built barbarian looking man. He immediately shuddered in disgust; there were two types of people in Slalomen, the barbarians who lived in the mountains in the northern parts, and the more civilized folk who lived in the southern half. Elexus was one of these civilized folk, and they despised the barbarians.
The barbarian saw Elexus, and he seemed to hold no grudge. They were both in a tough spot, and would need to live off of each other if they ever hoped of possibly surviving. As far as Elexus knew, that explosion had rendered him a mute, he sure hoped not. As the barbarian approached he saw that his left hand had been lost in battle, the wound was freshly wrapped and appeared to be healing well. In his right hand he carried a single-handed iron axe, either that or very dull steel. His head was clean-shaven and his face was painted with red and blue war paint. It was then that Elexus noted that the Sinerik had closely resembled the barbarians; only the Sinerik had tattoos on their faces and arms, and not paint.
“Andrakkt” he spoke suddenly, holding out his only hand.
Elexus tried to say his own name, but he could not. Andrakkt seemed to understand.
“Boom rock do like that” his deep voice boomed.
All Elexus could do was nod.
“We make pact—see? We pact, live one as, work lives.”
Elexus nodded again.
“Where safety be? Know?” the barbarian seemingly spoke as if he was retarded, but he clearly was not.
Elexus took a second to get his bearings, and when he did he had decided to lie. Instead of pointing in the direction of Slalomen, he decided to point in the direction of Stronghelm, that Easting village that him and the rest of his former party had taken residence in.
“Be sure?” Andrakkt asked.
Elexus nodded again, and continued on the way to Stronghelm, his eyes searching the ground for two single-handed swords in decent shape. He found two fairly close together that were about the same weight and size, so he sheathed them, both across his back, and continued on his journey.

* * *

Landon was losing control of his breathing and Zedrelthus had resulted to manually pumping his chest up and down with his hands, to make sure that Landon’s breath did not stutter to the point where he could no longer breathe properly. It appeared that those Sarakian stings were quite painful, as Landon’s eyes continued to puss. Zed remembered something about powerful snakebites, and that was to keep them on their belly so they don’t swallow their own tongue. He then pondered about how well Landon would breathe on his gut, but regardless, he made the decision and rolled the priest over onto his stomach.
Zedrelthus was angry, angry because his party was spread out to god knows where, angry at the thought of them being in any pain, angry because he couldn’t do anything other than look after Landon—but most angry because the Sarakians had taken his lucky spear.
He sat in that alleyway, noticing that he had changed a bit since he first left on his journey. Zedrelthus still had that trademark stubble and pair of ice blue eyes—but his clothing had been changed to suit the winter when they traveled north. He still wore black work-pants, but his black leather boots had been traded in for much more winter faring boots, crafted for him by Eastings. He now wore a long-sleeved black shirt instead of his old sleeveless one. Now, to accompany his shirt, he wore black leather gloves, that helped keep his hands warm.
His mind slipped even further into thoughts as he began to recall the iceman, a word now appearing in his head to match the description. Xhell. He was the true warrior of the black, the leader of the demonic scourges of Daemonals, the bringer of death. Zedrelthus pondered this for a moment—taking into consideration that he was supposedly the opposite of Xhell, did this mean he was a bringer of life, or would bringer be reversed to taker—making him a taker of lives?
Then he wondered even more about how bringing death and taking lives is the same thing, and if that was his supposed “job”, then Xhell and himself couldn’t be that much different.

And then there he was—the iceman, he stood next to Zedrelthus and pointed his long jagged black sword at him, his eyes ever-burning with a black incandescence. He called out to him, reached out to him with his spare hand. Then he spoke. Xhell spoke long and dragged out, as if every letter was an inner agony for himself to speak “Zedrelthus” he spoke wickedly as his left hand was placed firmly onto Zed’s chest. Then, as if planned the whole time, he dispersed into thin air—leaving Zedrelthus alone with Landon in the cold foggy night.

Zedrelthus was jutted from sleep—it appeared he had been dreaming the whole time. Dett and Raia stood with him now, Raia was no longer holding the child, and apparently a Sarakian had taken it. She was weeping deeply, and holding Zed tightly to her—which he himself recognized as a little odd. Then it hit him sharply.
“We thought you were dead.” Dett said in a tone flat of emotion. “We had figured you’d suffered the same fate as Landon.”
Zed finally noticed that the Sarakian attack had been real, just his encounter with Xhell had not—or had it. He reached down his shirt to nurse a sore on his chest, only to realize that the skin appeared burnt. Rapidly, he unbuttoned his shirt in front of the others, watching as they all stared in horror at the large black handprint on his chest.
Dett cursed under his breath and spoke “We need to leave, the north exit should be fairly safe, as the Sarakians are mostly in the southern parts of town now. Then, we can head further north to Polaeus’ tower—to retrieve the wench.”
Zedrelthus narrowed his eyes on Dett, but instead of replying, he eyed a steel sword on the ground beside him. It must have been thrown there, or placed there in the time he had been asleep. It was made quite well, for a common sword, but it had the odd design of the swords in the east—it had no hilt. It had a handle to grip onto, obviously, but there was no cross to prevent the chopping of your hands from your opponents. To Zed, that mattered not, he was quick to pick up the sword—which was a little larger than his old one, but weighed less—and sheath it. Then, he noticed, at the base of the handle there was an engraving of the Easting letter for Z. He considered that maybe it wasn’t so much stealing as accepting a gift, now. Regardless, Dett lead the way, Zedrelthus carrying Landon and Raia holding no baby for once—were close behind.

* * *

Elexus sighed deeply—he hated venison, deer meat, he hated it with a passion because that’s all he used to eat as a child. He had grown fond of sheep and had wondered why, with all the vast amounts of sheep around, they had not eaten a single one.
Elexus eyed a sheep that was walking rather close to the two of them, he stood up and drew his sword, walking over to cut the beast’s throat.
“No!” Andrakkt boomed. “Sheep fetish animal. Andrakkt kill himself before kill other sheep, if Andrakkt see human kill sheep, I kill the human!”
Elexus made some motions with his hands, signaling to Andrakkt that he wanted to know how far away they were from Slalomen.
“Hmm” he thought aloud “Andrakkt know we closer than before, maybe two days walking and we will be at destination.”
A word like destination seemed quite funny to Elexus coming out of the mouth of the large brutish barbarian. He dared not laugh though, as Andrakkt was always so serious, and he feared his own head being cut short from his shoulders if he ruined the mood of the moment.

* * *

“It’ll take us three and a half days at the least to get to this tower, we’re carrying Landon, on foot, and the path gets fairly rocky the farther north we travel—we might hit some bad weather too, as it’s nearing that season here.” Zedrelthus noted to everyone, moods seemed distraught.
Dett still looked compassionate, determined to get to the tower. Raia looked crushed, as if someone had cut off her legs and made her watch herself die. Landon, well, puss-eyed, skin beginning to split in random welts—he looked like death, and Zedrelthus was beginning to fear if he was going to have to ‘put Landon down’ in a sense.

* * *

Elexus and Andrakkt had finally reached Stronghelm after two hard days of jogging across the terrain, Elexus found the city destroyed, and he worried for Zedrelthus. He was confident that they survived and headed to Polaeus’ tower—so that’s where he decided he would go next.
As he and Andrakkt searched for mounts he found Zedrelthus’ spear—a thing he would never leave behind. Elexus picked it up and placed it in a strap that fit onto his mail across his back. Andrakkt had figured out by now that they were not heading towards Slalomen.
Elexus could not even plead his case to Andrakkt, as he had no voice, but somehow he knew that Andrakkt understood where they were going.
“Tower of Polaeus, bad place—Andrakkt be there before—Andrakkt be in east before. Few go to east.”
Elexus nodded, acknowledging that Andrakkt wasn’t that bad of a guy, even for a barbarian. He didn’t speak English all that well, but if Elexus were to speak, he’d probably find his way of speaking funny.

Elexus rubbed his chin sharply, noticing that stubble was beginning to be much more present lately. He also noticed that he must have broken his nose during one of the many skirmishes he’d faced in a year of service, and not yet noticed it, as there was now a small bump near the top of his nose.
Then there was a small rustling sound, Elexus drew his sword and looked around quickly. What emerged from behind a small stack of rubble was a child; it was the child—the child that had been with Zedrelthus before. Elexus thought about it being left there, if they were still alive—maybe he weren’t supposed to take it to them, he figured he had to though, as it was only a child. Elexus took a few steps towards the baby and then picked him up.

Andrakkt had come back with two horses only to see there was a third member of their traveling—he figured not much of it, and just mounted the larger horse of the two.
“Polaeus tower to one day” Andrakkt said solemnly as he and Elexus rode off towards Zedrelthus and the rest of the party.

Pig on the Wing

2nd April 2004, 01:59 PM

Yay, another entry.

It isn't fair... so far every bad that could happen has happened to Elexus...
And poor Landon, that must have been rather nasty for him.

Andrakkt is quite a good character so far, and hopefully he'll see the end of the story alive.

Anyway, good 'chapter' and I'm looking forward to the next.

Tainted

2nd April 2004, 08:30 PM

Snorlax19 - I can guarantee you this already-- not many will see the end of this story alive.
This is the pick up point right here, from here on, action will become quite a bit more intense than what it's already been. Prepare yourself, buckle your seatbelts, because it's a downhill ride up ahead with many twists and unexpected turns planned.

mr_pikachu

3rd April 2004, 03:30 AM

So far I've been a closet reader, but I've decided to step out the door and reply.

This is actually quite good, and a rarity as well; you see very few original fictions on the boards. Your world seems interesting, and the characters are quite unique. The one thing so far that's gotten on my nerves was the killing of Ghet. Actually, it wasn't the killing itself, it was how it was done. For some reason, it just seemed very sudden. It was kinda out of the blue; I had never seen that side of Gett before then. Now, with the chaos that's going on, you have to wonder if Dett's turned toward the darkness and is feeding them information. But again, the killing seemed abrupt. Otherwise, this is a very strong fic. You've done an excellent job of creating this world, as well as the concepts within it. Good work. :yes:

P.S. Whatever happened to the "talking kitten"? Did the entity of light get hurt, or something? :o

Tainted

3rd April 2004, 05:55 AM

mr_pikachu - I'm very honored to have you come out of the closet for me, you know, it's tough to admit things sometimes-- but there's nothing wrong with you at all... really... ;)

My angle was that the killing of Ghet was supposed to be abrupt, so it wouldn't be expected-- but eh? What're you going to do? I love criticism in any form, so pile it on.
The "talking kitten" Sooz is just a guide, she's not a member of the party, she speaks only when it's absolutely necessary because for every word she says, her opposite can say one. So Zedrelthus is on the right task right now, not needing any guiding really, so she's been gone for a year or so.

The world, I've been tweaking to my liking since I wrote a story called Neverwest, which takes place in roughly the same place. I drew maps and such too, but lack the scanner. Some things about the world are a little odd, like north in the story is not actually the north of the world, as the landmass is in a Pangaea sort of thing-- like our world before the continents split.
The equator runs horizontally across the middle of the planet, but the middle of the planet is not the middle of the landmass, which is on a diagonal slant.
So, what they call north is really north-east.

Very hard to explain, but I've got time. If I had a scanner I'd put the map up.

What I find in most fantasy though, is their world is just a mishapen one of ours. Like, you throw a name like "Gadagoobloop" onto this country, and fill it full of "fair skinned slit-eyed people" when in reality, it's just asia... lol...
I didn't quite fit into that stereotype by including every type of human possible-- but I have included a few.

Anarika most resembles Scotland, as they wear kilts there-- in this world Anarika would be like Scotland with the power of the United States.

Cheekien is most like Canada, except with a little more warfare. They're very brotherly and such, but not as much as some other countries.

Noirette is blatantly obvious to be Africa, black people, poorly made weapons, lots of people, little clothing. I threw a good middle-eastern influence too, with the use of camels and such.

Slalomen would be like England, very civilized in a sense, but with hints of the middle-east thrown into it for the whole "chaotic" side of Slalomen. Also, enemies with Anarika or "Scotland."

Daemonal isn't really like anyplace, as it's just a bunch of barren wastelands with underground caves filled full of char-skinned demon-like creatures.

And that leaves Zelwig, not really resembling anything. Like a really, really watered down Canada. Like Canada full of mormons.

And that's it for the countries of the west. The east does not have countries, just colonies, which is odd because their technology is much greater and such. The farthermost eastern bits have no civilization, and is made up of black sands, and blackened rocks and such-- just a horrible barren place.

Well, that's a little history lesson, I suppose... enjoy it.

Tainted

3rd April 2004, 10:53 PM

Entry Nine
There she is, don’t let her go
She’s the one we’ve come to know
She’s the one we’re here to take
You’re the one we’re to unmake

“Polaeus was a chiefly man, a man made of chiefly stone. He squandered for years, past open lives, for many years to roam and roam. He saw the passion, saw desire, but soon gave up for the fire. The fire fueled him past his beginning; he began to think not but one thing. This was his life, after all, and he was left in the lands of maul.” Zedrelthus sang one night at a fire halfway to the tower of Polaeus.
“That was beautiful,” Raia told him sincerely.
“Hardly, I’m not much of a singer” Zedrelthus explained. “Supposedly this man is one of those torn apart people. His wife died while he was out adventuring once, he did that a lot, but she died of some strange disease. After she died he became an alchemist to try and find a cure for her sickness, to help others that fell into her same situation, but he didn’t find it. That’s when he became a magician, through many years of study, and he’s pretty much at his peak of power now, as he will soon die.”
“That’s sad” Raia replied once again. She always seemed to have a short input to add onto things, even if just to make sure everybody knew how she felt. Landon couldn’t hear anything, for all they knew he was dead; Raia had been feeding him food for the past days. Dett probably could care less of what she said, he seemed so blindly determined these last few days that Zedrelthus was beginning to grow a little worried for the mercenary.
“We’ll probably reach the tower by tomorrow night, but we’ll probably be quite tired—so I think it’s best we put up camp outside the tower, he wouldn’t ever leave now that he’s got Evalyn, even if it were to kill us. In the morning then we can get Evalyn back.” Zedrelthus made effort to strategize; he wasn’t too bad at doing it either.
Dett nodded with his approval, Raia seemed not interested in the talking, as her thoughts had drifted elsewhere—and Landon, once again, could do nothing but gurgle his own spit.

At this point, Elexus was literally right behind Zedrelthus, and would reach the tower on the morning that Zedrelthus would attack it, if all went right. The kid that Elexus had was babbling more than usual, still incoherent to adult ears, as he was still in that baby-clamoring phase. Elexus began to wonder what his first real word would be, and what significance that would have to everyone else.

* * *

They stared up at the spiraling dark tower, as it menacingly held its grip on every ounce of fear inside of them. They had to sleep beside this towering behemoth, so they had best get used to it, Zedrelthus thought. He looked up into the black clouds that surrounded it and wondered if it were mere coincidence, or if evil just spawned here. Then he began to think about Evalyn, trapped inside the tower with a strange old coot, and he began to ponder brainwashing—maybe she wouldn’t want to leave.
They set up camp and all tried to sleep. Dett seemingly didn’t care for sleep and instead he sat on a flat-faced rock and just stared at the tower for the whole night, at least as far as Zedrelthus could see before he fell asleep. Raia joined him in slumber shortly after, and Landon was always asleep.

* * *

“We keep ride, we get to tower by early” Andrakkt said, motioning to Elexus. Elexus looked at him squarely, and nodded for them to keep riding. He was getting close to Zedrelthus, so close he could feel that strong presence that he carried.
He looked in front of him and saw the child, he had fashioned a small little carrier for the kid that he placed in front of him on the horse. It looked fairly comfortable, and the kid didn’t seem to mind so Elexus kept with it. The kid didn’t seem to be sleeping and he was stirring restlessly. Elexus knew it wasn’t because of the carrier, but of something much, much more significant.

* * *

Dawn. The sun unwillingly rose slowly above the horizon as Zedrelthus and the others began to wake. Although the sun was present the land was still very dark, shadows reigning supreme in this part of the world. Zedrelthus stirred Dett from his distant stare and the two of them left Raia at the camp, so she would not be harmed, to climb the steps of the tower.

Before Zedrelthus could open the final door to the uppermost room in the tower, he was greeted with a feeble old voice, sounding full of death.
“Come to claim the wench, I see” he snickered cockily “try if you must.” The two large steel doors, studded wildly, swung open to reveal the old man in a room full to the brim with books of all sorts. Under a bright light there was a very large book. In the corner sat Evalyn, and she was everything Zedrelthus remember her as—that girl in the alleyway—that beautiful girl in the alleyway. She had changed very little since that encounter, still having that long raven black hair that shined with blue incandescence in the sunlight. Her eyes were an open oceanic-like blue, never-ending, so deep. Her black lips were caused by an odd choice of make-up—not a common choice for anyone, really, and this made Zedrelthus physically attracted to her even more. Evalyn’s skin was very fair, deathly pale, even—looking very soft to the touch. She looked like a crumpled doll sitting in the corner all alone; she needed help, and needed it desperately.

Zedrelthus drew the sword that had been crafted for his quickly, elegantly waving it in front of him a few times to get the feel of it. Dett too drew his own weapons, two single-handed steel swords sharpened to perfection that he wore in dual sheaths across his back.
“And you truly think mere swords will damage me, Zedrelthus? After your little lesson before, I would’ve thought that I’d have maybe jammed some sort of plan into that thick cranium of yours.” Polaeus mocked him.
With a sweeping motion of his left hand, Zedrelthus’ sword was knocked a couple yards away from him. He looked at the sword intensely, and then acutely flicked his wrist. Everybody in the room at that point, even Zedrelthus, was surprised greatly.
“Hah! You’ve been studying magic?” Polaeus laughed greatly.
Zedrelthus ran forth and hacked mightily at Polaeus, cutting him in half at the waste.
Zedrelthus muttered to himself “Studying is not my thing Polaeus, I’m au natural.”
He was shocked to find that the Polaeus that he had cut in half was no longer there, and somewhat surprised when he felt a forceful blow hit him squarely in the back. Zed was knocked to his knees, where he choked on his breath for a few moments. Polaeus closed in on him, and this gave Dett an opening. Dett sprinted forth and slashed at him twice, once with each sword. Polaeus blocked the swords with his forearms, appearing to take no pain at all, and proceeded to make contact with Dett—smashing him with both palms of his hands. A huge ripple of force blew threw the palms of his hands as he struck him, and Dett was propelled into the cobblestone wall behind him.
Dett stood up, wiping a collection of blood from his mouth. He cursed under his breath; the old guy had hit him hard. As far as he knew, nobody hit Dett hard. He collected himself, and as he did, the old man lost concentration on him.
Polaeus turned around to meet Zedrelthus. He raised both hands above his head, collecting his inner spirit, and then threw them downwards with all of his might. The air bended around the sheer power that exploded from Polaeus’ palms, and Zedrelthus never saw it coming. He tried desperately to leap out of the way, but was hit full on and sent careening into the cobblestone wall on the other side of the tower. An emotionless expression slipped over his face after he hit the wall, and his body fell limply to the ground.

Polaeus sharply hit Dett, knocking one of his swords from his grip. It slid to where Zedrelthus still lay, dead as far as everyone else knew. Polaeus cornered Dett; ready to finish him off the way he’d done Zedrelthus. He raised both of his hands up in the air and Dett tried to run, but couldn’t—he was frozen.
Just as Polaeus threw his hands down, Zedrelthus caught him. He tightly gripped his right hand around Polaeus’ left elbow, sending the blast of power off target—blowing a large hole in the tower. Zedrelthus forcefully slammed Polaeus to the wall, and with his other hand, he made an open hand. He slowly closed it and Polaeus felt his neck tighten a little. Zedrelthus then let go of his elbow and lifted him with his will by his neck to a large wooden cross. He closed in on Polaeus, drawing from his belt with his free hand one of his lucky daggers that he had nearly forgotten about—as he never used them, only in emergencies such as. As he reached the magician, he loosened his grip on his neck, taking his left elbow and holding it into place, proceeding to drive a dagger into his left hand. His left palm, source of half of his power, nailed to one side of a cross, but he hadn’t been through yet. Zedrelthus drew another dagger as he drove it through Polaeus’ right hand, crucifying him to the large wooden cross in his own tower.
Polaeus screamed in agony, noticing that he couldn’t hurt Zedrelthus no matter what he did. His eyes focused on the most vulnerable target in the room, the weak malnourished Evalyn, who couldn’t even stand right. Polaeus imploded his spirit, everything that could possibly make one more attempt at an attack. This time he used his mind, not his palms, the implosion hit Evalyn sharply. A loud wheeze was spat from her mouth, as she fell over sideways, dead. As this was done, Polaeus’ head fell limp to his chest: he was also dead from the sheer force of his exerted power. At the cost of killing Evalyn, he had destroyed his mind, and a body cannot function without a mind—his downfall. Even a man as smart as Polaeus can miss a few things that are essential to be taken into consideration.

* * *

Elexus didn’t even pay attention to the black spiraling tower in the distance, so he didn’t notice the large hole in it either. He did, however, spot Raia, who looked up at the tower with the freshly blown hole in it with a sense of horror.
Elexus jumped off of his mount and handed the kid to Raia, who looked pleased. She attempted to stop him from entering the tower, but he did without even hearing a word she said, Andrakkt hot on his tail the whole way.

As they climbed the steps Zedrelthus was hunched over Evalyn’s body, his now sweaty hair hanging down over his face, wet with the fill of a tough skirmish. He drew in a deep breath and placed both of his hands on her stomach. He himself wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but he still did. He slid her black silky shirt up to reveal her stomach and then placed his hands on it. Zed began breathing harder and harder, he felt his own heart soaring to heights he’d never even dreamed of it hitting before. It was becoming so intense that a few absent tears dropped from his eyes, falling down to Evalyn, who was partially under him now. Zedrelthus’ breathing began to reach impossible speeds. His hands now began to pump up and down on her stomach.
“Live.” He mumbled under his breath, keeping it to himself. He continued doing everything he had been since the beginning.
“Live.” He said at a normal voice, becoming frantic with the sheer power of his words.
“Live!” Zedrelthus cried out at the top of his lungs, and then collapsed to the floor backwards. His own palms were beginning to trickle blood that ran down his wrists before falling to make puddles around his hands.
Evalyn coughed loudly, nearly choking. Dett was appalled at what had happened before his eyes, resurrection; she had been deceased, and now was living again. Why did she deserve a second chance? He took up both of his swords, even the one that he had obtained from beside Zedrelthus’ now idle sword. He approached Zedrelthus slowly.
“I’m the predator, Zedrelthus—remember that. I feed on you when you can’t fight back. I’m the trickle of blood running down from your lips, I’m the maiden of death giving you a black kiss. Watch yourself, leader—this is your end, delivered by Dett—hired, former friend.”
His words ended sharply as a correctly thrown axe rippled through the air past Dett’s face. Andrakkt had thrown it, and in charged Elexus to save his former party leader.

Andrakkt ran to Evalyn, and the two of them ripped cloth from the sleeves of Zedrelthus’ shirt to make it sleeveless, like it had been when everything had started. They used the black, ripped cloth to wrap around his hands to stop the bleeding, tightly around each, wrapping it around his middle finger and to his wrist so it would stay on each hand. One long black end hung from each wrist, which didn’t look all too bad. Andrakkt pulled Zedrelthus into the corner, where he and Evalyn dared not interfere with Dett and Elexus. Andrakkt was a man of pride, and believed not in an unfair fight, so that’s what he did—watched.

“Zedrelthus! Wake up!” Sooz called to him.
“I can hear you Sooz” Zedrelthus spoke back “I just can’t do anything but hear.”
“I’ve figured out why magic never worked for you now! Fire, you couldn’t create. Water you had no luck with, the same with all the others—because you can’t use magic.”
“Why not?” Zed was a little shocked.
“Because you’re an adept void. Void is the magic of the light and dark, split into life and death. Xhell is the holder of the death half, which really, anyone can have—but you—you have a power that only gods can possess: giving and taking lives.”
“Isn’t taking lives the same as bringing death?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Not even close.”
“Explain.”
“You know I can’t, Zedrelthus—”
She was cut off by Zedrelthus, using a rather mocking tone of thought “Yes, yes, for every word you use, your counterpart is just gifted with words.”
“You’re something special Zedrelthus, much more than the lowlife scum I’d expected you to be.”
“Hey! Wait a—” but she was gone. There was no use fighting it, Zedrelthus had a gift, the gift may have somehow acted as a curse, as his hands were now sensitive unless wrapped—but still something that many people, even Xhell, would kill for.

Elexus and Dett exchanged parries and quick strikes, as they both wielded dual steel swords, both flying rapidly. It was a dead even match, Dett trained with the arts of an assassin, Elexus trained with the more military side of how to kill someone.
Dett cornered Elexus to the hole in the wall. The wind blew quickly, rippling through a draft that nearly sucked Elexus out of the tower. Dett charged in, flailing his swords above his head. He came down with both of them vertically, which Elexus met with his left sword, managing to parry them away. As he did this he sidestepped and held ground behind Dett, striking him as violently as he could with the blunt face of his right sword. Dett knocked forward with a forceful blow, falling out of the tower screaming curses on Elexus’ life the whole way. He swore that he’d come back to claim his head someday, to which Elexus doubted—no man could ever survive such a fall.

Elexus carried Evalyn down the many stairs with caution, and he did so slowly and Andrakkt carried Zedrelthus over his right shoulder. Eventually, they met up with Raia, where they told her everything that had happened in great detail. Where to next? Nobody had a clue.

Pig on the Wing

8th April 2004, 03:22 AM

Another good chapter.

Dett got what was coming to him, same as Polaeus.

And yes! Elexus is reunited with the remains of the party!

Anyway, looking forward to the next chapter.

Tainted

12th April 2004, 09:55 AM

I think a celebration is in order, I've hit 50 pages on word without stopping in disgust to start another story. Hell, maybe I'll come close to finishing this one.
I'm adding an "authors note" section at the bottom of each chapter, just so I can mock the hell out of you readers... yes... all one of you...

Entry Ten
Throw another log on the fire
Watch the flames whip up at the sky
You’ve got a thief, a scoundrel, a devious liar
But still a man that never may die

“Andrakkt” the barbarian said outstretching his only hand. Zedrelthus met it with his own hand. “Andrakkt with you now, okay? Tribe dead, Noïretté kill them.”
“Sorry to hear that, you can travel with us if you’d like” Zedrelthus told him.
“If Andrakkt with you, Andrakkt need change war-paint, Andrakkt cannot wear war-paint of old tribe if Andrakkt with new tribe.”

Raia brought him some water and he washed his face clean, scrubbing off the paint for what seemed like forever. It stayed on for a long time, it seemed.
“Color?” Andrakkt asked.
“What?” Zedrelthus returned a question.
“What color? Andrakkt need tribe color.”
Zedrelthus looked around at everyone else and grinned. “Black.”
Andrakkt nodded and gathered a few plants around him, mixing them together and grinding them up with a small wooden tool. After this was done he took a knife used for cutting meat and cut the wrist of his arm with no hand. He let the blood drip into the paint, turning it a deeper and deeper red until it was nearly black.
When he was satisfied with the coloration, he bound cloth around his wrist and motioned to everyone to come close to him. Evalyn had to put down a hunk of deer, which she was quite far into—she hadn’t eaten anything in a long time.
Andrakkt instructed deeply “Need blood from each one, prick right middle finger.”
They all followed, and let Andrakkt poke a small prick in each one of their middle fingers, each letting a trickle of blood drop into the paint. Andrakkt topped off the paint with more crushed plants and herbs, turning it a pure black color. It didn’t look to have the caked texture of blood anymore either. Andrakkt dipped his hand in the paint and began applying it to his face, making intricate patterns with two of his fingers. Sharp angled patterns outlined his jaw and cheeks, making him seem a lot more vicious than he already was. When he was done everybody stared in an absolute amazement.
“Welcome to the tribe, Andrakkt” Zedrelthus joked. Andrakkt took it quite seriously and kowtowed before Zedrelthus.
“Andrakkt serve you now, what is name?”
“Zedrelthus.”
Everyone was then introduced to everyone else, Evalyn filling herself with deer the whole time. She ate as if she’d never tasted food before in her life, and everyone felt quite sorry for her.

Zedrelthus was then hit with Sooz’ voice inside his head. “Capital of Anarika, address the king.”
Zed didn’t even need to reply to that one, he stood up and looked at everyone sharply. “Tomorrow we head to Anarika, does anyone know the way?”
“Andrakkt know way to everywhere” Andrakkt said calmly, looking up at Zedrelthus “Andrakkt know lands very well.”
“Excellent, Andrakkt—we’ll leave those horses you stole here and set on foot. Once we hit Zelwig we can purchase some horses and everything will pick up from there. We’ll have to travel through the mountains of Daemonal, though, which is unfortunate—but that’s a ways away from here now.” Zedrelthus was glad to see that something was finally working out.

As they reached the border to the west, Andrakkt’s wide range of herbal medication had completely cured Landon of all but one thing—blindness. The poisonous puss that his body secreted struck him blind, and the sun now hurt immensely if it shined upon his non-seeing eyes, which was beginning to draw Zedrelthus into thought. He wondered about something, how everyone in his party seemed to be losing some major thing. Elexus lost his voice, Landon lost his sight and had to bind his eyes, Zedrelthus now had to bind his hands because of their vulnerability—everyone just seemed to be growing more helpless, yet they became stronger.
Zedrelthus contemplated the idea of true strength coming only after a loss of importance hits you. Zedrelthus lost Ghet, and Dett—although crazy, was still missed, by Zed in particular. Zed noticed that his character was beginning to be shaped subconsciously, without him really having much affect on it—as he grew from a devious criminal and thief to a not-so devious criminal and leader of light.

As Zedrelthus reached the border to the west, he noticed it was heavily guarded. A blockade of Anarikan troops stood, looking out to east.
“What goes here?” Zedrelthus asked as he approached, his voice booming over the only other sound, the rustling of chain mail.
“Sarakians attacking Zelwig, we are here to prevent the infected from entering the civilizations of the west—the east is infected.”
Zedrelthus knew that the statement was not true, and most likely after the slaughter at Stronghelm; they had to look elsewhere for food. Zed then spotted a large encampment where tents had been pitched, trenches had been dug and impaling sticks had been erected.
“Does the prince of Anarika reside?” Zedrelthus asked coolly.
“Of course” one of the guards said “It is no secret that he resides among.”
“Is there any chance I could have a word with him? I have his sister with me” Zedrelthus mentioned, looking back to Raia.
“So you are Zedrelthus” he spoke warily “Many a tale goes on about you, the man made of stone—invincible, a man spawned of pure evil. Yet, some tell of you being incandescence in a period of black. Which is it, Zedrelthus?”
“I’d like the think the last, but neither truly describes me. The word I need with your prince concerns Anarika as a whole.”
“How so?” the guard asked inquisitively.
“I am not entirely certain myself,” Zedrelthus answered truthfully. The guard surprisingly did not check for identification, or witnesses—or anything at all. This surprised Zed quite a bit, as he was accustomed to Anarikan guards being a pain in the backside.

The guard led Zed to the largest of the tents, a large banner laced with gold trim reading words that Zedrelthus could not make out. The interior was designed eloquently, about as eloquent as a tent could get. On a stone elevation there was a large throne-styled chair, the back seeming to reach the heavens. On this chair sat a man roughly Zed’s age, maybe a bit younger. He had well kept black hair and a ghostly complexion, even whiter than Zed or Evalyn’s skin—and his cheekbones jutted out of his face acutely, and his jaw was angled precisely. He wore a black robe that covered his whole body save his face. He looked out to Zedrelthus and a mock-smile crossed his face, that smile reminded him too much of Evalyn, way too much.
“Brother of Raia, proper Prince of the throne of Anarika” Zedrelthus greeted with a bow.
“Ah, humbled Zedrelthus. A god in his own image” he spoke lucidly, each word seeming more and more ghastly. “What brings you to the blockade of Anarika?”
“Business is business, prince” Zedrelthus answered, not wanting to reveal the true reason he was there.
“Call me Zakkaith, Zedrelthus. Business of a god must be quite hard for mortal minds to comprehend, correct? Or are you simply not stating the truth?”
Zedrelthus was beginning to like the prince, he smiled “That’s for you to determine.”
“Cryptic. It figures.” Zakkaith threw up his hands mockingly “You and I are some of the most powerful men in the world right now, and we can’t have a straightforward conversation. My strength comes with the men I command, as my father is near death I rule his decisions Your strength comes in quite a different mood, you seem to bear the weight of the world upon your shoulders—yet you have that divine-godlike mood to you. It looks as if it doesn’t phase you one bit.”
“I’d like to think of it as that way.”
“You are indeed a modest man, Zedrelthus, but I am not.”
A grin slipped across Zed’s face. “What do you mean, Zakkaith?”
“I mean that I must bring death to you, how else will I ever be the true power in the world? If you are always around, I will always be second best, and that is a thing I am not too fond of.”
Zedrelthus was a little confused at the quick change of mood.
“I am the most highly trained duelist in all of Lannia, you may be quick with a sword, but I am even quicker with a saber.”
Zedrelthus nodded. “Then so be it.” He sensed a victory ahead of him, he was technically a god and nobody could slay gods. At this point in time, he thought incorrectly, for gods can be slain just as easily as humans—and Zedrelthus was a god by mortal eyes, but he was not near a god to true godly eyes.

Zakkaith met his opponent outside, still wearing his robe. Zedrelthus stood waiting, the rest of his party had now met up with him. Evalyn eyed Zakkaith quite a bit, as if there was something intriguing about him. Landon was still becoming accustomed to his blindness, so Raia guided his every step. Andrakkt stood near the back of the part with Elexus, who stared at his idol, Zedrelthus, a man who Elexus wished he could grow up to be even half as great as.

Zakkaith let his robe slide down to his ankles, revealing a chiseled bare chest of which bared not a single hair, not common among Anarikan males. His skin was almost gray, seeming as if all pigments had been sucked from it. He wore a pair of black pants underneath that were tied at the waist with an elegant golden cord, with this he wore black boots that nearly reached his knees—which was fashion of only the most royal of Anarika, as most others wore kilts. Kilts must have just been introduced into the army as before kilts were only fashion for commoners. Now, instead of red pants, soldiers wore red, yellow and green tartan.
Zedrelthus drew his own sword and faced Zakkaith.

Zakkaith took one sharp step forward and sliced his sword horizontally. Zedrelthus stuck out his sword to block the strike, but was surprised to see that his sword was cleaved in half.
“Sabers, Zedrelthus” Zakkaith spoke in a tone vivid of mocking “Lightweight, and sharp—not to be fooled around with.”
“I’m a man of tradition” Zedrelthus informed “A saber just wouldn’t be right for me. Plus, the blade is much too weak, for it may have cut through mine, but now it looks as if it could break at any second. Definitely a weapon for show.”
Zedrelthus dropped the sword that had been crafted for him by the Eastings, he was a little disappointed, but he knew he would find something else. He lunged forth, avoiding a vertical slash of Zakkaith’s saber that would’ve proven fatal. Zakkaith groaned as Zed met him with an elbow to the gut, dropping his sword, he tried to retaliate, but it was no use. Zedrelthus was much more trained in fighting unarmed as opposed to using a sword, or anything else for that matter. He bobbed left and right, throwing jabs and hooks and throwing Zakkaith off-guard many times. Zakkaith attempted to throw a right under Zedrelthus’ chin, but Zed cleverly spun, jamming his left knee up into Zakkaith’s chest.
Zakkaith crumbled to the ground, winded, and clutching his chest with both of his hands. Zedrelthus turned around and picked up the discarded saber that Zakkaith had unfortunately let go of. He lifted this up to his shoulder and approached Zakkaith, who looked up at him in awe.
“Kill me.” Zakkaith spoke harsh words.
“There’s no need to kill you, Raia would only be angered with me anyway. I was simply giving this saber back to you.”
“You are a man of no honor, I deserve death.” Zakkaith insisted.

Zedrelthus figured he’d give the man some time to think, he dropped the saber beside Zakkaith and walked to join the rest of his party. He saw that everyone stood there except for Andrakkt.
“Where did Andrakkt go to?” Zedrelthus asked inquisitively.
“Two men from his old tribe came to greet him, they were talking to him behind that tent over there” Raia motioned to a tent nearly as large as Zakkaith’s.
Zedrelthus nodded and motioned for Elexus to go with him. Landon stayed with Evalyn and conversed with her, while Raia went to greet her brother.

“Raia, you must leave Zedrelthus” he came out quickly, cutting all of the small talk away from the conversation. “Our Caravan leaves soon back to Anarika, you must come to take ascension of the throne with myself.”
The throne in Anarika did not work as it did in many other places. The king and queen both had separate partners who were nobles, but not royal blooded. The king and queen were brother and sister—and obviously not married. The king then produced two offspring with his betrothed, a noble of his choice, the eldest to be male and the youngest to be female. If the results did not work out as planned, the child was killed and it was attempted again until the proper end results were intact. Both of these children would become king and queen of Anarika, siblings. The throne worked this way because the beginning Anarikans were not too fond of incest to keep the family alive and on the throne—they thought it to lead to mental retardation, as was seen in a few rulers of Cheekien.
“I cannot leave Zedrelthus, brother” Raia spoke regally “for we are party members, and we cannot be broken up—save you want a world flourished of chaos.”
“Has he poisoned your mind, child?” Zakkaith asked rhetorically “he is no man accustomed to be in your presence.”
“I will not leave him, brother, end of story.” She finished snob-like, looking down her nose at him, spinning elegantly, and then walking off to meet up with Evalyn and Landon.

Landon looked as if Evalyn were the devil, he made claims about her soul being impure, she not being human and such, but Raia who was secretly distressed about her brother ignored all said and done. She hated fighting, any form of it, but she knew it had to be done sometimes. Listening to Landon preach did sort of clear her mind, but she shut him up and began talking “girl talk” with Evalyn, who seemed to be not so much the type to enjoy giddy laughter with another female.
Zakkaith walked over to Raia humbly, he had no guards on his back this time.
“I’m coming with you to Anarika, leaving my Caravan and the safety of my countrymen. I want you to be safe, with me in your party, I can keep watch on you to make sure he does nothing to taint your blood.”
“I assure you brother, he is not of that sort” Raia began “But I’m sure he will welcome you with open arms into our humblest of parties.”
Landon motioned to Raia “Don’t you think our party is getting rather large?”
Before Raia could answer a loud outcry was heard, it was Andrakkt. They all in unison rushed behind the second largest tent as quickly as their legs could carry them. When they saw what was going about, they stared in a seeming admiration, jaws agape, but still able to do nothing to help his cause. A trickle of blood dripped from his neck absently wandering, making its way down to meet his chest.

A Tainted Note: This note brought to you by the letter Zed!
So, we've got a problem. Zakkaith-- filled with a secret jealousy for Zedrelthus decides to tag along. Do we have another Dett in the making? A strange mark is "seen" on Evalyn's left palm, something about Raia that doesn't involve hair gel on Zed's ear, Booreminicus, Thorke, Noxarious, Samuel Cheeks-- who are these people? And what do they have to do with the upcoming events?
Plus-- Anarika is thrown into war, but with whom?

All this and much, much more in the upcoming entry of Zedrelthus!

Pig on the Wing

12th April 2004, 03:27 PM

Tainted

12th April 2004, 04:17 PM

I must know! Who are the people! Damn you Skullfire!

Hair gel? Zed? How odd...

Anyway, good chapter. Good to know that Landon got almost fully cured, but you just had to get Andrakkt killed, didn't you? :mad2:

I reckon Anarika goes to war with, *drum roll* Sarakians. Who ever would've guesed I'd say that?
You succeded in mocking me too. I must know the 'tainted note' was all about!

To the whole hair gel thing.
Something About Raia=Something About Mary
Popular scene in the movie involves her coming to the door, and he has, well, *ahem* on his ear and she goes "Oooh, is that hair gel? I could use some" and puts it in her hair...
Yeah.

The Tainted Note is there to build even more suspense than the writing itself does. Sarakians? Off by a tad, Entry 11 is almost done-- and because of the holidays, I think I'll put it up a week ahead of time instead of making the one reader wait until saturday.

One more thing: Who said anything about Andrakkt being dead? *grin*

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

Tainted

13th April 2004, 07:31 PM

I personally like the four line poem for this chapter... I don't know why, I just do...

Entry Eleven
A king of no throne, a warrior of the mountains
A queen seldom known, a preacher of blind fountains
A mute warrior of fights, a girl whose soul is gone
Lastly, the leader of light, they are seven strong

Andrakkt looked up to the two barbarians who stood three inches taller than his already immense height. A trickle of blood ran down his neck from the larger of the two, he had placed his large sword, of which he only wielded with one hand, up to his neck. The sheer sharpness of the steel sword had turned the attack from intimidation to something more.
“Where colors go, Andrakkt?” the larger of the two asked mockingly.
“Galvanic! He no longer blue, but black, what is he?” the smaller of the two seemingly giant barbarians asked. He called the leader of the two of them Galvanic, a common name for barbarians.
“I leave your tribe, you all dead Andrakkt thought” Andrakkt told the two of them; he appeared to not be too keen on fighting. “Know I am, you here to take Andrakkt life for abandon tribe.”
The smaller of the two grinned. “You right.”
Andrakkt crossed his right arm to his left leg and in an instant pulled a sharpened axe from a sheath-like object, striking the nameless barbarian in the chest. “Andrakkt not give up with no fight.” The nameless barbarian remained emotionless as his body fell to the ground limp, obviously dead.
Galvanic’s sword glistened as he struck out at Andrakkt, who parried his strong blows. Elexus and Zedrelthus watched on, as did the rest of the party—as they all knew better than to interfere and make the fight unfair. Zedrelthus knew himself that if he joined in, he would have to avoid two barbarians swinging at him, both trying to even out the fight.

Galvanic horizontally slashed at Andrakkt’s knees, attempting to bring him down. Andrakkt leapt higher than Zedrelthus had ever seen anyone leap before—it may have just been because of his height, but regardless, it was high. When he leapt he brought his arm back, axe in his only hand, and he threw the axe at a blinding speed. The velocity of the throw was so high that the axe could not been seen until it was lodged into Galvanic’s skull. Galvanic dropped his sword and fell backward, shattering the ground with a booming crash as his back made contact with the hardened soil.
Andrakkt was breathing heavily, the fight must’ve paid a heavy toll on him. He had just laid waste to two of his former tribe-mates, both of which ranked higher than him. That would’ve been shameful, if he were not solely protecting his own life.
Andrakkt took up the mighty sword that Galvanic had wielded. It was a claymore styled sword, long, sharp, built strong. It appeared to be laced with that black metal that was popular for armor, but would not work as a sword. This would make it strong, and nearly entirely immune to breaking. Carved onto the blade were three letters, reading down towards the hilt: TYR.
“Tear” Andrakkt boomed. He must have been pronouncing the three-letter word. “For Zedrelthus.”
As soon as Zedrelthus put both of his hands on the sword, it glowed brightly and then went dim again.
“Tyr” Andrakkt began “Barbarian for ‘God Slayer’”
Zedrelthus sheathed the massive sword, that wasn’t heavy at all to him, on his back, hoping in secrecy that it would last him longer than his former weapons.

* * *

Landon shrieked in horror and covered his bound eyes with both of his hands.
“That girl!” he cried out “Evalyn! Her left palm burns of incandescence!”
Evalyn looked a little shocked, but she turned both of her hands over, fingers slightly curled in a resting state. She peered at her left hand, only to see a light red symbol looking similar to the Anarikan character for A.
“A birthmark” she spoke quietly “I’ve had it since I was but a child.”
Zakkaith’s mouth fell open and he stared, everyone stood in a circle around the hand. It did not glow of incandescence, but it did to Landon, and it burned the nerves in his eyes that were so sensitive, he could no longer see with them.
Zakkaith reached his right palm into the middle of the group and opened it slowly, showing that he too had the mark on his palm.
“The crown of Anarika” Zakkaith said “It’s what we were branded with when we were born, to tell the true prince and princess of Anarika.”
Raia looked shocked. She held out her hand, and she had the mark too, but it was on her right hand.
“I’ve always pondered of such” Zakkaith began “They are supposed to be on left and right, because the king sits left of the queen and the markings are supposed to be next to each other.”
“That means…” Raia was nearly speechless she couldn’t go on.
“You have been an imposter since birth, Evalyn here was most likely stolen and switched for another baby. This explains a lot, we look alike—you don’t even have the trademark black hair that the rest of our family has—your hair is nearly white.” Zakkaith pointed out.
Raia twiddled her straight blonde hair in her fingers, worried about her descent of rank. In reality, she wasn’t that crushed by it, mainly because she had never been that fond of responsibility, she was more worried of having to be treated as a commoner.
“We treat you as a commoner anyway” Evalyn insisted “You don’t see us using formalities now, why would we think any less of you? I don’t expect formalities to be said about myself, either. In fact, it’s more of an ambiguous label, it won’t hold much weight on me.”
Raia nodded and stepped back “The true princess of Anarika.”

* * *

Just when Zedrelthus thought that the string of events had come to an end, a messenger greeted Zakkaith and told him of pressing news.
“The king and queen of Anarika had been stricken dead, you and the princess must travel to Anarika to take the throne.”
“Who has done such a thing?” Zakkaith demanded.
“Cheekien assassins, they send word from Samuel Cheeks—the king of Cheekien.”
“Why would Cheekien attack? We’re allies!” Zakkaith was outraged.

“Zedrelthus, Samuel Cheeks is the last member of Xhell’s party. You have to go to Anarika, have Evalyn ascend the throne. Before you get there, be prepared for a war, the assassination of the king and queen was an attempt to throw you off guard and make you charge west un-protected. A whole Daemonal army comes for you, lead by Booreminicus and Thorke, Raia and Elexus’ opposition. Prepare them.” Sooz hadn’t spoke to him in a while; it took him a bit to register the words. When he had, he stopped Zakkaith.
“The Daemonal are going to be attack this spot, you need to gather all of your men on this border and prepare them for war. We will fight our way past the Daemonal forces and into Anarika, where you and Evalyn can ascend the throne.”
“Evalyn?” the messenger asked.
Zakkaith answered, “The true princess of Anarika.”

Zedrelthus approached both Raia and Elexus who coincidentally enough were together conversing in the subtle way that Elexus had learned to talk-- using his hands.
“You two are—” Zedrelthus was cut off.
“Evalyn told us” Raia began “It’s our turn, Ghet and Dett have had theirs. I’m a little worried” Raia continued “To say the least, I don’t want my fate to lead the way of Ghet and Dett.”
“I can’t promise that it won’t” Zedrelthus answered. “To tell you the truth, if that does happen, it won’t matter—as your sole purpose for being born was to lead out this quest, win or lose, we will continue with or without you.”
Elexus stared at him, cold eyes glaring up at his hero.
“The truth does hurt” Raia spoke emotionlessly “But I am glad you have not buttered it up for me.”
“I would do no such thing” Zedrelthus assured him “Ever.”
“Thorke, who is this? And who is Booreminicus?” Raia asked.
“Thorke is a giant, massive twelve foot tall giant, supposedly a mutated human. Booreminicus is a Daemonal warlord, one of the strongest Daemonals to ever walk the earth.”
“Then how does a fragile girl such as myself get stuck with a warlord?” Raia questioned.
“Fate?” Zedrelthus wasn’t even sure of his answer “Bad luck, perhaps. But remember, you may not kill him directly, for if your thinking leads to his death—it will still count as a point for you.”
Raia smiled at Zed’s approach to the question. Elexus knew that this was his time to shine; he had to show everyone that he could accomplish his goal, and not go insane as Dett had. He was determined, but unlike Dett and Ghet, he had no time to train for the upcoming event, as it was taking place in the next day or so.

* * *

Zakkaith had assembled his armies and he rode in the saddle of a white horse that wore battle armor. Zakkaith also wore armor, but in the form of a steel breast plate and a steel helmet with a visor. He wore an elegant red cape that flowed behind him and bore the golden A of Anarika on the back.
Andrakkt was completely encased in armor, and looked like a giant compared to the generally skinny Anarikan males suited in mail. Andrakkt’s armor was a little dirty, but it mattered not to him, who wore the steel for the function and not the look. He had been gifted with a large two-handed stone war hammer that was presented to him by Zakkaith for his grief concerning the death of Galvanic.
Elexus wore his shirt of mail, but now instead of a blue and silver banner draped over his chest, he wore a red and gold one—which he just didn’t feel comfortable wearing, but did so anyway. He wielded dual swords and had them both drawn and glistening in the sun that was only beginning to set.
Landon and Evalyn lurked back at the camp along with the people that worked for Anarika, the cooks and such of which did not partake in the fighting. Landon and Evalyn saw no point to being killed, so they did not even attempt to war alongside the rest of their party.
Raia rode on a horse as well, as she would have been much too short to run among the men. She wore very light armor that basically was only there to conceal the fact that she was a woman. Raia’s helmet felt very uncomfortable to her because she had all of her hair piled in the back of it, as another protective measure to hide her sex. She also wore a red cape, as did all Anarikan Calvary—of which there was very few. They were also the only Anarikan soldiers to wear kilts, aside from Zedrelthus, Andrakkt and Elexus—the only foot soldiers without uniform.
Zedrelthus wore a steel chest plate along with steel legs covering his thighs. Underneath both pieces of armor he wore chain mail to protect his calves and his arms. His helmet was a spectacle to behold, coming to an edge that ran up to his nose, spreading apart into a horizontal strip for him to see out of. The helmet was crafted with such care that Zedrelthus almost felt wrong using it—as he knew himself it would be destroyed for sure by the end of the battle.

All the waiting endured was shattered with the loud and consistent war drums booming across the landscape. At first they were but a whisper in the ears of the men that stood ready for war, injecting fear further underneath their skin as the drums began to boom louder and louder as the army marched closer.
Zakkaith could see the frontlines of the army in the distance, and they could see his warriors assembled. In front of the Daemonals rode a man on a black war-hound, which was just a creature that lived in the mountains of Daemonal. It was like a wild dog, except about the size of a bear, and as fast as, if not faster, than a horse. It was encased in armor, as were the rest of them that were ridden by Daemonals.
The lead Daemonal was Booreminicus; his black flesh seemed more packed on him than the others, as there were less bits hanging from his bones. Like all Daemonals, he had the characteristic “no-nose”, just the two triangular-like holes that would be present if a human were to have no nose. It was at this point that Zedrelthus realized they were just mutated humans, nocturnal mutated humans that lived in caves, but still resembling a human.
A large hulking figure plodded erratically beside the leader of the Daemonal. This was Thorke, the hulking giant. He was completely encased in black armor, making him about as strong as an elephant made of pure steel. Nothing could be seen about what he really looked like, but his armor was crafted acutely, the helmet of the armor bearing two large tusks.

Zakkaith rode his horse in front of everybody else’s, raising his sword up in the air; he waited for his men to fall deathly silent. When they did all that could be heard was the chattering of the Daemonals, seeming like ghouls whispering in the winds. That, and the still ever-beating war drums chipped away at every human soul present, even Zed got goose bumps.
When the Daemonals and Anarikans stood one hundred yards apart, the drums stopped. There was an extended silence while the two armies stared at each other—eyeing each man down.
Zakkaith and Booreminicus simultaneously rose up their swords and bellowed deeply. Each one of the Anarikan soldiers in the front-most line fired off one shot from their rifles and then charged to eliminate in close quarters all that they had missed.

Andrakkt smashed through Daemonals left and right, knocking them to the ground with his large hammer, where they were either trampled over and killed, or smashed with the hammer again until they died.
Zedrelthus leapt to his side and jammed his sword into the side of a lumbering Daemonal, drawing it out and cutting the throat of another beast that stood near him. He, along with the others, fought through the massed of Daemonal until he saw his mark: Booreminicus.

The warriors on either side had begun to spread out more evenly as most had been killed in the first charge. The Anarikans fought strong and hard, and were advancing on the Daemonal quite nicely, but were tiring quickly. Thorke was what the Anarikans truly feared, for he smashed through their forces unstoppably. A few arrows jutted out of his sides, but he still continued attacking forward, plowing Anarikans left and right.
Elexus saw only one way to bring down the giant, he fought he was behind it, slaying several Daemonals and trying his best not to be seen. When he was behind Thorke, he pulled his sword across his body and carefully slashed at the back of Thorke’s bare leg—it appeared they hadn’t bothered armoring the back of his legs. Elexus’ slash had cut a tendon in the beast’s left leg.
Moving with haste, Elexus cut in the same spot on Thorke’s other leg. The giant fell to it’s knees, crushing it’s own team as it fell. It also crushed a few Anarikan soldiers, but most that died under his immense mass were Daemonals. Elexus raised his sword in victory, noticing that the giant could not get up, although it was not dead, it wasn’t going anywhere. Anarika soldiers hacked at the back of his legs with brutality, cutting chunks of flesh from the beast, leaving his legs bleeding too much blood to leave the giant conscious. Thorke let out one deformed, strangled cry as he left the world of the living, a gasping, strangled cry that would sound off forever in the eardrums of Elexus, for that was the sound of him achieving what he was birthed to do.

A Tainted Note: This note brought to you by the letter Zed, again!
Okay, Zed's got this big sword now, Tyr-- a gift from Andrakkt, seems like a nice thing. Andrakkt is an unstoppable machine, which can't exactly be said about Thorke, who died at the hands of Elexus. What misfortunates await Elexus? Will he fall like Ghet and Dett have done before him?
Lastly, what effort does Raia play in against Booreminicus? She has to be the most fragile of people and she has to kill a warlord-- how did that work out anyway?
Two colors: Silver and Blue-- a big factor in what's going to happen in Entry Twelve, try and figure that one out, it's fairly simple when you think about it.
Ahh, maybe it's not that simple... Here's your second hint:

To Over, Under-- Rather Nothing At Most, Even Nothing Thoroughly.

What'll happen next? Only you can find out, the next entry of Zedrelthus awaits!

Pig on the Wing

20th April 2004, 03:53 PM

Hmm...

Good chapter as usual, but I thought Elexus couldn't speak. Yet he spoke during the chapter - how is this???

Anyway, nice chapter.

Tainted

20th April 2004, 05:23 PM

Hmm...

Good chapter as usual, but I thought Elexus couldn't speak. Yet he spoke during the chapter - how is this???

Anyway, nice chapter.

Bah, it's better Elexus than writing "Dett said" ... lol, I wrote a lot of that at night, it was probably just a typo...

Tainted

19th June 2004, 10:09 AM

So what if the contest is just an idea to get readers-- it may be profitable for myself. Before I start I'd like to comment on the possibility of certain character's (ie. quotation marks) turning into odd looking characters while you're reading. If this ever happens, just click view on your Internet Explorer toolbar and scroll down to Encoding, select Unicode and you'll be ready to go. Don't do this unless you have a problem with the chapters, though.

The A Tainted Note section, basically just an author's chance to talk to his readers, will only be included when I feel like it. Some chapters will have it, some won't. Here's the contest.

Have the chance to appear in an upcoming chapter of Zedrelthus... design your own character fit to the world of Lannia and submit it to myself through PM... The best character as I see it will make an appearance in the upcoming Entry XIV or Entry XV of Zedrelthus

Characters will be critiqued on the following things:
-Appearance (does it fit the timeline?)
-Personality (are they interesting?)
-History (was their background full and complete?)
-Originality (the idea of a lone swordsman is overused)
-Overall Appearance (do I like them in general? Are they interesting?)

Fill out the following form and submit it to me through PM. I will judge the winner in a couple of weeks and post the form of the character that won, then you can see your character (if you won) in that upcoming chapter of Zedrelthus. Here's the kicker-- if I like your character enough, I may choose to keep them as a full-time cast member as opposed to a cameo.

Name: What's your characters name? (try fantasy-esque for good marks here)
Age: Make your age appropriate to how you look, no ten year olds with beards, no heavily muscled sixteen year olds, etc.
Gender: Male or female-- maybe unspecified if you make something weird.
Alliance: Good or evil? Against Zedrelthus or with him? Neutral?
Occupation: Whatever your character does, they may not have one.
Appearance: What do you look like? Try to stay fit to the fantasy theme.
Personality: Are you interesting? Weird? The Loner type?
History: What has your character done before this point in time? Think big.
Inventory: What does you character carry on them, lucky knife, spear, food, maybe nothing.
Relations: Any relation to any of the characters in this book?
Other: Anything else here you want to include?

Alright-- I'm telling you right now-- the ones that are going to win are going to be the unique ones. Think really creative, werewolves, sandmen, monsters, lost tribal-men, mercenaries, giants, trolls, flesh-eating beasts, etc... The world of creativity is open for you. One thing I do request though, no elves or dwarves as they aren't in my story. We have Sarakians-- which, I suppose is sort of like a nocturnal dark elf with a scorpions tail and a craving for flesh. Dwarves? Well, we've got "short people" called Eastings. That's about as close as you'll get to either.

Well, that's about it for the contest, think big and show me your creativity to go far in this contest-- you've got a few weeks, use them well.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

Tainted

19th June 2004, 10:11 AM

Entry I
Broken wizard meet eye to eye
Twisted wizard full of lies
Wizard, wizard against the wall
Who bleeds the darkest of them all?

The grizzled, well-equipped man walked through the worn wooden door of the pub on the corner. His feet, which were covered in soft black leather boots, moved silently on the wooden floor that would normally creak for the other customers. This didn’t necessarily mean he was a man of small size, as he held height above many other customers—standing at a respectable six feet. It was just that he moved so sly, so sleek and careful as if every false step could result in death.
He looked to be in his late twenties, or maybe early thirties. His jet-black hair messily shrouded his head and the black stubble on his face showed that he had not shaved in a few days. Bloodshot lines crowded the edges of his ice blue eyes, pasting upon them a label of insomnia. His skin was pale and he wore a pair of sturdy black work pants, which matched his sleeveless black shirt quite nicely. A poorly designed leather sheath attached to a belt rested on his left leg, a sword asleep inside the hard leather covering. He carried a two-handed spear in his left hand, the spearhead on the top looked very sharp, which did not match his personal appearance. The shaft of the spear was wrapped around tightly with gray bonds in two places; they appeared to be grips of some sort.

“Your usual tankard of mead, Zedrelthus?” the bartender asked this man. The bartender was middle aged, many signs of the harsh life were apparent to his facial features. His eyes bore wrinkles at every nook and cranny.
“You got that right” Zedrelthus replied smugly, a small smile slipping across his serious demeanor. He placed his spear down beside him, not paying much further attention to it.
“Aren’t you afraid of somebody stealing that nice spear of yours?” the middle-aged bartender questioned.
“Of course not, by now they should know that anybody that values their life should place not a finger on it” Zedrelthus answered slyly. He swallowed down a large gulp of mead and wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand.
“So, then, how’s the haul been going?”
“Rather well, actually.” Zedrelthus gulped down a mouthful of mead. “I recently raked in quite a load of Anarikan coins.”
“The gold ‘uns?” the bartender’s accent took the best of him when money came into the conversation.
“Aplenty.”
“Boy, if I didn’t know you for who you are—the lying, murdering thief, I’d kill you and take that money” the bartender slurped annoyingly.
“Well, that’s too bad now isn’t it? I’m about to go traveling again—this time I hope to bring my haul in from the neighboring lands of Slalomen.” Zedrelthus declared.
“It’s supposedly very cold in those lands.”
“I look forward to purchasing a cloak of sorts to protect me from that. I think ahead you know, after all the years you’ve known me you haven’t figured out that yet? I’m ashamed, sir, just plain ashamed.” Zedrelthus replied sarcastically.
“Zed, my boy!” a slurring drunken stupor emitted from the mouth of a loud, fat, bald man filled the air with a sheer stupidity.
“You know that I regret ever bringing up that childhood nickname of mine,” Zedrelthus spoke into his tankard.
“Got yourselves a new weapon, I see” he stumbled, touching the spear that had been placed to Zeds left. In a quick and steady motion with his left hand, Zedrelthus pulled his sword from its respective sheath and placed the point to the drunken man’s neck. His face remained burrowed into his tankard of mead.
“See with those pretty eyes of yours, not with your dirt-stained hands.”
The drunken man seemed not to even notice what had just happened, but regardless he took a step back and a small trickle of blood ran it’s way down the middle of his neck.
“You handled that one like a pro” the bartender leaned and whispered in Zed’s right ear.
“Steel swords are a bit too sharp in my opinion, and they don’t look as good as bronze ones.”
“What about iron? Isn’t bronze weak also?” the bartender asked, puzzled.
“Iron’s a bit too brittle to make good use of, bronze is still my favorite, cheap, and if it’s forged correctly it can be quite strong.” Zed answered.
“You’re a man of traditions” the bartender replied.
“I’m a man of simple needs” Zedrelthus corrected “I need something that’s going to look good and function well, steel does function best but it’s much too dull looking for my tastes.”

The night carried on as most nights did, sour faced drunks continued to riddle the air with questionable singing. There were one or two fisticuffs between Slalomenians, but they were good-natured men, and known for loving fights—so no offense was taken from either fighter.
It was quite some way into the night, far enough that one could call it morning, when the most peculiar thing happened in all of Zed’s life. Zedrelthus had become overfull with mead many times, but this time he had only had two tankards, which was still a lot, but not as much as he’d had in his past.
The tiniest little gray kitten walked on silent feet across the bar until it met Zed’s tankard. It nudged up against it once and then turned to face Zed. In the quietest little kitten voice it meowed, but then surprisingly began to talk. It talked in such a fashion that even further confused Zedrelthus. Its mouth did not move, yet Zed could hear this kitten talking. It had to be one of those mead-induced hallucinations—but no, this was much too real.
“You’re Zedrelthus, correct?” it purred softly, nobody else seemed to be able to hear the kitten but Zed.
“Yes, that would be I” Zedrelthus replied aloud. The bartender stared at him questionably.
“You don’t need to speak aloud, you fool. Just think, it’s a much quicker way to talk as well”
Zedrelthus was confused.
“Instead of speaking think your words, it can’t be that hard”
“What gives you the ability to talk to me, kitten?” Zedrelthus spoke to it through his thoughts.
“You can call me by name, and I’m not a normal kitten. I’m—oh, how do you put it—a messenger of some sort. My name is much too complicated for you to pronounce normally, let alone after two tankards of mead. You can call me by Sooz.”
“How are you not normal, kit—Sooz?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Think, can normal kitten’s talk?”
“Well, no.” Zedrelthus answered.
“Then that makes me different.”
“Well, I guess so.”
“Now, on to business. I’m not so much a messenger as an advisor, you can choose not to listen to me, but the fate of the world you live on depends upon your reply.”
“Just wait one second” Zedrelthus stopped her “What do I have to do with all of this?”
“We have been waiting for you for six thousand years, Zedrelthus.”
“Who’s we?” Zed asked.
“The gods.”
“And what at all do I have to do in relation to gods?”
“That alone cannot be answered, I’m here to guide you, not reveal your whole life ahead of time. I’m—a prophet if you could so call me. I know what will happen if your life is not carried out frame by frame, in a specific order, and I can say it will not be good if you do not. You are the chosen leader of light.”
“This subject’s a bit too shaky for me, chosen leader of light? Yeah, the only lighting I’ve done in my whole life is when I went to that Noïretté smoke room once.” Zed replied cockily.
“This is not to be taken lightly, for from now on your whole life is a race. Just as you are the chosen leader of light, there is a chosen leader of black. Really, this is a big race to the finish, the Ohkrian Prophecies against the Chronicles of the West. I represent the Chronicles, and that is the prophecy you must fulfill. I mustn’t reveal anymore to you, as with every extra sentence I speak, my opposite may reveal just that much more to the chosen of black.”
“I’m confused.” Zedrelthus spoke with little to none comprehension of the kitten’s words in his head.
“You should be. Once you awaken in the morning, you must seek out a pair of mercenaries. You will persuade them to join you in a traveling party to Slalomen, it is there that your true destiny will unfold…”
And with those final words Zedrelthus rested his head upon the bar and fell sound asleep…

* * *

The sun was only beginning to graze the skies that morning as it rose up above the horizon to boast about itself. It’s rays caught Zed’s eyes and woke him from a strange, yet somewhat heartwarming dream. A pounding headache throbbed intensely in Zed’s mind—all he could remember from the night before was a small talking kitten. Now, one waking after a night of drinking would tend to shrug it off as a hallucination, but Zedrelthus thought it was much, much more.
Zedrelthus rose to his feet, picking his spear from beside him. Even when he was drunk nobody dared take the spear from his side. He coughed quietly once and ran his left hand through his hair, leaving his right tightly clenched on his spear. It was then that he heard a small rustling behind him—he didn’t turn around, as somehow he knew what was going to happen.
It was a thief, or as it sounded, a pair of them. They were approaching Zed to attempt to take his valuables. Zed knew that they had to be new to the town, or else they would have stayed way clear of his path, let alone trying to steal from him. Zedrelthus closed his eyes temporarily, then almost as if on cue, whipped around and parried a thrown bronze knife from hitting him.

The thieves then both drew curved swords made of bronze, which gave Zed two hints at where they were from. Weapons made of bronze, and the curvature of the swords meant that they had to be from Cheekien, which wasn’t all that uncommon to find in Anarika. The two countries had always shared sort of a trusting bond with each other, so things like this were always acceptable. Of course, thievery was never encouraged, but it happened—just as murders and corruptions in government happened.
They wore identical uniforms, which were rather bland for coming from Cheekien descent, even for a thief. Thievery uniforms normally consisted of black clothing, and they had nailed that one on the dot. Their costumes consisted of black slacks and shirts, with soft leather shoes and black wrap that covered their whole heads except for a thin line at the eyes to see from.

Zed didn’t really intent on killing them, no, he had much worse planned—he would crush them from the inside—where it hurt most. Zed would crush their pride.
Zedrelthus approached the first one quickly, thrusting his spear at the man’s wrist. The man cried out in pain and dropped his weapon as his wrist began to pour blood. The second man approached cautiously, not wanting to face the same fate as the first. Zed dropped his spear and rushed at the man barehanded. The man readied himself, but was tackled to the ground.
Zed sat on his chest with both of his hands around the man’s neck.
“Now, I run a ‘give-gold-no-die’ sort of operation. This particular one will cost you all that you have—now exactly how much do you have?” Zedrelthus asked.
“You’re robbing a thief?” the thief choked up.
“You got it, scum.”
The man that Zed had taken care of previously had risen to his feet. He held his sword in both of his hands and held it over his head. He approached to the back of Zedrelthus, who was much to busy “interrogating” the second thief.

A single arrow whizzed past Zedrelthus’ ear and hit the thief attempting to kill him in the chest. The man groaned loudly, which distracted Zed. Zed turned around only to be stabbed in the side of the stomach by the second thief. Zedrelthus winced and rolled over on his good side. The thief readied himself for another oncoming arrow, but one didn’t. He turned around briefly for only one second to look at the fate of his comrade. His friend and companion had been killed, his face pasted upon with the final shock of death—his mouth agape and his eyes wide open staring into nothingness.

A man ran out of the fog with a steel sword in his right hand. He held it above his head like a highlander, yet, as Zed could see through pain-filled eyes—he was very young. This man, of whom was more so a boy, fought very majestically for a boy that charged into battle so aggressively. He fought with such a skill; he needed only enough strength to lift the sword off of the ground. He easily made nothing of the thief, in a couple of seconds or so. Zedrelthus noticed that the boy’s technique was similar to his own as a child, but Zed had changed, as he got older and more powerful.
Zedrelthus’ head began to wobble and his eyes closed tightly together. His head fell limp as he passed out.

* * *

Zed awoke to a slightly muffled voice. He opened his eyes to notice that it was the same boy that had saved him from the thief. Beside him, Zed saw another boy that looked the same, if not very similar to the first boy. Zedrelthus rubbed his eyes in fear that he was having double vision. He sat up, noticing that he had been lying on a very comfortable bed.
“Where am I?” Zedrelthus asked quickly.
“You’re in the residency of Ghet and Dett Hunter.” The two of them said simultaneously.
Zed was now reassured that he was not seeing double.
“Mercenaries, sir.” Ghet said. Ghet was the swordsman that Zedrelthus had watched save him from the thieves. Dett must have been the archer that fired the arrow at the other thief. They both looked very similar, but appeared to have very different personalities. Ghet appeared very wild and open while Dett was much more reserved and well kept.
Zedrelthus then remembered a small fragment of the conversation he had with the kitten. He recalled distinctly having to find two mercenaries, well, there were two of them in front of him, and he didn’t have to do much looking to find them. Perhaps it had been a very odd coincidence, or maybe it had been much more.
Zed looked up at the two mercenaries and opened up his lips “Have you two ever considered travel to Slalomen?”

Tainted

19th June 2004, 10:14 AM

Entry II
At the peak of nights, who is belittled?
Burning inside as my heart is whittled
Perhaps confusing to you, yet everyday to I
It’s just the torture of a man who never will die

The travel to Slalomen was easygoing and paced very lightly. This travel had come at a cost, however. The three horses had cost quite a lot of the Anarikan Coins Zedrelthus had just raked in, and hiring both Ghet and Dett cost him twice as much. This left Zed with just enough to be considered above middle class—which was a place he was just fine sitting at.
The very smooth travel became more and more harsh as Zedrelthus’ party hit the foothills of the Slalomenian Mountains. From there on it only got worse as they ascended the mountains, having to walk the horses along with them. They became more and more exhausted, which was healed after a well-cooked supper. If Zed had known that Ghet and Dett could also cook, he would have paid much more than he had.

Their exhaustion had subsided after they reached the other side of the mountains and traveling began to pick up again. Supper was now in much larger quantity due to the appearance of more harvestable animals—which was a definite plus to drawing closer to the capital city of Slalomen.
Slalomen was known as a very police-driven country, with police parading every nook and cranny of the streets making sure everything is safe and sound. The police forces of Slalomen are the most highly trained warriors in all of Lannia, or so the legends go. Slalomen also has a bit of a dark side, and they share a trait with Noïretté for loving their entertainment proposed illegal in all other countries.
This ‘dark side’ is the arenas that they fill with slaves, criminals, thieves and others that do not obey the law and they make them combat against unbeatable odds, normally against a group of Slalomenian guards. Some men train all their lives to become one of these men combating against the police forces—only to be slaughtered by the well-trained Slalomen warriors.
These arenas are very good for the community as they not only get rid of crooks and villains, they also provide a service of gambling and money making for the country as millions of people will pay to see such events.

Zed, Ghet and Dett were on the long, straight, forest-lined stone path that lead to the entrance gates of Slalomen. Their horses were paced at a slow trot, barely moving at all.
A whisk of air cut through the trees and Zed halted. He drew up his spear from its resting place in the saddle of his horse. Immediately after this had happened, five ruffians jumped from the woods. One of them had a broken crown worn on his head, and he was quite muscular and towered over everyone else. All the others appeared to be mirrors of each other, dressed in leather armor—all wielding a bronze short sword.
Dett was quick to react as he spun around on his saddle and drew his bow. His horse reared and paced into a canter as Dett fired off one arrow. The arrow lodged in a ruffian’s neck.
A man jumped from the woods a good fifty paces in front of Dett’s horse and fired a rock from his sling. The rock hit the horse square in-between the eyes and the horse fell to the ground.
Dett fell down with it, falling to his back. He looked up at the man with the sling, who now had a dagger drawn in his opposite hand. The dagger was pointed directly at Dett’s throat.

Ghet battled fiercely with the tall hulking man, who appeared to wield his two-handed sword with no fatigue. Zedrelthus handled three of the ruffians, impressing them with his quick actions, but impressing them most with his elusive evasion.
Zed ducked under a sword swipe and knocked at the shins of one of the men with the blunt of his spear. The man fell to his knees and Zed drew his sword, cutting the man’s throat in one swift movement. Zedrelthus sheathed his sword and rose to his feet in an instant, kicking one man hard in the gut, while he jammed his spear through his other opponent’s stomach—pinning him squarely to a tree.
Zedrelthus left the spear in the man’s stomach, drawing his sword to meet his last foe. Their swords clashed in a mighty spark as Zed combated in very close quarters. This man appeared to have the most skill with his weapon, but regardless, Zedrelthus made quick due of him with a couple slashes to his chest.
Zed dropped his sword upon killing his last enemy and pulled his spear from the discarded man’s stomach. He then threw it, to what appeared an aimless target. What could not be seen through the fog, however, was that it had pierced right through the back of the man just about to finish off Dett. Zedrelthus picked his sword up and sheathed it, looking over to Ghet who dueled with the leader of the band of ruffians.

Ghet’s strategy of combating left all audiences at a state of awe. With every swipe, thrust and parry, he lured everyone watching into a seamless stare. He fought with little to no power used at all, his strength purely resting upon his agility.
The tall man swung wildly, wearing himself out throwing his sword about like he was. Ghet charged in closer, thrusting his sword at his opponent. His foe retorted by grabbing Ghet’s sword with his bare hand and ripping it from his grip. The discarded sword was thrown to the ground and Ghet now faced his opponent armless.

Zed contemplated drawing his own sword, but he dared not for his own reasons. He wanted to see if Ghet really was worthy of the title he wore upon his head. He then began to wonder how Dett was doing; he could now only briefly see him as the fog loosened its tight grip on the world.

Ghet looked up at his opponent, leaping backward out of the way of an overhand attempt at splitting his skull in two. Ghet then quickly took a fast opportunity. With two quick steps he ascended his foes sword and kicked the man squarely underneath the chin—proceeding to leap from the now dangerous position.
“Feisty little bugger, now aren’t we?” the tall, gruesome man barked while wiping his mouth with one hand. The other remained gripped tightly around his large sword.
Ghet brushed his right hand through his golden hair briefly, almost as if to anger his opponent with arrogance. Zed then noticed now, which caught him on stupidly as he had not noticed earlier, that Ghet wore a compact leather armor chest and back piece. He had never noticed before as the front blended in so well with his clothing and the back was covered with a crude black cape.

He saw Dett approaching in the distance and it was now that Zed noted he was also wearing the same leather armor piece. He had known before that they both shared the same cape—which was a common trait among workers—especially mercenaries. Dett walked slowly, without a care in the world. Zedrelthus then saw why, for behind him stood three large, heavily armored Slalomenian guards. Zed sighed with relief; they would easily dispatch this foe that troubled them.

The guards caught sight of Ghet dueling without a weapon and quickly ended it. One guard ran as fast as he could at Ghet’s opponent and tackled him to the ground. One of the remaining two proceeded to run towards Ghet, gripping one of his arms tightly. The guard that stayed behind had a firm grip on Dett’s left arm.
The head guard, which was the one that had tackled Ghet’s opponent, approached Zedrelthus. He muttered, “I’m sorry we didn’t hurt you sir, these scoundrels will pay for their murder” facing his tackled victim.
“What’s this all about?” Zed asked.
“We saw everything,” the lead guard told him.
“Oh, then you saw how—”
“You brutally murdered those five people” he cut Zed off.
“ No, that’s not it at all!” Zedrelthus protested.
“I’ve had enough of your insolence, killer of innocents” the lead guard silenced him. He firmly placed a hand a Zedrelthus’ arm and twisted it behind his back, proceeding to march him—along with Ghet and Dett—into town.

Zed had never seen so many heavily armored people. Armor was so expensive in this day and age that it was rarely worn, unless it was leather. Yet so many guards walked the streets that every tenth person was fully clad in a suit of steel. They walked down the crowded roads as criminals, yet no one even dared look at them or mock them—they were but normal passing.
They had only begun to think about the horrors that awaited them—the stake—the flogging post—or hell, even beheading with a dull axe. They each probed halfway through their thoughts when they were all knocked unconscious simultaneously…

* * *

While Zed was dreaming he drifted back into his adolescence, when he received a good majority of his smarts from his father—of whom chose to teach him about the world. He remembered his father telling him about the wars of Slalomen, and how the Slalomenians always fought in such an order. Them and Anarika shared that factor of their armies. The main difference between the two was size and strength. Slalomen people tend to be stronger, and since there are less of them, they have much stronger equipment. The majority of Slalomen warriors are swordsmen. Anarikans grow up rather slim, yet quick, and while they are strong in a huge number, they are somewhat lacking in the strength of a sole man department. The majority of Anarikan warriors are pike men, which is something not too explored by the rest of Lannia.

Zedrelthus remembered most distinctly his father explaining the elaborate ‘war costumes’ that each nation wore to distinguish from one another—but also to boast their countries boldness. Zed could still remember his father’s exact wordings, as he fortified every word with an emotion to please a ten-year-old child. This was long before Zedrelthus had moved to Anarika—this was long before anything significant had ever happened in his life.
“Slalomenians are indeed the most intimidating warriors to walk to battlefields, as they march in full suits of armor—littered with all the trimmings. All of the armor worn is very ornate and polished to perfection. The helmets they wear are bucket-like, with a squared-off top and a single line for the eyes to see through. This is also a big disadvantage, as with all of the armor they wear the only thing they can do in battle is fight with pure power. They all wear ankle length blue capes with a shiny silver trimming.

Anarikans rely solely on their strength in numbers and their very well structured strategy in battle. They fight very formal as well as the Slalomenians, fighting in lines made of equal men with swordsmen in the front, archers in the very back, etcetera. They wear shirts made of chain mail and helmets that have the face cut out of them except for a skinny nosepiece that comes down from the head of the helmet. They wear red pants and a gold sash over each man’s armor.

Cheekien, that’s the country we live in son, has some of the most unique uniforms. So unique, some think very strangely of them. They wear no armor at all, but wield mostly curved swords and large two-handed swords, made of bronze normally. They wear light leather shoes instead of the heavy boots that all other nations wear, and in some places boots made of steel, which gives them a huge advantage in speed—along with wearing no armor. The soldiers are given kilts to wear—male skirts—and they are decorated with a plaid like pattern using different shades of yellow and green. To go along with the kilt they wear knee-high green and yellow socks to complete the attire. A form of shirt is normally not worn, but if it is, it consists of nothing more than a plain white shirt. War paint is often present in the warriors, being made up of green and yellow patterns drawn under the eyes and on the cheeks.

Zelwig does not believe in fighting, and only a reckless, emotionless beast of a man would attack Zelwig. That country is so peaceful not even the wild animals on it’s lands attack people. If they ever do have to fight they fight in their brown, black, white, or red robes depending on their class, each robe worn with a purple sash. Each one of them would wield a mace, as that is the only weapon they believe in using—somehow they think it is less brutal than other manners of tools for killing.

Lastly we have the men of Noïretté, and they are almost as bad as Daemonals themselves. First of all, they worship demons, so their laws in total reach the limits of a single digit. They are wild and vicious, very primitive and barbarian like. Strangest of all, their skin is black in coloration—some say due to the sun being more present where they live, but most say it is a price they pay for worshipping the dark lord himself. They wield weapons made of stone, and wear no armor, and very little clothing also—most of the time just enough to cover what needs to be covered.
I won’t get into what Daemonals are like, for they are the demons themselves, the ones that the Noïretté worship. With every word formed about the Daemonals, I feel more and more of a weariness come over me—that area does not need to be explored. Some day, you will find out everything you need to know about them…”

Zedrelthus recalled on how his father liked to make a large speech out of everything. He was only beginning to remember his father when he slipped into other memories, re-living his life as a child over and over again until it was too much to muster. He was beginning to come to, and when he did, he was not going to like what position he was in.

* * *

The dark, musty smelling room that Zedrelthus was in was filled with an abnormal crew of people. He saw Ghet and Dett in here, up against the cold, stonewall that surrounded every one of them. He assumed this was some sort of dungeon, a prison perhaps. That was, until he heard the music. A loud booming bass drum beat in rhythm over and over again, occasionally accompanied by a sharply played snare. The music began to pick up, and now Zed could hear people outside.
“Where are we?” Zedrelthus asked to anyone who knew the answer.
One of the ten men inside spoke up. He looked to be about twenty, quite young, but not quite as young as Ghet and Dett—who were both going on sixteen. This man had murky black hair and wore bland leather armor, which had been dyed black. His skin was extremely pale and he held a dagger in his left hand, appearing to have several more fit into a belt around his waist. His calm, green eyes met Zed’s cold, harsh ice blue ones.
“Hell. Or at least it comes close…”
“And Hell to you is?” Zed asked.
“The arenas—the place where they send us thieves and murderers to face unbeatable odds—and surely death. Hence the whole advertised ‘Death Arena’ bit.”
“I caught that much” Zedrelthus replied.
“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing a bit.
“You know, I could ask you the same question.”
“Not a man of introductions, huh?” he said “I’m Elexus Garland at your utmost services sir, a B class thief, apparently, considering I’m trapped in this hellhole.”
“I’m Zedrelthus—I suppose you can call me Zed although I don’t really approve of the nickname. I also trade in thievery.”
“Is that why you got thrown in here?”
“No, they caught us defending ourselves outside of the town—and I guess they figured we started it. Is this your first fight?”
The man beside Elexus laughed.
Elexus leaned forward a bit “This is everyone’s first fight, Zedrelthus. Nobody survives these fights.”
“What’re we up against?” Zed asked, a lump slipping to his throat.
“Depending on how many of us will be let out to fight, we normally face a few high ranking Slalomen guards along with the Sandman himself.”
“Who’s the Sandman?”
“The general of the Slalomen armies, he does this as a pastime, putting away more people in two days than you can count on your fingers and toes.” Elexus answered.
“Why do they call him the Sandman?” Zed asked.
“For all the people he puts to sleep.” Elexus piped up.

A large stone slab slid out from one of the dungeon walls, revealing bars that could not be seen before. These bars swung open in a door-like motion allowing light to fill up the dark chamber. Zedrelthus stood up and gripped his spear tightly in his right hand. Even though he had Ghet at his left, Dett at his right and Elexus at his side—this would be the most challenging thing Zed had ever run into in his whole entire existence…

Tainted

19th June 2004, 10:17 AM

Entry III
And inside my mind lurk the darkest of thoughts
Breathing and planning to seek what is sought
Bled out and needing, fallen from twisted and worn
Strangled and dangling from nigh ‘til the morn’

Zedrelthus felt his heart race, as it pumped so hard he feared it ripping from his ribcage. The next few seconds of his life were so drawn out and complex that he would remember them for the rest of his life—if he did live through any of this that was. He looked to the ground and saw sand, an abnormal thing to find this far north. He quickly came to the conclusion that it was imported, and used to soak up blood—as sand was naturally good at that…

Zed transferred one of his leather boot-covered feet from the cold stone floor to the warm sand, sighing comfortably as he discovered it was no trick. He looked out to the field where four Slalomenian strongmen stood, one considerably taller and more built than all of the others. He had a two handed broadsword in a sheath on his back, but the weapon he wielded was so peculiar and unique that it caught Zed’s attention. It had a long shaft, much the length of a spear, but on each end of the wooden shaft was the blade of a sword about medium length. This weapon looked to be highly deadly, even from the eyes of Ghet and Dett—who had encountered more weapons than they could count on both of their hands and feet.
This man wore armor tainted black and a helmet of pure darkness, lined with the same broken crown that the man outside the town gates had worn. This was the same man, proving that this had all been a set up to draw more prisoners—meaning more paying audience members, which leads to the town receiving more money for entrance fees.
“That tall man in black is the Sandman” Elexus cautioned “Be wary of that one, although he looks like a brutish slug, he packs more than a pure offensive punch.”
The Sandman looked to Ghet and Dett, remembering Ghet as the quick swordsman he had battled prior to this spot. He somehow feared Ghet, as he knew that the young man’s skills matched—if not surpassed—his own.

Elexus leaned over to Zedrelthus “This is where we address ourselves.”
“You act like you’ve done this before” Zedrelthus replied with a chuckle.
“Nope, I was a fan of the sport, though.”

Zed looked behind him to the five people backing him, not including of course Ghet, Dett and Elexus. He noticed the absence of fear in their eyes, and how he knew there was a strong presence of fear in himself. He wondered how anyone could remain so calm in such a situation, but each man’s eyes were so set in stone that you had to wonder if they were human—if they could feel emotions.

“How is this whole introduction done?” Ghet asked.
“Oh, don’t worry about it” Elexus remarked slyly “Only one person does the talking, and it is never the leader. Zed here leads you two, correct?”
Zedrelthus chimed in “Correct.”
“Then I’ll announce him as the leader of us and then they’ll announce and we start brawling it out—simple as that.”

The man resembling a referee of some sort silenced the crowd, turning to Elexus who stood in front of every one of the criminals that were about to face the undefeated guardsmen.
Elexus drew in a deep breath and shouted at the top of his lungs, impressing many with his loud, audible voice. “We have here a man of despicable evil, killing poor highwaymen, slaughtering of them at once and managing to save a friend from a fourth. He is your favorite lying, murdering, relentless scoundrel—driven by a lust so demonic, so possessed with his own power that he would kill god himself if not stopped. He is the one and the only Zedrelthus!” The crowds were set into a lull, they clapped regardless of the fact that they knew not of what Elexus said.
Zed looked to see that Dett’s sheath on his sword had been loosened, meaning he might actually use it for once. His bow appeared to be aiming at something, without an arrow on it.

The guard holding a bow stepped forth beyond the two swordsmen and the Sandman. “No introductory is really needed for this man—the Sandman—the slayer of the dead, the healer of the living, the man who will soon incapacitate the gods themselves. We have here, the black, the well-deserved—Sandman.”
The crowds roared into a state of clapping, but soon shot deathly silent as Dett loaded an arrow in the blink of an eye and fired it at the neck of his opposing archer. After this he drew his sword simultaneously with Ghet, awaiting an oncoming attack. Nine against three, with a little bit of strategy, Zed thought he just might be able to pull this battle off.
Bad news though, the five men that were backing up Zed appeared to have no combat experience at all—he sent them to fight one of the guards, while him and Elexus made due of another. He left Ghet and Dett the tough job of handling the Sandman, which would be another huge test to their worthiness.

The five men lashed out at the single guard, whipping swords and various other weapons so unprofessionally that one would wonder if they had ever lifted one in their lives. The guard made quick due of three of them, but fell to death in his obvious state of being outnumbered after one of the remaining two drove a crudely made spear into his back, with a lucky shot that pierced his armor.
The very young Elexus was very nimble when it came to fighting, but he did not share the grace that Ghet and Dett both had. Zedrelthus noticed that Dett was not very good with a sword, but only in comparison to his brother, who by far reigned supreme in that aspect of battle.

The guard that Zedrelthus and Elexus battled against ran over to where Zed’s untrained two stood. He somersaulted, grabbing his partner’s sword in his other hand—and in the same motion—piercing both the stomachs of Zed’s untrained companions.
The guard now equipped with two swords turned to Zedrelthus and Elexus, who approached him and continued to barrage him with attacks. The guard whipped out and caught Elexus’ cheek just briefly with one of his swords, cutting a large slit from his temple to his chin. This, although putting Elexus to the ground, left Zed a big wide-open stabbing area. Zedrelthus took this gift, leaping forth to plunge his spear into the guard’s side.

Zedrelthus pulled Elexus aside to tend to him while he also watched Ghet and Dett deal with the Sandman.
“Are you alright, Elexus?” Zed asked.
“Yeah, I’m just fine” he replied.
“That’s good—but not quite as good as that Sandman’s armor” Zed observed as Ghet failed at trying to break the Sandman’s chest armor with a swift blow. “Why does he paint it black though? It makes it look quite unprofessional.”
“It’s not painted black, Zedrelthus, it’s forged that way. That there is most likely the strongest metal there is on earth. It’s refined in the mountains just northeast of Zelwig. The way it’s forged makes it go black—don’t ask me how—it just does.”
“What about the golden armor of Noïretté?” Zed asked.
“That’s a myth, there’s no armor that strong. Gold is very poor for armor, much, much too weak. One shot from just about anything else and you can say goodbye to your armor.” Elexus informed Zed.
“If that’s the strongest metal on earth why don’t you see too many blades made out of it?” Zedrelthus questioned.
“Well, you can’t sharpen the metal very well. It can be crafted very easily, and is made very thin—yet it is still stronger than steel—also lighter too. It just doesn’t make very good swords, it’s too awkward to wield. Legend has it that there is only one person in the world that can wield a sword made of this metal. The ‘ancient black sword’ is fabled to be called the Sardonyx” Elexus looked at Zed’s spear, the blade all smeared with blood. “You got a story to that spear? You seem to hold it closer to you than a man with his wife…”
“There’s a bit of a story to it. I made the shaft myself, purchased the blade—attached the two and well, this is what I got. This thing’s saved my life on many occasions, I once killed a bear with it that was attempting to claim my life.” Zedrelthus went on about the story.

The Sandman noticed his odds of winning as he began to grow weary of battling Ghet and Dett. The large decorated iron gates from which the guards normally entered swung open and the Sandman made a run for it. He sprinted through the gates, letting Ghet, Dett, Zed and Elexus remain in the arena. The crowds cheered, although the four did not defeat the Sandman, they were the first never to die in the arena.

“You four are free, now” a loud-mouthed guard spoke quickly, giving Elexus a shove in the back. They stood outside of the arena; it was a couple hours after the event that had taken place. The government of Slalomen decided to let the four of them go due to what they had accomplished. Zedrelthus was now officially a name that would be remembered in Slalomen, perhaps forever.

“Well, well, well” the grotesquely hunch-backed man with little teeth left in his mouth bent over a woman in her mid-twenties. This woman was small and apparently fragile, she was very short and had stunning black hair. Her big blue eyes shot open and she tried to scream. She could not, because another man—of whom appeared to be the hunchback’s son—held his hand over her mouth.
“What do you think her name is, pop?” the hunchback’s son asked.
“Well I just don’t know, son, but I can tell you she’s a pretty one. Good enough to be me new wife!”
The woman began to wriggle in pain. Her name was Evalyn; she was a beggar and had never had a home in her whole existence. She was feisty, but small and helpless when it came to physical fighting. She reached down slowly for a dagger at her belt, but her hand was stopped and held by the hunchback.
“No, no, no” the hunchback told her “We don’t do that do we?”
She began to wriggle even more, but it was helpless, she was stuck.

Zedrelthus looked down to that same small furry kitten while Ghet and Dett attempted to barter with the local innkeeper.
“Where to now, Sooz?” Zed asked aloud.
“Have you forgotten already?” the kitten asked Zedrelthus “You don’t need to talk aloud, use your thoughts to keep this conversation more private.”
“Alright” Zedrelthus replied strictly through his thoughts.
“Your next destination is Zelwig, there you will look for a priest by call of Landon. He will guide you on your next few steps to destiny.”
“Will he be joining us?” Zed asked.
“Hopefully” Sooz replied “He’s not a very good to negotiate with—but before you leave you’ll find another teammate.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you anymore, my counterpart is also revealing a lot.” Sooz told him.
“Goodbye for now, then” Zedrelthus thought.
Sooz then turned itself around and scampered off on silent paws.

A shrill scream broke the silence. Zedrelthus picked himself from his state of thought and looked sharply to his left. He saw a young lady, along with one man and a hunchback. The man hit her sharply across the face with a powerful backhand.
“The little maggot bit me!” he cried out.
His other hand now covered her mouth so that she could not speak. If Zedrelthus only had his spear or his sword he could have easily freed the lady. He did not; unfortunately, he had given them to Ghet and Dett to check in.
He slowly stepped a couple feet forward, eyeing up his opponents. The hunchback looked much too old to fight, and the man he was with wasn’t exactly at his peak of strength.

Zedrelthus picked up a discarded metal bar from the ground beside him and approached even closer. He threw the metal bar with precise aim and hit the man square in the head. He fell to the ground limply, making this an easy fight with the old man. Even if he tried to defend himself he’d be hopelessly outmatched physically.

“So you’ve come, Zedrelthus” the old man rambled through crooked teeth.
Zed looked a tad puzzled for a moment, but quickly regained himself and said boldly.
“Hand over the woman, you cannot treat her as so” Zed boomed powerfully, his voice echoed like your common vigilante throughout the empty streets. For once there was not a single guard policing the area.
“You speak as if you wear shining armor with a white cape of vigilance. Reality bites doesn’t it, Zeddy-boy. When you find yourself knee-deep in life’s everyday bollocks without even a weapon to help you free this girl.”
“What makes you think I’ll need a weapon against you, old-timer?” Zedrelthus replied.

The old man stood his ground quickly and stared with two blank beaming eyes. He stood a good ten feet or so from Zedrelthus, but he threw his hand out as if he were standing close enough to strike him. Zed’s eyes opened sharply as he felt one of the most painful blows of his life hit him square in the ribs. He felt crippled.
He fell to his knees and shouted in pain.
The old man smiled “That’s why. I’ll take the wench for now, if you want her, you can seek me out and claim her.”

Zedrelthus grasped his chest with both of his hands, looking down to Sooz who had made her way up to him.
“That was Polaeus, he’s a magician.”
“A magician?” Zed asked.
“A branch of sorcery… You must have a lot to learn, Zedrelthus.” Sooz spoke.
“I thought magic was just in stories for children.”
“Afraid not. Soon enough you’ll be able to use a bit of a type of magic, but it’s very hard work to learn. You’ll have to kill him you know” Sooz instructed him.
“Why?” Zed asked.
“So foolish, child. Think for once! He’s got Evalyn! We need Evalyn! Right?” Sooz shouted through her mind. It pounded inside of Zedrelthus’ head, appearing to bounce inside of his brain.
“When does all this magician stuff begin?”
“In the morning—You won’t be learning the arts of a magician, it’s very different from what you’ll be learning. You will be practicing sorcery.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Of course! I’ll go into more detail on the ‘morrow, but to break it down. Sorcery is the study of using the elements to your advantage. Magic is much more towards causing physical pain with the mind. You’ll learn that too, but not much at all—it’s a very dangerous practice. There is one more branch of sorcery that I will teach you about, but you will never learn.”
“What’s that, Sooz”
Sooz paused for a second, but then spoke, her words filling the thoughts of Zedrelthus’ head. “Necromancy.”

A Tainted Note: Three quick chapters, to get you started off. This story will change dramatically quickly, expect harsh twists and turns-- as this story will turn out to be everything but your typical fantasy. Right now it may seem a little cliche, but that'll all change in a few chapters.
Enter the world of Lannia, and Enter Zedrelthus...

Pig on the Wing

19th June 2004, 03:07 PM

Heh, third time of reposting eh?

3 entries at once? People aren't going to stare at a screen that long... :(

A contest to get people to read? Sorry, but I doubt it'll change anything...

Meh, good luck with it anyway. :wave:

Tainted

20th June 2004, 12:00 PM

Entry IV
To the cross I shall die, yet shall live forever
Bleeding eternity from wrists which shall never
Wizard, oh answer the question I’ve asked
“The darkest of blood seeps right where you’re at”

“I am the greatest sorceress in the world. My counterpart, a puppy, is the greatest necromancer in the world. However, as we are in a race to see who can complete their prophecy first, we have both agreed never to use any form of magic unless we are trying to be captured ourselves. And even then we are only allowed to use enough to get free.”
Zedrelthus laughed. “I’m sorry—that’s a little funny. This wee little kitten is the best sorceress in all of Lannia.”
“I wouldn’t laugh, Zedrelthus, or else I’ll have to enjoy my bit of laughter when I watch you fail at attempting sorcery.”
Zed frowned. “You always take my fun away, kitten.”
“Alright—on to business then. There are three disciples to magic, one being named simply ‘magic’ and the other two being called sorcery and necromancy. Necromancy takes the longest to learn, but is the most powerful—normally the people that use it have prolonged lives due to their study of Necromancy, making them very old and feeble yet the most powerful being in the world. Magic is like our old friend Polaeus used, very physically painful to their opponent. Just think of Magic as the offensive art and sorcery as the defensive art. Sorcery, however, is the use of the elements to protect oneself. Fireballs, frozen ice streams, electricity, blasts of water—will be all at your command once you’ve mastered sorcery. Normally a sorcerer chooses an element to first start off at, and then progresses into other elements… Would you have a favorite?”
“Out of all of those, I’d say fire is the most painful. I’d take it.”
“Actually, all of them are equally painful, but fire is normally chosen by beginners so we’ll stick with that. Your first spells will consist of making your hands blazing hot so you can burn anything with your touch, throwing small fireballs about the size of your fist, that sort of thing.”
“What’ll be the end result?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Well, the most powerful fire based sorcerers in the world can set people on fire by just concentrating on them.”
Zedrelthus nodded, noticing that he would never become that powerful in the allotted amount of time he had to ‘save the world.’ That lead Zedrelthus to thinking, what if the other side thought that they were the good ones, perhaps there really is no evil in the world. Maybe it’s just a claim of one of the good guys. From this he figured he would no longer call them the bad guys, but instead opponents—he then noticed he would most likely slip up a couple hundred times, so he didn’t make the promise aloud.
“The main part of sorcery—and any magic for that matter—is concentration, if you can’t do that, you’re, well, out of luck I suppose” Sooz preached.
“Can I ask you a question, Sooz?” Zedrelthus asked.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Why are you a kitten, why not something a little more… ferocious?”
“If I were something more ferocious there’s a much higher chance of me being killed, if I were in true form—well—I’m certainly not a kitten I’ll tell you that. The puppy necromancer hates being in his form, but he would be powerless in any other form as agreed by the two of us at the beginning of time. In his true form he’s a demon.”

* * *

Zedrelthus entered his room in the inn where he, Ghet, Dett and Elexus were all staying. He had a look of grim dissatisfaction on his face. His eyes searched the room until he finally took a deep breath and spoke up.
“Rest well” Zed said softly “For tomorrow we start ride to Zelwig. The next member of our party has been taken from us—she now lurks in Zelwig, along with another soon-to-be member.”
“Party?” Elexus asked.
Zedrelthus continued to inform Elexus on the purpose of their journey, and make the dull faces of Ghet and Dett liven up with remembrance.
“So—Let’s go get him and rip his guts out!” Ghet exclaimed.
“I’m sorry it’s not that easy, if it would have been we wouldn’t have need to do all this. He’s a magician, a very good one at that. He doesn’t look all too intimidating, but you’ll find yourself fooled pretty quickly…”
Elexus leaned back in a stately wooden chair, cutting a chunk from a green apple he had began to feast on. He went to place the piece in his mouth, but stopped momentarily.
“He powerful?” Elexus asked.
Zedrelthus sighed “He wove his hand at me and knocked the wind out of me—but it was so much more. It was the worst feeling in the world, felt like my ribs were closing in on me…”
Ghet looked down at the ground.
“It’ll take all four of us to take him down—but I have a little bit of a secret weapon up my sleeve.” Zed touched his fingertips together.
“What’s that, Zed?” Ghet asked.
Zedrelthus looked to Dett who was staring straight ahead without any form of movement seeming to come close to crossing his body. “The kitten’s teaching me sorcery.” He then went on to explain sorcery to the three of them, and tell Elexus about the kitten.

After everyone was done with their questions, it had grown quite a ways into the night. The four of them settled down and laid to rest, rising in the morning after a good six or seven hours of sleep.

* * *

Zelwig was an extremely peaceful nation, not believing in fighting or wars. They did not have police in the streets, but oddly enough, crimes never happened there. The only thing they had close to a military was fifty or so monks with maces and a very small militia. They had a large fort a ways in the distance; it could be seen from inside Zelwig, but only because it was such a clear, crisp day. Zelwig had no walls to protect itself, it seems their only method of defense was that very large, yet very old fort—that looked to be made of wood.

Zed rode in casually with Ghet and Dett on separate horses beside him, and Elexus on a small white horse behind.
“So, what type of person are we looking for?” Ghet asked in a burst of energy.
“Sooz said a forty year old balding priest in white robes—it’s the first time she’s given a decent description, which means there has to be some sort of catch. I can’t wait to meet the guy though, I’m sick of being around people ten years below my age, makes me look much older than the twenty-eight so I am” Zedrelthus replied.
“You aren’t aware of your own age, Zedrelthus?” Dett asked—for once making his way into a conversation.
“Nah, I never chose to keep track really… Not much sense I find. Doesn’t do any good for you on the battlefield or anything, when I hit forty I’ll know though.” Zed answered.
Dett and Ghet both nodded and they continued riding to the large cathedral, which towered over any other building in the town. It was made of old stone but it was carved with a specific craftsman ship that a man would describe as otherworldly. According to stories passed on by pub walkers, this was the true cathedral, the only one that meant anything about anything.

As Zedrelthus approached the cathedral he noticed the catch—there were a good thirty or so men dressed in white robes that were in their forties, the others all appeared much older.
“Why are they all so old?” Elexus asked.
“Priesthood begins around the age of forty in Zelwig” Zed replied casually. He dismounted his horse and rubbed his palms together. “We’ve got a priest to find.”

Zedrelthus approached one of the priests on the steps on the cathedral. “I’ve come to see your head priest about very pressing matters.”
“The head priest is in a meeting right now” the priest replied.
Something hit Zedrelthus so he spoke up “With the princess of Anarika, this concerns her quite a bit.”
“Oh—then—just keep down. Go right on in, the priests inside will direct you to the two of them.”

Inside the head priest’s room there stood a very petite-framed woman who showed signs of great beauty. She wore a red and golden gown trimmed ornately, and was fit to match her tiara, which was studded with red diamonds and made of pure gold. The woman had pale blonde hair and a beautiful smile. She stood beside a man beginning to bald who wore white robes like all of the other priests—he looked close enough to forty. They definitely didn’t want the head priest who wore a large hat; he looked so close to dying it wasn’t even funny—well, maybe just a little.

“Ah!” the beautiful woman exclaimed “Finally you have arrived, dear Polaeus. You don’t quite fit the description I had pictured, but you’re close enough.”
Zedrelthus raised one eyebrow at the comment comparing him to the old, barren sorcerer that Zed had been unlucky to come into contact with.
“The Noïrettés are almost at the border of Zelwig, at which time they’ll have only two days or so march to here—the capitol. Recent scouting has determined that they aren’t really causing havoc in towns unless there is resistance—which there isn’t much of. They are passing to hit directly here for some reason.”
Zed smiled, he loved playing war strategist. Apparently, Polaeus must have been a tactician of some sort—hired by this young lady. “My princess,” he bowed, knowing instantly that this lady was the princess of Anarika “I will make my introduction short for this word concerns me. I am, as you know already, Polaeus, these are my three generals: Ulaeus, Elaeus, and Alaeus. Their names were changed as soon as they ascended the rank of generals—it’s strictly a clan thing.”
The princess of Anarika nodded. “We have two forts that you will need to hold with the militias and the priests given—you have Fort Zelwig and the Fort of the Eastern Worlds. To put it blatantly, Fort Zelwig is the old wooden one you can see from here—straight walls, little defenses, easy to burn. The other one you cannot see, but it rests about a half a days march away. It is made of strong stone, has walls that overhang, a moat, everything you could imagine in a good fort. You need to decide who goes where and such, easy job, but if we fail it’s all blamed on you.”
Zedrelthus smiled. This whole situation was very good-- even better for him, as if he failed his name wouldn’t be tarnished—Polaeus’ would.
“It’s easy” Zed began “The Fort of the Eastern Worlds will house our main protection, I will leave Elaeus and Alaeus in charge” he waved his hand to Dett and Elexus. “We will line the walls with archers—how many men do we have to hand out?”
“Of the militia—one thousand footmen, two hundred archers. Then we have fifty priests armed with maces.” The princess answered.
Zed’s eyes opened in shock, that amount of poorly trained men was no way to win a war against likely tens of thousands of men at the least. Noïretté was full of men, and whoever was attacking with them would likely not care if a couple were sacrificed.
Nevertheless Zedrelthus replied “We throw one hundred archers in each. One hundred footmen and twenty-five priests will go in the stone one. The other nine hundred footmen will be put in the wooden one; there’ll be a hell of a lot of fighting going on in the streets of that fort. There is a settlement inside each fort right?”
“Correct, rather large ones at that.” The princess replied.
Zedrelthus began to get into his acting a bit too much, swearing under his breath and turning around. He only turned around so that the princess would not see a smile slip over his face—as he knew how good this was going for him.
He turned back around and coolly swore “We assemble the troops by morning, that way we’ll still have a day or so to prepare.” Zed then turned around and met eyes with Ghet, Dett and Elexus, proceeding to exit the room.
“Wait just one second, Polaeus!” the princess exclaimed loudly. Zedrelthus worried that he had been caught. “My name is Raia Edmunson, it was a very good talk we had.”
Zedrelthus bowed “Thank you, my princess—goodbye until tomorrow.”

* * *

“Pretty decent deal I’d say” Elexus pointed out, easing back in his chair. “We get a large inn all to ourselves without having to pay for it—hell, this is like a dream.” Zedrelthus smiled casually, but then shook his head a little.
“You do notice that we’ll still have to defend the forts—right?” Zed replied.
Just as he had finished speaking Sooz leapt in from the window and purred in Zedrelthus’ direction. He looked down to her, still smiling. Zed knew that what he had done pleased Sooz.
“Defending it shant be that hard,” Elexus muttered.
“Shant?” Zedrelthus questioned.
“From staying in Slalomen too long—you start to pick up a bit of their dialect—most of them speak funny, they sound like old men.” Elexus replied.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d been hit in the head with something—shant isn’t a word,” Zedrelthus laughed.
“It means ‘should not’ or shouldn’t in Slalomen—don’t ask me—I didn’t invent their dialect.”
“Back on topic—why do you say it won’t be that hard?” Zedrelthus inquired.
“Well—we’ll be fighting Noïrettés, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then won’t they be a little easy—I’ve heard that most of them aren’t properly equipped because they’re poor.” Elexus stated.
“That is entirely true” Zedrelthus began “But one must take into consideration what they will work for—literally nothing—and how many of them there will be. Strength comes in numbers, Elexus—I wouldn’t be surprised if we all had to flee tomorrow with the princess under one arm and the priest under the other.”
Dett looked silently ahead. “Let us sleep—for the morn shall suck our energy, I feel.”

Aeges_Ateri

22nd June 2004, 09:07 PM

I'm slightly disappointed that no one else had even the courtesy to place a little constructive criticism, personally I love fantasy and am glad to see a Fanfiction that is purely that. I enjoy the way you describe things in your writings and I love the way you portrayed Zedrelthus. There are several occasions though where I thought you could have used either a little more colorful vocabulary, or in some cases you just repeated the same word too close together. Otherwise keep up the good work!

Tainted

23rd June 2004, 07:44 AM

Well, this is the begining of the story, and I wrote this stuff here probably around the begining of grade nine. I'm ever improving, and now it's the end of grade nine, and I'm currently working on chapter fourteen.
Let's just say if you are going to continue reading this, prepare for twists, turns, tragedies, and something else suspenseful that starts with a t. Titties, perhaps, yes, there might be some titties.

Thanks for reading, I always appreciate when people take the time to review my work. I'm also open to a lot of harsh criticism if anyone wants to lay the book down on me.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

Tainted

23rd June 2004, 09:10 AM

Entry V
But how can my blood bleed black if I’m sane
“Your blood bleeds black because of your pain”
Answer me wizard—when will this ever end
“Not until reality is yours to twist and bend”

A cold breath escaped from Zed’s lips as he sat atop the roof of the inn. It had just become dawn—he did not sleep well the night prior. Sooz’s training had been hitting him hard lately, it had gone from being a lot physical to strictly subliminal. Now it was the shaping of his mind. Now that she had taught him the techniques of properly throwing a fireball—or whatever the spell may be—Zed’s mind would have to learn what to do, how to act, how to respond and how to efficiently ‘shape reality to his likings’ in a sense.
There are supposedly many adepts alive—but most don’t know it—so they don’t pursue their lives in training meaning they don’t really unlock their attained skills. Anyone can be a sorcerer if they train long and hard enough—but an adept can learn how to do so in months—and can learn much more than a sorcerer, magician, or necromancer can. The thing is—an adept can bend the limits of the world, twist things in a way never imaginable—but even so, an adept cannot get away from reality. No one can ever get away from reality.

Zedrelthus got to thinking. He was risking the innocent lives of hundreds of men. He knew himself that they weren’t going to win—but he could always instill that fake little cheer that is always present in stories of great wars, and hell, maybe a miracle would come about. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to that many men—he couldn’t let them leave their wives and children behind. Zed—although a very devious scoundrel—was growing a little soft on this subject.

* * *

The wind blew absently across Zedrelthus’ face, he didn’t mind, it relaxed him a little. He stood in the walkway on one of the walls, looking out over the horizon for any possible attackers. The moment they became visible it was like Zed walked straight into a brick wall. The pain of a loss hit him hard in the chest.
He raised his spear into the air, closed his eyes and began to shout.
“People of Zelwig!” he began, the crowd lulled to sleep—they all knew they would very soon die. “I am Polaeus, savior to the saviors of the world. Zelwig—raise your arms. For under my wing, you shall not die a dead man, but a relieved one, knowing you died for the sake of lives everywhere. I say raise your arms, Zelwig!”
“Polaeus!” echoed throughout the small encampments inside the Fort of Zelwig, his speech could not be heard by anyone in the other fort, obviously, but he was sure that Elexus and Dett were making speeches of their own.

The black men of Noïretté marched to the forts slowly, casually reaching the point where an arrow can clearly hit a man. There were plenty of them—enough that if they all had a stone in one hand, which some of them did, they would still be able to conquer both forts. Then again—the Fort of the Eastern World was built rather well—and since it was lined with archers it’d take a long time to break through. Once they did get through, however, it would be over.

In the other fort, Elexus took up his Slalomenian accent to impress the Zelwig warriors with his own speech. He was quite the linguist for fifteen years of age, in a sense that he knew what to say to what type of people. His speech was nearly ten times as long as that of Zed’s but was very gripping and left each warrior of Zelwig waiting for more. When he was finished the cheers from the warriors could almost be heard at the other fort.

“Release!” Zedrelthus’ and Elexus’ voices sang simultaneously in opposite forts. They both were now dug deep into the moment—like they were playing out the vigilante in one of the stories they had heard as a child.
Arrows spewed from untrained archers, surprisingly most hit their unarmored foes. These men hit the ground, regardless if they died or not, and their own men behind them continued the charge—trampling them all.

The Noïrettéans smashed up against the walls and the gate—all the while being fired upon by archers. Several of them appeared to be appointed “lighters” in which they would try to set the fort on fire.

* * *

Bodies littered the grounds around the two forts, and a victory was beginning to look nice and easy. Neither one of the forts had been broken into yet, nor had one of Zedrelthus’ men been injured.

Then there was fear. Two loud consecutive booms could be heard in the distance, repeating after one another consistently, keeping a pace. Zedrelthus remembered that sound—but not by his owns ears, his father had told him this story before. The Daemonal—it was them. Creatures spawned of pure hell, black rotting skin, flesh dripping from loose bones. The closest thing to undead you would ever find existent in Lannia.
The legend went that they could never rally together and be lead, though, because they conflicted so much individually, which struck Zed as just a little odd. His eyes sharpened as he remembered the deepest of what the legends told—these creatures could never die. That meant that if they weren’t slain in battle they would live on forever, and this showed as each individual Daemonal fought as if it were the last battle of their life—most of them probably wanted to die at this point in time. Life for an eternity probably hurt more than most can even begin to comprehend.

Zedrelthus could see what appeared to be a man leading them. He was completely encased in black armor that was intricately designed and looked to be very thick. He wore a dark black cape that would reach his ankles if he weren’t riding the strange beast that he was. He wore a black helmet with a sharp, angular jaw, with several black spikes encircling his head in a crown like fashion. The helmet was full in a sense that it covered everything put the mouth, which was lined with two long spikes that trailed down past the chin. The eyeholes were very angular and on almost a forty-five degree angle upward. From the eyeholes burned one of the darkest of black fires imaginable. The little bits of skin that could be seen, most around his mouth, were as white as snow, but you could almost tell that he was not human. Maybe it was the black fiery eyes; maybe it was the listless voice or maybe it was just because he was the man devoid of any emotions whatsoever.
This man rose up his black sword, sending a shockwave of pure evil throughout the lands. Zedrelthus then felt a sudden, sharp pain in his head. It was Sooz, she must have been excited and spoke to him a little too loudly.
“Zed! It’s the iceman!” she said in his thoughts. He pondered briefly about what an iceman was. “The iceman, Zedrelthus! I told you about him before! I made you dream about him before to properly ensure an image of fear into your head!”
Zedrelthus felt an unsure feeling hit him squarely in the stomach—and it had nothing to do with the Zelwig meals he had been eating recently.
“He is the iceman because he feels no emotions—no pain, no fear, no mercy—it is said that he has a heart made of pure ice. He is the disciple of my counterpart—the dark god Zcin, as you are the disciple of myself.”
“So he is my equal then” Zedrelthus messaged Sooz through his mind.
“You can try to fight him if you wish, but the outcome does not look all that well at the moment. Zcin is the most powerful lone god to begin with—he is one, I, Sooz, am the representation of seven ‘good’ gods combined into one. Then only do we match Zcin’s power.”
“You know, if I would have known this beforehand, things might be a tad easier for me.” Zed replied sarcastically.
“But I’ve been implanting all of these things into your head as dreams while you sleep!”
Zedrelthus stared blankly into the marching armies, this time speaking aloud “I haven’t dreamt in years.”
To that there was no reply.

Zed looked out over the horizon to see both Elexus and Dett atop horse riding at blinding speed towards them. Zed prepared himself, as he knew that this meant they would have to flee. He turned around, over his shoulder watching as the iceman blew open the door to their fort with sheer willpower.
Zedrelthus picked Raia, the princess, up under one arm and slung the priest he wanted over his opposite shoulder. Both the priest and Raia had attempted to raise something out of him, but he had quieted them as quickly as they had spoken. He ran down the stairs with Ghet following him, finding three horses. Ghet hopped upon one and began to ride over to meet up with Dett and Elexus. Zed placed the priest on one and sat Raia down on his horse in front of him.
Zedrelthus pulled his horse out of the back entrance of the fort, where Ghet had left from also. The priest was smart enough to follow along, although he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

They fled, even further east. Across into the uncharted, unmapped lands that no human ever dared live in. Zedrelthus was not sure why, as Sooz had always told him great stories on the east. The east was where they would have to settle for a while, it was where they would have to get Evalyn back, but most importantly, it was where Zed would fill in his two new recruits.

* * *

The six of them sat at a round table in a large bar, the largest bar Zedrelthus had ever seen at least. They had crossed into the eastern side of the world and found it to be nothing like the stories had said. Humanity was, well—a little odd to say the least but it was not scary at all. Technology was even slightly better out there, they had things they called guns that fired little metal things at people—and these things were dangerous. However, a big weakness came in the time it took to reload them, so they were often used as a support weapon as opposed to whole armies wielding them. Also, they were very expensive—another reason not to stock up on them.

The men out here were very strange and reminded Zed of the stories of midgets his father used to tell him. These people were just like ordinary men, except only about three feet tall on average. They called themselves Eastings, people of the east, simple enough, but they took high offense to the word midget or dwarf.

They had found out plenty about the priest of whom they hadn’t even caught a name of before. His name was Landon Bridges, and he was only in his third year of priesthood. A young lad, but still held quite a few years over Zedrelthus. He knew a lot about people, but seemed to not be very politically correct, especially when it came to dealing with Eastings.

They learned a lot from the people out here, in this large town of Stronghelm. The whole place was inside of a huge stone fort. The people here appeared to be excellent craftsmen, they could make arches out of stone without them collapsing.

They learned about this group of people called the Sinerik—the only humans to inhabit the eastern lands. Supposedly they were cannibals by nature and had tattoos all over their whole bodies. Word had it that they were also nomadic, meaning they wouldn’t set place in one spot for very long. To Zed, this reminded him of old stories husbands and wives would tell their kids to keep them inside when it was their bedtime.

Zedrelthus and his party had learnt of one more odd thing, the Sarakians. These creatures were like the Daemonals of the west in a sense that all mankind feared them both. Their skin color was of a deep purple hue, very dark, such a color that one could be sucked into for staring too long. They had very angular features such as an angular jaw, protruding nose, and very defined cheekbones. Their incisors were very sharp, generally sticking to eating stray child Eastings. The strangest of all—they have a long scorpion-like tail that has a tip, and they use this tail to inject venom into their prey. They only need to feed once every couple of months and they normally do this individually—but every harvest moon they all feed in a large group. Each child is not allowed to have hair until they are considered an adult; some earlier than others, and at this point their hair is allowed to grow. When their hair exceeds the length of their shoulders they are allowed to hunt for themselves. For every Easting they kill they make one braid out of their hair, so the veterans of war may have a full braided head—but this is rare as they are physically strong but considered stupid. As so, they are often killed when they attempt to feed solo.
With these tales came an assuring notion that they knew a little more than they had thought about the east. They wouldn’t need to stay here for long—just as long as it took to build up enough courage to take a stab at getting Evalyn back.

* * *

Lightning struck wickedly, awakening Zedrelthus from a deep sleep in which he was not dreaming, like he hadn’t been for quite a while now. He could hear loud screams coming from outside the room of his inn. Zed reached to his bedside where he picked up a Flintock single shot pistol from the ground, along with his spear. In only several months he had grown to like these single shot pistols and the rifles of which could hold a few more shots—but were too large for Zed’s tastes. Dett had grown quite a liking to the technology and was seemingly already a master at using them.

Zedrelthus lurked over towards the window, jerking back to blinds to get a good view at what was going on. There knelt a woman in the streets, deranged to an extent. She rocked back and forth as if she were on some meticulous schedule, looking down every so often and bursting out into tears. She was screaming wildly, without care to the rest of the world that lay asleep. The woman wept uncontrollably, clenching something tightly to her body. Looking closely, Zed could see that it was a body of someone much younger, looking pale and limp. There was little doubt in Zed’s mind that this child was not dead.
Zedrelthus walked out somberly, keeping his eyes on the woman who appeared to be going insane in front of his eyes. He walked out to meet her, his mind filled with grievance. As he approached closer he could hear her whimper in agony, mumbling to herself wildly.
“Oh god—why did you have to take my kid? Why this way, god?” she murmured to herself.
As Zedrelthus approached she turned around quickly and pointed at him. “You killed him didn’t you?” and she leapt to her feet, in her hand a knife that she had pulled from the ground.
Zed, without much choice, pulled his pistol up to meet her waist and fired once. The shot blasted through her body, leaving an exit wound the size of a large grape. Her mouth was agape in shock as she collapsed to her knees—and then to the ground face first.

Zedrelthus looked behind her and spotted a very young boy emerge from beside his older brother. He looked to be only three at the absolute oldest. This boy looked up at Zed and a frown slipped across his face. Zedrelthus had killed the boy’s mother. He had to watch his mother and his brother die, right in front of him with no way to avoid it. Zed dropped to his knees, his eyes drooping in sorrow. What had he done? He had claimed life, and now forever he would be stricken as the bad guy to the child when really all he wanted was to put the mother out of her misery.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said gently, shaking his head solemnly.

Tainted

23rd June 2004, 09:14 AM

Entry VI
Pass it on, you know of truth
Bleed on him as I’ve done to you
Pass your disease, make him sick if you will
And only then will your wishes fulfill

“We’re keeping this grubby little bugger?” Raia spoke outrageously. “He’s all filthy—and—” she shivered in disgust.
“It’s the best I can do, Raia. The poor boy here watched his brother and mother die, his mother under my own hands. What I don’t quite understand is he appears to be human, but his brother and mother were both Eastings.” Zedrelthus spoke up.
“How is this going to work?” Landon brought up “Taking care of a child isn’t easy, not like I would know from experience.”
Raia rubbed her hand down Landon’s bicep attempt a mock seduction “Of course you wouldn’t, Hun, you’re a priest!”
Landon shuddered; he hated being “tempted” as he put it, by females. In general, he hated being around females in fear of him being thrown into that “temptation.” Being a priest he was restricted from courting females on any occasion, unless it was strictly for business. Unfortunately, he had not yet found an excuse to bank in the business category.

Elexus was staring out the window, thinking about normal things that any fifteen-year-old boy would be wondering about: girls, being away from his family, girls, how the party was going, girls, the new adolescent and girls. Yeah—everything was strange in this new place, but he was getting along just fine. He looked up to Zedrelthus for some reason; he looked up to a man that had recently killed a woman in front of her son. Odd, but that’s how life worked sometimes. There had to be a reason, but Zed refused to give any details. Elexus looked out the window and his gaze caught Ghet and Dett who were dueling.

Ghet and Dett trained outside the Inn, they seemed to do this a lot. They’d get alone, just the two of them, and to any other eye it would appear as if they were fighting to the death. Really, all they were doing was training—very harsh and brutal training. They helped each other often, and worked, as brothers should—hell, they were twins after all. Ghet was the better swordsman of the two, but Dett could fire an arrow like Ghet couldn’t even imagine, so there was a nice trade-off. Dett seemed to be a bit smarter too, and he was getting very used to the technology out in the east.

“He doesn’t look like an ordinary child, though” Landon complained a little. “He’s yet to cry or whine or even make one silly little movement.”
“I figure he’s in a temporary shock—how long this will last I don’t know” Zedrelthus replied. “I know I wouldn’t be all too cheery if my mother had been shot in front of me.”
“That’s a very wise thing to say, Polaeus” Raia added.
Zedrelthus didn’t respond for a moment, until he had caught that she was talking to him. “Oh—yes, quite—about that.”
“About what?” Raia asked intrigued.
“The whole Polaeus deal, I’m not who you think I am—and I never was.”
“Pardon me?” Raia interrupted.
“Let me finish.” Zedrelthus began “I am Zedrelthus, not much more than a common thief to many eyes. The two outside are Ghet and Dett—hired mercenaries, as you might have already figured out. Elexus is the young lad at the window, he is sort of an apprentice of mine, learning how to thieve as I used to. You two are supposed to travel with me, ultimately in a quest to support life.”
There was an awkward silence while the mood set in, then Raia broke out into laughter. “So you’re telling me that we followed you here thinking you were a dear friend of my father’s, and now we’re out here with no one to save us—stuck with a scoundrel devious for his murders—oh, and you want us to trust you?”
“You got it.” Zed replied. “But you don’t have much of a choice.”
“So you’re saying if I try to leave right now…” she was cut off.
“You surely will not make it home, as there is an opposition we’re up against remember. If we break up into separate groups the weaker of the groups will be killed—therefore giving the enemies the advantage. So—if you choose you try and get home you will ultimately be throwing millions of lives straight into the fiery depths below.”
Landon cringed.
“Boldly put, friend” Landon spoke up “Perhaps we do need a friendship of sorts—even if it’s to get us back to the west.”
“There is one more party member we need to find, and then we’ll be complete—that is Evalyn.” Zed said.
“Who is Evalyn?” Raia asked.
“I’m not entirely sure.” Zedrelthus answered.
“Then how do you know we have to find her?”
“Because a talking cat told me so, alright?” Zedrelthus replied with a hint of false sarcasm. “Actually—that sarcastic tone was faulty, a talking cat actually did tell me.”
“You can’t be serious” Landon brought up.
Elexus turned around to face the three of them arguing. “I’ve heard of the cat, so have Ghet and Dett.”
Zedrelthus nodded “She’s the combination of all of the light gods, because only then does the power of light match her opposition—the one lone dark god.”
“I think I know a little more about gods than you would, humble Zedrelthus” Landon stepped in.
“Do you personally know seven eighths of the worlds gods?” Zed asked him.
“Well, no.”
“Then keep quiet.”

* * *

“Zed!” Sooz screamed inside his head. He stumbled back in pain.
“What?” he answered back.
“Zin—Zen!” Sooz shouted back.
“What the—” Zed was confused “What’re you trying to say?”
“Zin and Zen! The equivalent of Ghet and Dett on the bad side—they’re attacking their opposites early. You must prepare Ghet and Dett for these two could come at any time!”
“This early?” Zedrelthus was shocked, he had completely forgotten about the opposite forces.
“You or anyone else cannot intervene either, it must be a challenge for only Ghet and Dett.”
“How do they match up competition wise?” Zedrelthus asked.
“The outlook is not all that good, Zedrelthus” Sooz replied “They are female Sarakian assassins.”
“Sarakian? They’ll slaughter Ghet and Dett!” Zed was outraged.
“It’ll be closer than you think, but your party is still at disadvantage—remember, their technology won’t be all that great. If we manage to win this one we’ll be two people up on them.”
“We’re still missing Evalyn, though.”
“And he is still missing the last member of his party, and from what I gather, if we keep at this pace, we’ll have all of our members before he does.”
“That is good. But we need this one, Sooz, we’ll need all the luck we can consume.” Zedrelthus finished the conversation, feeling overcome with a bit of worry—and to put it frankly, he wasn’t the worrying type.

* * *

“Ghet, Dett—I want to speak with you.” Zed called the two mercenaries over. “It’s concerning Sooz the kitten.”
Ghet and Dett nodded simultaneously. “Bring it on us” Ghet spoke loudly.
“Well, as I’ve already told you, we have an opposition—and each of us has an equal opponent on the other ‘team’ if you’d like to put it. So eventually, all of us will end up facing someone on the other side.”
“I understand” Dett spoke solemnly, nodding.
“Both of you get the first shot at this. Two female Sarakian assassins, and nobody can help one bit; this will be quite a challenge for you two. I suggest picking up your training a little, because if we win, we’ll have plenty more time to get Evalyn. If not, well, it’ll be only me against that magician—and that’s such a task I would not like to face as of now.”
Ghet swallowed hard. “We will train harder than ever sir, to successfully equal what you paid for. This is our chance to prove everything to you, Zedrelthus.”
“You have already proved too much for me to handle. Win or lose, that money stays with you, even if I have to bury it with you.”
Elexus’ eyes lit up, he heard them talking from across the room. “Exactly how much money is each one of them carrying?”
“Never mind, Elexus.” Zedrelthus warned the boy.
“Understood, Zedrelthus” Elexus backed off, a bit curious as to just how much they each had.

* * *

That night was very quiet, one of those where no one could sleep. Ghet and Dett’s challenge may not have come tomorrow, but regardless they had to act out everyday like it would be their last day living. Everyone knew now. Raia was shocked, as she knew sometime in the future she would have to face off against an opposition as well, so would Landon, and even Elexus.

Raia slept with the young kid nestled in her arms, he was wide-awake like everyone else, but not crying, and strangely he didn’t look the faintest bit tired. He just stared at the ceiling, lost in his own little world of confusion. Maybe he knew what was going to happen soon, maybe he didn’t.

* * *

Ghet and Dett had both spent the past few days completely armored and equipped, and they played out each minute as if they would be attacked at that instant. Sarakians were known for walking on silent feet, and if one were to be stabbed in the back that would leave quite a task for the other one to bear.

The day finally came. There they were, standing in the very lightly populated streets—feet atop the cobblestone brick. It was dusk, the sun just setting. The Eastings cowered away from the two, surprisingly enough they were ready to attack Ghet and Dett full force. They had taken no opportunities to blindside Ghet and Dett, which struck the two of them as odd.
Zin and Zen were identical, both sharing blood red piercing eyes and clean-shaven heads. Apparently, Sarakian women always shaved their heads bald, and the males kept their hair long. Their skin was deep purple, scars scattered across in various places. They wore light brown loincloths, and nothing more, which gave them no protection to back them up armor wise. Zin and Zen both wielded curved stone swords, crudely crafted and very primitively made.

Dett drew his rifle, cocking it and readying it to fire. Ghet drew his own sword and held it up in a very aggressive stance, motioning for Zin and Zen to instigate combat. Dett took no heed, firing immediately at Zen. Ghet and Dett both gasped as they realized this battle would not be as easy as their outfits appeared. Zen moved at lightning speed to dodge the bullet, leaping away and to the ground. Ghet charged and did combat with Zin while Dett drew his dual flintock pistols and fired away at a half advancing, half dodging Zen.

“Zedrelthus, it appears Zin and Zen both show very minimal adept abilities. Regardless—it’s still more than you’ve uncovered yet, so be wary. What appears to be poking at my brain is that Ghet and Dett are too adepts, but of a lesser quality than Zin and Zen. It is said that when an adept slays another adept he becomes more powerful, but even the gods do not know if this is true.”
“They’re fighting as we speak?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Yes—but stay where you are and raise no alarm. This is a challenge for them and only them.”
“Understood.”

Ghet watched in astonishment as Zin back flipped and lunged at him. He parried the attempted strike and countered with a vertical slash. The slash was dodged and followed up with another stab. Ghet leaped backwards—leaping them forwards and bringing his sword down on Zin. Zin screamed out in pain as she toppled over and fell to the ground; she was no dead, however, so Ghet approached slowly to finish her off.
As he did, Zen ran wildly at him. A panic swept across Dett as he pulled the trigger on one of his flintock pistols, firing at Zen. The little round bullet soared through the air, just missing the right ear of Zen and plunging itself into Ghet’s right shoulder. Dett was damned at the fact that Ghet was right handed, unlike himself, and his shoulder played a large part in sword dueling.

Despite the blow to Ghet’s arm, he rose up and cleaved Zen’s left arm from her body. She screamed in pain as black blood squirted from the freshly carved wound. Zin rose up, however, and jumped into the air—kicking Ghet in the head with a force so hard it sent him spiraling to the ground. Dett rushed to him, helping him up while Zin only stared them down. Zen was still holding her wound, screaming in agony. Sarakians had a lot of blood, and very strong hearts apparently, as blood squirted wildly, probably the length of a meter or so. Ghet drew Dett’s sword from his respective sheath, now wielding two swords. Dett was confused as to why his brother would continue fighting under such wild circumstances.

Ghet rose up, beaten, bruised, all around looking like hell. Blood stained his face, caked around his eyes especially. His left eye was crusted shut with the amount of blood that had previously poured consistently down from that side of his forehead. His newly acquired steel helmet that covered both the top and sides of his head was dented on one side from Zin’s kick. Ghet knew himself that the helmet would take a lot of effort to get off because of that. And so he walked, not yet a dead man, a sword in his left and a sword in his right.
Zin acted quickly, picking an unneeded sword from the now corpse of her dead sister. She leapt at Ghet, flailing both swords wildly about as if she were an animal. Hell, she was an animal. Ghet took it smoothly, taking a step back and defending by crossing his swords into an X. He parried the attack by swinging his swords away from him, sweeping her blades away from her. She was left completely open, and Ghet took advantage of this—swinging upward with both swords and cutting her head from her body.

The head rolled to the ground, a shocked expression on its face. Ghet sighed momentarily, pausing as he collapsed to the ground, barely breathing.

Tainted

23rd June 2004, 09:20 AM

I'm begining to notice just how horrible my spelling and grammar errors are, so I think I'm going to read the following chapters closely and try to pick up some errors. Editing your own work is hard, I know, but I'm going to make an attempt after seeing how error-ridden these chapters are.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

Tainted

4th July 2004, 09:10 PM

Entry VII
Jealousy burns even hotter than fire
Whoever says other is much of a liar
You try to avoid, as much to your strife
For you cannot conquer time, but you can life

It appeared that Ghet had only suffered symptoms of a minor concussion, and had temporarily slipped into comatose, but only momentarily. Now he was under the loving care of Raia, who mothered him to death, and who also took care of the baby a majority of the time. Casual days now consisted of Landon and Zed discussing various things, later Zed training Elexus on how to be a past decent thief, dinner prepared by Raia, and Dett sitting alone silently like he had always done. Now he didn’t even have Ghet to train with, and as soon as he did, they would be setting off towards the tower of Polaeus, ultimately to retrieve Evalyn.

Elexus had become more and more interested in money; Zedrelthus had noticed after one particular day of training—he seemed almost eager to take his first victim. Zed tried his best to calm the lad down, but to no avail, he wanted to start off picking pockets, just as Zedrelthus had done when he was a boy.

* * *

On one night, the group had enjoyed a fine bit of drinking; even Landon decided to take his try at a little bit of the local ale. Zedrelthus, however, stuck to his favorite drink—mead, along with Ghet. Dett chose not to drink, but Elexus seemed to be making up for that. The fifteen-year-old lad drank so much that Raia feared he would die of a high blood alcohol level.

When they had returned home all passed out, drunk out of their minds, Zedrelthus, Landon, Raia, and Elexus. Ghet and Dett had not drunk enough to put them under the weather; in fact, Dett did not drink at all. Ghet was still confined to his bed, the trip to the bar had injured him quite a bit—only making his bruises just that much more sorely. So he lay there, not being able to do anything but stare at the ceiling, because he had been given herbal painkillers made of white leaves and spring nuts that numbed his body. Dett arose from his bedside, a smile of sadistic behavior slipping across his face. Ghet was awake, and he could see his brother, but he couldn’t react the slightest bit. He watched as his own brother took step after step closer. Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Ah, my brother.” Dett said, bestowing fear into his brother’s heart. Ghet tried to cry out, but he could not, the best he could do was let out a tiny little whimper. “It appears that the man under divine spotlight—the famous and invincible Ghet, who pushed his own brethren aside and took both fame and fortune—is now naught but a cripple.”
Ghet once again attempted to shout at the top of his lungs, his mind raced thinking of things to do, but there was nothing that could be done. He let out yet another whimper, but inside of his mind he screamed, sadly, that was where it could not be heard.
“Oh sure—you normally can move, but now those drugs have retarded you to an immobile, whimpering fool. Listen to yourself, brother—you are the epitome of weak!” Dett spoke, raising his voice gradually.
Dett then slid a sharp bronze knife from his belt with a blade that curved like the body of a snake. It was clearly a Zelwigan sacrificial knife. Ghet tried to squirm, but he couldn’t—his failing attempts resulting only in him whimpering like a child.
“Oh brother dearest, Ghet—with this knife I shall release you from your pain, and take your money into my hands. Do not worry brother, none of this is about the money, it much rather closely involves you taking what should not be yours. Credit. I was the one that bared the sword for you; I lead to you killing the enemy. For that, I shall put you at rest. Sleep well, my brother—for your sleep will never end.” And with those final words he slid, very lightly, the sharp knife across his brother’s neck. A very thin wound opened and began leaking blood; it wouldn’t be very long until Ghet passed out, never to wake up again. Dett looted his fortune, burying it with his stash underneath a floorboard near his bed. He took one idle coin and flipped it with his thumb, it landing on Elexus’ bed. Was he to flee? No—he had much better thoughts in mind.
The young lad that Raia constantly had taken care of had watched the whole thing. He sat up in bed, wide-awake, staring at Dett with the compassion of a man condemned to hell, yet at the same time it was so emotionless, so cold—with every little bit of distaste in the world trapped his eyes.
Dett contemplated killing the child when he first crossed eyes with him, but then his plan would not fill out properly. If he were to do this, he would have to do it right, and right he would. “Right” to this plan did not involve killing children, no matter how far past purity a single gaze reaches.
Dett slept well that night, surprisingly feeling no guilt whatsoever. He had gained a huge surge of power, too, which he would not reveal to the others in fear of him being caught. In reality, Ghet was at a huge peak of his power, just as Sooz had told Zedrelthus: if an adept slays an adept, he gains a surge of power. So, Ghet had killed two, roughly doubling his power—now that Dett had killed him during Ghet’s surge of power, well—he gained all of that plus his own power. Dett himself was growing in power, and after one event in one night he had become nearly as powerful as Zedrelthus himself.
Dett, in his sleep, mumbled very quietly in a deep, somewhat chaotic voice “Zedrelthus, I, Dett Hunter, hereby declare your damnation.”

* * *

Landon had finished up the last words of the ceremony a day later; things were beginning to get a little hectic as people pointed fingers at one another. To Zedrelthus, Dett did not exactly appear emotionally crushed, but then again, Dett had never shown many emotions so he did not take that into account. Landon was a priest, he would never kill, but then again—maybe that’s what he was trying to get him to believe. Raia was a woman, but once again, it could be a disguise to hide the fact that she was a trained assassin. Things tightened up quite a bit, as no one really trusted each other anymore. Any solid bit of proof would solely throw everything back together again, as they would know who did it, and be able to sleep at night without having to worry about someone gutting them in their sleep. Finally, proof was summoned.

“You have absolutely no defense, Elexus” Zedrelthus said with pure hate in his eyes. “You know, it is maybe just a little odd that you were always anxious to try out what I had newly taught you—and then he shows up dead with all of his gold missing!”
“And that’s without taking into account the gold piece I found in your bed” Dett replied “Or all of Ghet’s money that I found buried with mine—attempting to frame a man of killing his own brother.”
Zedrelthus was a bit shocked by the sudden outburst of rage on Dett’s behalf. He figured it had to be tough for a twin brother to be murdered, he had made his decision, and apparently, everybody else had as well.
“Elexus, be gone. You are no longer part of our party, you can die by the blade of our opposition for all I care—your acts are dishonorable. This is the cut off point, young lad, you could have made much more of yourself.”
Elexus stared in a shocked disbelief, he hadn’t been able to say anything for the past bit, he was too overwhelmed with the fact that they thought he had murdered Ghet. Elexus left that day, telling himself that someday they’d want him back, maybe that someday would be closer than either side would ever expect…

* * *

Almost a whole year passed without doing much, and it was a tough year. The whole issue had stalled everything to a near halt, but now it was finally the last opportunity Zedrelthus would have to have Evalyn join his party. Elexus had returned to Slalomen after traveling for a few months, and had enlisted in the armies under the fleet of The Sandman, of whom luckily to him, was the best general out there. He was the best general because he did not lead from a tent at the back of the war; he fought ahead of all of his men, leading them into every battle. Normally this would kill off a general the first time he set foot out on the battlefield, but The Sandman was something else, skilled to others, but he himself called it luck. Lucky old Sandman, no one even called him by his real name anymore, and a lot didn’t even know it, he would just be The Sandman until his existence had expired, and he liked it just the same.
Elexus had done well in the army, gaining much needed combat skills, and strengthening himself into a hard-faced man. He was sixteen now, the point of a coming of age in Slalomen, and this meant he was now considered to have a free will. So garbed in a light gray shirt of chain mail, a blue sash with silver trim draped over one shoulder, and a steel helmet with a rounded top and narrow nose-guard, he would charge into every battle in the frontlines, which was where they stuck the lightly armored men they didn’t care too much about. All the lines behind the first, the men were equipped in complete steel suits of armor, all common foot soldiers, but looking like only the uppermost Sergeants in the Anarikan armies, of whom relied more on pike men than the straight-forward offensive Slalomenian swordsmen. Slalomen’s cavalry was the best there was, but sadly they didn’t have as many men as their opposition on foot to even out.
Slalomen at this time currently was running a campaign in Noïretté, pushing on the borders of the country, blazing at the black men every opportunity they got. All the while they fought, Elexus missed Zedrelthus, and Zedrelthus had missed Elexus as well. Not in the way a man misses a woman, obviously, but in the way a father misses a son, and the way a son misses a father. Elexus was like a son to Zedrelthus, and Zed himself knew that, but wouldn’t admit to it after Elexus allegedly killed Ghet. Raia and Landon didn’t have much to miss, and neither did Dett, so it seemed Zedrelthus made up for what they lacked in his own wishes that Elexus hadn’t killed Ghet.

“The first step is acceptance, Zedrelthus” Landon spoke to him “Elexus killed Ghet, and that is that, there is no need for that voice in your head to speak to you.”
“It’s not the cat, Landon” Zedrelthus began “It’s me this time, the cat hasn’t talked to me since Ghet wound up dead. I just can’t see the kid killing him now, after I’ve had almost a year to think about it—and now we’re so behind, our opposition has probably lapped us a couple times.”
“But you forget that we killed both Zin and Zen, the equivalents to Ghet and Dett—they will need some time to get off of the ground as well, won’t they?”
“Well, if they’re evil, why don’t they just move on, the evil cannot have hearts, can they?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Even the emotionless understand death, Zedrelthus. It touches us all in ways unimaginable.”
Zedrelthus nodded acutely to the man of priesthood, standing up and looking him over. “I think I can imagine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can imagine what it feels like to die.”
“What is it like, then, Zedrelthus?” asked Landon, with a mock expression of wonder.
“It can’t be explained in mortal tongue, it’s more so a feeling than an actual thing you can describe.”
“And how would you know this?”
“Landon” Zedrelthus began.
“Yes, Zedrelthus?”
“I have no clue how I know, but I know I’m right.”

That night Zedrelthus wrote a letter, he hadn’t known how to write all that well, but he tried his best, and when he was finished he gave it to the local post office to be given to a runner. He knew the runner would have his work cut out for him, considering he himself did not know where the recipient was located—but if Elexus got it, hell, it’d make life worthwhile. It just told Elexus that they were now headed for the tower of Polaeus, and that they missed him—of which was a lie; Zedrelthus knew that nobody else had cared for the boy much.

* * *

It was war. War was never glamorous, only made to look so in novels about the victories and triumphs of a man who rides a white unicorn, a creature of which Elexus had thought to be strictly mythical from his childhood, but had found out to be factual in his visitations to the east. Elexus, having now experienced war, wanted nothing but to get it over with, but war was never short. Even if war was over, it never technically ended—another one would always begin, and Elexus began to fear his whole life would consist of him sitting idly in trenches waiting for signals to rush out and hack black men to pieces. If it weren’t black men, it were char-skinned Daemonals, who might as well have been compared to the Noiters in Noïretté, Noiters being the offensive term for them, the term the Slalomenians used when blazing the hell out of them.

Elexus had grown to be quite the little fireplug. He had strengthened considerably and now wielded a two-handed broadsword with relative ease, shedding it for a lighter sword at his belt only when he absolutely needed to.
A booming noise thundered from the opening of a horn that commanded the Slalomenian armies. This was the signal to attack, and Elexus did not take it lightly—if he had—he would have been trampled with some of the other men in the first line that had already gone down. He raised his broadsword in the air and yelled as he ran, the whole while hoping not to be hit with any arrows—or more importantly, rocks. The Noïrettéans didn’t use arrows too much as there weren’t many trees in Noïretté—but there was a never ending supply of rocks, so they crafted slings and still used catapults while the rest of the world had moved onto cannons.
Elexus looked up into the sky to see thousands of fire tipped arrows sailing through the sky. Only recently had the Slalomenians discovered that you could put both a tip and a fire liquid soaked rag on an arrow. Fire liquid had been around forever, and there was lots of it in Noïretté—it was an extremely flammable liquid, which although very flammable, still burned slowly enough to not be dangerous to the side wielding it. Since cannons were now being commonly used, gunpowder was being put into bombs, which were used to take down walls, but seldom worked—as the technology was new. Most often, these bombs would explode prematurely, causing a threat to the people of their own nation. The Noïretté had taken gunpowder a step further and often planted metal disks into the sand that they filled with gunpowder and a flint. If these were stepped on, they would explode. The Noïretté used them because they were seemingly always being invaded, and they provided an excellent means of taking down their opposition, or at least weakening them enough to make the real fight easier. These disks were named mines, the Noïrettéan word that loosely translates into ‘boom-rock.’
Elexus picked up his pace, seeing that his line would soon pass the mine-dowser, a profession that nobody really wanted to do, but the takers received a lot of money. Mine dowsing was a skill that involved using a magnetic metal rod on the ground, which worked in giving information on where mines were. However, if the mines were buried too closely to the surface, the rod would often become too attracted and be pulled right onto the mine, causing it to explode.

Zedrelthus was jerked suddenly from his sleep. There was a loud noise outside, a screeching noise so loud it could raise the dead. He looked all around him to see that none of his party was present. A cold chill crept across his spine as if playing with him, and one by one the hairs on the back of his neck stood still. He reached to the side of his bed for his pistols—they weren’t there. It was then that he heard the sniveling breathing—that dreaded, raspy and inconsistent breathing that he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Tainted

8th July 2004, 03:05 PM

Entry VIII
Dig the grave ahead of time
Inevitabilities never came
Fresh bodies curse so sublime
Inevitabilities aren’t always the same

It was Landon Bridges, the priest, his shoulder freshly pierced by the fangs of a Sarakian intruder. Zedrelthus could now hear people screaming outside, he feared the worst. He leapt forth and brought a strong closed right fist onto the back of the Sarakian’s skull, watching as it fell to the floor limply. Zed’s eyes scanned Landon, he didn’t look too well, but he was alive, which was what mattered to Zedrelthus most.
“What the hell is going on, here?” Zedrelthus asked, a little outraged. A burning javelin made it’s way through one of the windows in the room. Zedrelthus hit the ground and brought Landon down with him. That meant one thing; Sarakians were invading with weapons, and in mass numbers.
“Sarakians” Landon stammered and struggled to speak “Sarakian got me, with his tail.”
“Injected venom into you?” Zedrelthus asked softly.
Landon nodded, and Zed cringed as he saw a milky white puss seep from Landon’s eyes. He felt his own eyes begin to water, but he paid no attention to them. He had two things to do now, protect Landon, and protect the town. How would he do both at once? He couldn’t, that was the thing. The room was beginning to set ablaze from that lone javelin. Did he dare take Landon outside into a possibly dangerous scenario? He didn’t have much choice, he would have to eventually, and he chose to do so before the fire got too out of hand.
He picked the wounded priest up and carried him over his shoulder to the burning world outside. The houses were in flames, fire was seemingly everywhere—Sarakians wielding javelins and long crudely made wooden poles with blades on either end. Their long scorpion-like tails that had not been present on Zen or Zin for a reason unknown to Zedrelthus, were being used to their full efficiency, stabbing and poisoning away at the poor little Eastings to cross their paths.

Zed found temporary refuge in an alleyway while he waited for a couple of Eastings, or even Dett, to help him out. He wondered how Raia was doing, and the kid especially—even how Dett was doing, although he figured the mercenary was doing all right.

* * *

The men that fought in Elexus’ regiment were being crushed by the Noïrettéan forces, who were cutting the Slalomen lines in half with mounted camel riders. The camel was not such a good animal for anything but hitting horses head on, it seemed, as horses were afraid of the big lumbering beasts. They jumped frantically away from the snorting beasts as riders fired arrows from in between the two large back-lumps that provided safety from incoming Slalomenian arrows.
Elexus charged forth, cleaving several legs of stationary camels in half—knocking the riders from their formerly safe mounts. Elexus’ breath stopped momentarily as an explosion blew forth from behind him. Some poor bastard hadn’t been watching the arrows being fired and was hit at an awkward angle, sending his body falling to a spot marked off for mines. The explosion blew Elexus forward, lifting him off of his feet and dumping him on his head a few yards ahead. He attempted to get up, but couldn’t move—he couldn’t feel himself breathing either, he felt dead, but as far as he knew, he was still alive. He could hear the battle raging on around him; he could hear his men being crushed by the opposition. Elexus felt like his insides had been ripped apart—he heard many familiar voices cry out in pain, but he could do nothing but lay in wait of his own countries’ loss. Eventually his mind just fell into a sleep, his tired body finally got some relaxation as he was mistaken for dead on the battlefield.

* * *

“Anyone alive?” a booming deep male voice called out across the battlefield littered with Slalomenian bodies. Elexus stood up and attempted to shout back, but he could not. Instead he waved his arms back and forth, searching for the voice. He eventually found where it was coming from—a large immensely built barbarian looking man. He immediately shuddered in disgust; there were two types of people in Slalomen, the barbarians who lived in the mountains in the northern parts, and the more civilized folk who lived in the southern half. Elexus was one of these civilized folk, and they despised the barbarians.
The barbarian saw Elexus, and he seemed to hold no grudge. They were both in a tough spot, and would need to live off of each other if they ever hoped of possibly surviving. As far as Elexus knew, that explosion had rendered him a mute, he sure hoped not. As the barbarian approached he saw that his left hand had been lost in battle, the wound was freshly wrapped and appeared to be healing well. In his right hand he carried a single-handed iron axe, either that or very dull steel. His head was clean-shaven and his face was painted with red and blue war paint. It was then that Elexus noted that the Sinerik had closely resembled the barbarians; only the Sinerik had tattoos on their faces and arms, and not paint.
“Andrakkt” he spoke suddenly, holding out his only hand.
Elexus tried to say his own name, but he could not. Andrakkt seemed to understand.
“Boom rock do like that” his deep voice boomed.
All Elexus could do was nod.
“We make pact—see? We pact, live one as, work lives.”
Elexus nodded again.
“Where safety be? Know?” the barbarian seemingly spoke as if he was retarded, but he clearly was not.
Elexus took a second to get his bearings, and when he did he had decided to lie. Instead of pointing in the direction of Slalomen, he decided to point in the direction of Stronghelm, that Easting village that him and the rest of his former party had taken residence in.
“Be sure?” Andrakkt asked.
Elexus nodded again, and continued on the way to Stronghelm, his eyes searching the ground for two single-handed swords in decent shape. He found two fairly close together that were about the same weight and size, so he sheathed them, both across his back, and continued on his journey.

* * *

Landon was losing control of his breathing and Zedrelthus had resulted to manually pumping his chest up and down with his hands, to make sure that Landon’s breath did not stutter to the point where he could no longer breathe properly. It appeared that those Sarakian stings were quite painful, as Landon’s eyes continued to puss. Zed remembered something about powerful snakebites, and that was to keep them on their belly so they don’t swallow their own tongue. He then pondered about how well Landon would breathe on his gut, but regardless, he made the decision and rolled the priest over onto his stomach.
Zedrelthus was angry, angry because his party was spread out to god knows where, angry at the thought of them being in any pain, angry because he couldn’t do anything other than look after Landon—but most angry because the Sarakians had taken his lucky spear.
He sat in that alleyway, noticing that he had changed a bit since he first left on his journey. Zedrelthus still had that trademark stubble and pair of ice blue eyes—but his clothing had been changed to suit the winter when they traveled north. He still wore black work-pants, but his black leather boots had been traded in for much more winter faring boots, crafted for him by Eastings. He now wore a long-sleeved black shirt instead of his old sleeveless one. Now, to accompany his shirt, he wore black leather gloves, that helped keep his hands warm.
His mind slipped even further into thoughts as he began to recall the iceman, a word now appearing in his head to match the description. Xhell. He was the true warrior of the black, the leader of the demonic scourges of Daemonals, the bringer of death. Zedrelthus pondered this for a moment—taking into consideration that he was supposedly the opposite of Xhell, did this mean he was a bringer of life, or would bringer be reversed to taker—making him a taker of lives?
Then he wondered even more about how bringing death and taking lives is the same thing, and if that was his supposed “job”, then Xhell and himself couldn’t be that much different.

And then there he was—the iceman, he stood next to Zedrelthus and pointed his long jagged black sword at him, his eyes ever-burning with a black incandescence. He called out to him, reached out to him with his spare hand. Then he spoke. Xhell spoke long and dragged out, as if every letter was an inner agony for himself to speak “Zedrelthus” he spoke wickedly as his left hand was placed firmly onto Zed’s chest. Then, as if planned the whole time, he dispersed into thin air—leaving Zedrelthus alone with Landon in the cold foggy night.

Zedrelthus was jutted from sleep—it appeared he had been dreaming the whole time. Dett and Raia stood with him now, Raia was no longer holding the child, and apparently a Sarakian had taken it. She was weeping deeply, and holding Zed tightly to her—which he himself recognized as a little odd. Then it hit him sharply.
“We thought you were dead.” Dett said in a tone flat of emotion. “We had figured you’d suffered the same fate as Landon.”
Zed finally noticed that the Sarakian attack had been real, just his encounter with Xhell had not—or had it. He reached down his shirt to nurse a sore on his chest, only to realize that the skin appeared burnt. Rapidly, he unbuttoned his shirt in front of the others, watching as they all stared in horror at the large black handprint on his chest.
Dett cursed under his breath and spoke “We need to leave, the north exit should be fairly safe, as the Sarakians are mostly in the southern parts of town now. Then, we can head further north to Polaeus’ tower—to retrieve the wench.”
Zedrelthus narrowed his eyes on Dett, but instead of replying, he eyed a steel sword on the ground beside him. It must have been thrown there, or placed there in the time he had been asleep. It was made quite well, for a common sword, but it had the odd design of the swords in the east—it had no hilt. It had a handle to grip onto, obviously, but there was no cross to prevent the chopping of your hands from your opponents. To Zed, that mattered not, he was quick to pick up the sword—which was a little larger than his old one, but weighed less—and sheath it. Then, he noticed, at the base of the handle there was an engraving of the Easting letter for Z. He considered that maybe it wasn’t so much stealing as accepting a gift, now. Regardless, Dett lead the way, Zedrelthus carrying Landon and Raia holding no baby for once—were close behind.

* * *

Elexus sighed deeply—he hated venison, deer meat, he hated it with a passion because that’s all he used to eat as a child. He had grown fond of sheep and had wondered why, with all the vast amounts of sheep around, they had not eaten a single one.
Elexus eyed a sheep that was walking rather close to the two of them; he stood up and drew his sword, walking over to cut the beast’s throat.
“No!” Andrakkt boomed. “Sheep fetish animal. Andrakkt kill himself before kill other sheep, if Andrakkt see human kill sheep, I kill the human!”
Elexus made some motions with his hands, signaling to Andrakkt that he wanted to know how far away they were from Slalomen.
“Hmm” he thought aloud “Andrakkt know we closer than before, maybe two days walking and we will be at destination.”
A word like destination seemed quite funny to Elexus coming out of the mouth of the large brutish barbarian. He dared not laugh though, as Andrakkt was always so serious, and he feared his own head being cut short from his shoulders if he ruined the mood of the moment.

* * *

“It’ll take us three and a half days at the least to get to this tower, we’re carrying Landon, on foot, and the path gets fairly rocky the farther north we travel—we might hit some bad weather too, as it’s nearing that season here.” Zedrelthus noted to everyone, moods seemed distraught.
Dett still looked compassionate, determined to get to the tower. Raia looked crushed, as if someone had cut off her legs and made her watch herself die. Landon, well, puss-eyed, skin beginning to split in random welts—he looked like death, and Zedrelthus was beginning to fear if he was going to have to ‘put Landon down’ in a sense.

* * *

Elexus and Andrakkt had finally reached Stronghelm after two hard days of jogging across the terrain, Elexus found the city destroyed, and he worried for Zedrelthus. He was confident that they survived and headed to Polaeus’ tower—so that’s where he decided he would go next.
As he and Andrakkt searched for mounts he found Zedrelthus’ spear—a thing he would never leave behind. Elexus picked it up and placed it in a strap that fit onto his mail across his back. Andrakkt had figured out by now that they were not heading towards Slalomen.
Elexus could not even plead his case to Andrakkt, as he had no voice, but somehow he knew that Andrakkt understood where they were going.
“Tower of Polaeus, bad place—Andrakkt be there before—Andrakkt be in east before. Few go to east.”
Elexus nodded, acknowledging that Andrakkt wasn’t that bad of a guy, even for a barbarian. He didn’t speak English all that well, but if Elexus were to speak, he’d probably find his way of speaking funny.

Elexus rubbed his chin sharply, noticing that stubble was beginning to be much more present lately. He also noticed that he must have broken his nose during one of the many skirmishes he’d faced in a year of service, and not yet noticed it, as there was now a small bump near the top of his nose.
Then there was a small rustling sound, Elexus drew his sword and looked around quickly. What emerged from behind a small stack of rubble was a child; it was the child—the child that had been with Zedrelthus before. Elexus thought about it being left there, if they were still alive—maybe he wasn’t supposed to take it to them, he figured he had to though, as it was only a child. Elexus took a few steps towards the baby and then picked him up.

Andrakkt had come back with two horses only to see there was a third member of their traveling—he figured not much of it, and just mounted the larger horse of the two.
“Polaeus tower to one day” Andrakkt said solemnly as he and Elexus rode off towards Zedrelthus and the rest of the party.

Tainted

11th July 2004, 09:09 AM

Entry IX
There she is, don’t let her go
She’s the one we’ve come to know
She’s the one we’re here to take
You’re the one we’re to unmake

“Polaeus was a chiefly man, a man made of chiefly stone. He squandered for years, past open lives, for many years to roam and roam. He saw the passion, saw desire, but soon gave up for the fire. The fire fueled him past his beginning; he began to think not but one thing. This was his life, after all, and he was left in the lands of maul.” Zedrelthus sang one night at a fire halfway to the tower of Polaeus.
“That was beautiful,” Raia told him sincerely.
“Hardly, I’m not much of a singer” Zedrelthus explained. “Supposedly this man is one of those torn apart people. His wife died while he was out adventuring once, he did that a lot, but she died of some strange disease. After she died he became an alchemist to try and find a cure for her sickness, to help others that fell into her same situation, but he didn’t find it. That’s when he became a magician, through many years of study, and he’s pretty much at his peak of power now, as he will soon die.”
“That’s sad” Raia replied once again. She always seemed to have a short input to add onto things, even if just to make sure everybody knew how she felt. Landon couldn’t hear anything, for all they knew he was dead; Raia had been feeding him food for the past days. Dett probably could care less of what she said, he seemed so blindly determined these last few days that Zedrelthus was beginning to grow a little worried for the mercenary.
“We’ll probably reach the tower by tomorrow night, but we’ll probably be quite tired—so I think it’s best we put up camp outside the tower, he wouldn’t ever leave now that he’s got Evalyn, even if it were to kill us. In the morning then we can get Evalyn back.” Zedrelthus made effort to strategize; he wasn’t too bad at doing it either.
Dett nodded with his approval, Raia seemed not interested in the talking, as her thoughts had drifted elsewhere—and Landon, once again, could do nothing but gurgle his own spit.

At this point, Elexus was literally right behind Zedrelthus, and would reach the tower on the morning that Zedrelthus would attack it, if all went right. The kid that Elexus had was babbling more than usual, still incoherent to adult ears, as he was still in that baby-clamoring phase. Elexus began to wonder what his first real word would be, and what significance that would have to everyone else.

* * *

They stared up at the spiraling dark tower, as it menacingly held its grip on every ounce of fear inside of them. They had to sleep beside this towering behemoth, so they had best get used to it, Zedrelthus thought. He looked up into the black clouds that surrounded it and wondered if it were mere coincidence, or if evil just spawned here. Then he began to think about Evalyn, trapped inside the tower with a strange old coot, and he began to ponder brainwashing—maybe she wouldn’t want to leave.
They set up camp and all tried to sleep. Dett seemingly didn’t care for sleep and instead he sat on a flat-faced rock and just stared at the tower for the whole night, at least as far as Zedrelthus could see before he fell asleep. Raia joined him in slumber shortly after, and Landon was always asleep.

* * *

“We keep ride, we get to tower by early” Andrakkt said, motioning to Elexus. Elexus looked at him squarely, and nodded for them to keep riding. He was getting close to Zedrelthus, so close he could feel that strong presence that he carried.
He looked in front of him and saw the child, he had fashioned a small little carrier for the kid that he placed in front of him on the horse. It looked fairly comfortable, and the kid didn’t seem to mind so Elexus kept with it. The kid didn’t seem to be sleeping and he was stirring restlessly. Elexus knew it wasn’t because of the carrier, but of something much, much more significant.

* * *

Dawn. The sun unwillingly rose slowly above the horizon as Zedrelthus and the others began to wake. Although the sun was present the land was still very dark, shadows reigning supreme in this part of the world. Zedrelthus stirred Dett from his distant stare and the two of them left Raia at the camp, so she would not be harmed, to climb the steps of the tower.

Before Zedrelthus could open the final door to the uppermost room in the tower, he was greeted with a feeble old voice, sounding full of death.
“Come to claim the wench, I see” he snickered cockily “try if you must.” The two large steel doors, studded wildly, swung open to reveal the old man in a room full to the brim with books of all sorts. Under a bright light there was a very large book. In the corner sat Evalyn, and she was everything Zedrelthus remembered her as—that girl in the alleyway—that beautiful girl in the alleyway. She had changed very little since that encounter, still having that long raven black hair that shined with blue incandescence in the sunlight. Her eyes were an open oceanic-like blue, never-ending, so deep. Her black lips were caused by an odd choice of make-up—not a common choice for anyone, really, and this made Zedrelthus physically attracted to her even more. Evalyn’s skin was very fair, deathly pale, even—looking very soft to the touch. She looked like a crumpled doll sitting in the corner all alone; she needed help, and needed it desperately.

Zedrelthus drew the sword that had been crafted for his quickly, elegantly waving it in front of him a few times to get the feel of it. Dett too drew his own weapons, two single-handed steel swords sharpened to perfection that he wore in dual sheaths across his back.
“And you truly think mere swords will damage me, Zedrelthus? After your little lesson before, I would’ve thought that I’d have maybe jammed some sort of plan into that thick cranium of yours.” Polaeus mocked him.
With a sweeping motion of his left hand, Zedrelthus’ sword was knocked a couple yards away from him. He looked at the sword intensely, and then acutely flicked his wrist. The sword came soaring back to his hand. Everybody in the room at that point, even Zedrelthus, was surprised greatly.
“Hah! You’ve been studying magic?” Polaeus laughed greatly.
Zedrelthus ran forth and hacked mightily at Polaeus, cutting him in half at the waist.
Zedrelthus muttered to himself “Studying is not my thing Polaeus, I’m au natural.”
He was shocked to find that the Polaeus that he had cut in half was no longer there, and somewhat surprised when he felt a forceful blow hit him squarely in the back. Zed was knocked to his knees, where he choked on his breath for a few moments. Polaeus closed in on him, and this gave Dett an opening. Dett sprinted forth and slashed at him twice, once with each sword. Polaeus blocked the swords with his forearms, appearing to take no pain at all, and proceeded to make contact with Dett—smashing him with both palms of his hands. A huge ripple of force blew threw the palms of his hands as he struck him, and Dett was propelled into the cobblestone wall behind him.
Dett stood up, wiping a collection of blood from his mouth. He cursed under his breath; the old guy had hit him hard. As far as he knew, nobody hit Dett hard. He collected himself, and as he did, the old man lost concentration on him.
Polaeus turned around to meet Zedrelthus. He raised both hands above his head, collecting his inner spirit, and then threw them downwards with all of his might. The air bended around the sheer power that exploded from Polaeus’ palms, and Zedrelthus never saw it coming. He tried desperately to leap out of the way, but was hit full on and sent careening into the cobblestone wall on the other side of the tower. An emotionless expression slipped over his face after he hit the wall, and his body fell limply to the ground.

Polaeus sharply hit Dett, knocking one of his swords from his grip. It slid to where Zedrelthus still lay, dead as far as everyone else knew. Polaeus cornered Dett; ready to finish him off the way he’d done Zedrelthus. He raised both of his hands up in the air and Dett tried to run, but couldn’t—he was frozen.
Just as Polaeus threw his hands down, Zedrelthus caught him. He tightly gripped his right hand around Polaeus’ left elbow, sending the blast of power off target—blowing a large hole in the tower. Zedrelthus forcefully slammed Polaeus to the wall, and with his other hand, he made an open hand. He slowly closed it and Polaeus felt his neck tighten a little. Zedrelthus then let go of his elbow and lifted him with his will by his neck to a large wooden cross. He closed in on Polaeus, drawing from his belt with his free hand one of his lucky daggers that he had nearly forgotten about—as he never used them, only in emergencies such as. As he reached the magician, he loosened his grip on his neck, taking his left elbow and holding it into place, proceeding to drive a dagger into his left hand. His left palm, source of half of his power, nailed to one side of a cross, but he hadn’t been through yet. Zedrelthus drew another dagger as he drove it through Polaeus’ right hand, crucifying him to the large wooden cross in his own tower.
Polaeus screamed in agony, noticing that he couldn’t hurt Zedrelthus no matter what he did. His eyes focused on the most vulnerable target in the room, the weak malnourished Evalyn, who couldn’t even stand right. Polaeus imploded his spirit, everything that could possibly make one more attempt at an attack. This time he used his mind, not his palms, the implosion hit Evalyn sharply. A loud wheeze was spat from her mouth, as she fell over sideways, dead. As this was done, Polaeus’ head fell limp to his chest: he was also dead from the sheer force of his exerted power. At the cost of killing Evalyn, he had destroyed his mind, and a body cannot function without a mind—his downfall. Even a man as smart as Polaeus can miss a few things that are essential to be taken into consideration.

* * *

Elexus didn’t even pay attention to the black spiraling tower in the distance, so he didn’t notice the large hole in it either. He did, however, spot Raia, who looked up at the tower with the freshly blown hole in it with a sense of horror.
Elexus jumped off of his mount and handed the kid to Raia, who looked pleased. She attempted to stop him from entering the tower, but he did without even hearing a word she said, Andrakkt hot on his tail the whole way.

As they climbed the steps Zedrelthus was hunched over Evalyn’s body, his now sweaty hair hanging down over his face, wet with the fill of a tough skirmish. He drew in a deep breath and placed both of his hands on her stomach. He himself wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but he still did. He slid her black silky shirt up to reveal her stomach and then placed his hands on it. Zed began breathing harder and harder; he felt his own heart soaring to heights he’d never even dreamed of it hitting before. It was becoming so intense that a few absent tears dropped from his eyes, falling down to Evalyn, who was partially under him now. Zedrelthus’ breathing began to reach impossible speeds. His hands now began to pump up and down on her stomach.
“Live.” He mumbled under his breath, keeping it to himself. He continued doing everything he had been since the beginning.
“Live.” He said at a normal voice, becoming frantic with the sheer power of his words.
“Live!” Zedrelthus cried out at the top of his lungs, and then collapsed to the floor backwards. His own palms were beginning to trickle blood that ran down his wrists before falling to make puddles around his hands.
Evalyn coughed loudly, nearly choking. Dett was appalled at what had happened before his eyes, resurrection; she had been deceased, and now was living again. Why did she deserve a second chance? He took up both of his swords, even the one that he had obtained from beside Zedrelthus’ now idle sword. He approached Zedrelthus slowly.
“I’m the predator, Zedrelthus—remember that. I feed on you when you can’t fight back. I’m the trickle of blood running down from your lips, I’m the maiden of death giving you a black kiss. Watch yourself, leader—this is your end, delivered by Dett—hired, former friend.”
His words ended sharply as a correctly thrown axe rippled through the air past Dett’s face. Andrakkt had thrown it, and in charged Elexus to save his former party leader.

Andrakkt ran to Evalyn, and the two of them ripped cloth from the sleeves of Zedrelthus’ shirt to make it sleeveless, like it had been when everything had started. They used the black, ripped cloth to wrap around his hands to stop the bleeding, tightly around each, wrapping it around his middle finger and to his wrist so it would stay on each hand. One long black end hung from each wrist, which didn’t look all too bad. Andrakkt pulled Zedrelthus into the corner, where he and Evalyn dared not interfere with Dett and Elexus. Andrakkt was a man of pride, and believed not in an unfair fight, so that’s what he did—watched.

“Zedrelthus! Wake up!” Sooz called to him.
“I can hear you Sooz” Zedrelthus spoke back “I just can’t do anything but hear.”
“I’ve figured out why magic never worked for you now! Fire, you couldn’t create. Water you had no luck with, the same with all the others—because you can’t use magic.”
“Why not?” Zed was a little shocked.
“Because you’re an adept void. Void is the magic of the light and dark, split into life and death. Xhell is the holder of the death half, which really, anyone can have—but you—you have a power that only gods can possess: giving and taking lives.”
“Isn’t taking lives the same as bringing death?” Zedrelthus asked.
“Not even close.”
“Explain.”
“You know I can’t, Zedrelthus—”
She was cut off by Zedrelthus, using a rather mocking tone of thought “Yes, yes, for every word you use, your counterpart is just gifted with words.”
“You’re something special Zedrelthus, much more than the lowlife scum I’d expected you to be.”
“Hey! Wait a—” but she was gone. There was no use fighting it, Zedrelthus had a gift, the gift may have somehow acted as a curse, as his hands were now sensitive unless wrapped—but still something that many people, even Xhell, would kill for.

Elexus and Dett exchanged parries and quick strikes, as they both wielded dual steel swords, both flying rapidly. It was a dead even match, Dett trained with the arts of an assassin, Elexus trained with the more military side of how to kill someone.
Dett cornered Elexus to the hole in the wall. The wind blew quickly, rippling through a draft that nearly sucked Elexus out of the tower. Dett charged in, flailing his swords above his head. He came down with both of them vertically, which Elexus met with his left sword, managing to parry them away. As he did this he sidestepped and held ground behind Dett, striking him as violently as he could with the blunt face of his right sword. Dett knocked forward with a forceful blow, falling out of the tower screaming curses on Elexus’ life the whole way. He swore that he’d come back to claim his head someday, to which Elexus doubted—no man could ever survive such a fall.

Elexus carried Evalyn down the many stairs with caution, and he did so slowly and Andrakkt carried Zedrelthus over his right shoulder. Eventually, they met up with Raia, where they told her everything that had happened in great detail. Where to next? Nobody had a clue.

Entry X
Throw another log on the fire
Watch the flames whip up at the sky
You’ve got a thief, a scoundrel, a devious liar
But still a man that never may die

“Andrakkt” the barbarian said outstretching his only hand. Zedrelthus met it with his own hand. “Andrakkt with you now, okay? Tribe dead, Noïretté kill them.”
“Sorry to hear that, you can travel with us if you’d like” Zedrelthus told him.
“If Andrakkt with you, Andrakkt need change war-paint, Andrakkt cannot wear war-paint of old tribe if Andrakkt with new tribe.”

Raia brought him some water and he washed his face clean, scrubbing off the paint for what seemed like forever. It stayed on for a long time, it seemed.
“Color?” Andrakkt asked.
“What?” Zedrelthus returned a question.
“What color? Andrakkt need tribe color.”
Zedrelthus looked around at everyone else and grinned. “Black.”
Andrakkt nodded and gathered a few plants around him, mixing them together and grinding them up with a small wooden tool. After this was done he took a knife used for cutting meat and cut the wrist of his arm with no hand. He let the blood drip into the paint, turning it a deeper and deeper red until it was nearly black.
When he was satisfied with the coloration, he bound cloth around his wrist and motioned to everyone to come close to him. Evalyn had to put down a hunk of deer, which she was quite far into—she hadn’t eaten anything in a long time.
Andrakkt instructed deeply “Need blood from each one, prick right middle finger.”
They all followed, and let Andrakkt poke a small prick in each one of their middle fingers, each letting a trickle of blood drop into the paint. Andrakkt topped off the paint with more crushed plants and herbs, turning it a pure black color. It didn’t look to have the caked texture of blood anymore either. Andrakkt dipped his hand in the paint and began applying it to his face, making intricate patterns with two of his fingers. Sharp angled patterns outlined his jaw and cheeks, making him seem a lot more vicious than he already was. When he was done everybody stared in an absolute amazement.
“Welcome to the tribe, Andrakkt” Zedrelthus joked. Andrakkt took it quite seriously and kowtowed before Zedrelthus.
“Andrakkt serve you now, what is name?”
“Zedrelthus.”
Everyone was then introduced to everyone else, Evalyn filling herself with deer the whole time. She ate as if she’d never tasted food before in her life, and everyone felt quite sorry for her.

Zedrelthus was then hit with Sooz’ voice inside his head. “Capital of Anarika, address the king.”
Zed didn’t even need to reply to that one, he stood up and looked at everyone sharply. “Tomorrow we head to Anarika, does anyone know the way?”
“Andrakkt know way to everywhere” Andrakkt said calmly, looking up at Zedrelthus “Andrakkt know lands very well.”
“Excellent, Andrakkt—we’ll leave those horses you stole here and set on foot. Once we hit Zelwig we can purchase some horses and everything will pick up from there. We’ll have to travel through the mountains of Daemonal, though, which is unfortunate—but that’s a ways away from here now.” Zedrelthus was glad to see that something was finally working out.

As they reached the border to the west, Andrakkt’s wide range of herbal medication had completely cured Landon of all but one thing—blindness. The poisonous puss that his body secreted struck him blind, and the sun now hurt immensely if it shined upon his non-seeing eyes, which was beginning to draw Zedrelthus into thought. He wondered about something, how everyone in his party seemed to be losing some major thing. Elexus lost his voice, Landon lost his sight and had to bind his eyes, Zedrelthus now had to bind his hands because of their vulnerability—everyone just seemed to be growing more helpless, yet they became stronger.
Zedrelthus contemplated the idea of true strength coming only after a loss of importance hits you. Zedrelthus lost Ghet, and Dett—although crazy, was still missed, by Zed in particular. Zed noticed that his character was beginning to be shaped subconsciously, without him really having much affect on it—as he grew from a devious criminal and thief to a not-so devious criminal and leader of light.

As Zedrelthus reached the border to the west, he noticed it was heavily guarded. A blockade of Anarikan troops stood, looking out to east.
“What goes here?” Zedrelthus asked as he approached, his voice booming over the only other sound, the rustling of chain mail.
“Sarakians attacking Zelwig, we are here to prevent the infected from entering the civilizations of the west—the east is infected.”
Zedrelthus knew that the statement was not true, and most likely after the slaughter at Stronghelm; they had to look elsewhere for food. Zed then spotted a large encampment where tents had been pitched, trenches had been dug and impaling sticks had been erected.
“Does the prince of Anarika reside?” Zedrelthus asked coolly.
“Of course” one of the guards said “It is no secret that he resides among.”
“Is there any chance I could have a word with him? I have his sister with me” Zedrelthus mentioned, looking back to Raia.
“So you are Zedrelthus” he spoke warily “Many a tale goes on about you, the man made of stone—invincible, a man spawned of pure evil. Yet, some tell of you being incandescence in a period of black. Which is it, Zedrelthus?”
“I’d like the think the last, but neither truly describes me. The word I need with your prince concerns Anarika as a whole.”
“How so?” the guard asked inquisitively.
“I am not entirely certain myself,” Zedrelthus answered truthfully. The guard surprisingly did not check for identification, or witnesses—or anything at all. This surprised Zed quite a bit, as he was accustomed to Anarikan guards being a pain in the backside.

The guard led Zed to the largest of the tents, a large banner laced with gold trim reading words that Zedrelthus could not make out. The interior was designed eloquently, about as eloquent as a tent could get. On a stone elevation there was a large throne-styled chair, the back seeming to reach the heavens. On this chair sat a man roughly Zed’s age, maybe a bit younger. He had well kept black hair and a ghostly complexion, even whiter than Zed or Evalyn’s skin—and his cheekbones jutted out of his face acutely, and his jaw was angled precisely. He wore a black robe that covered his whole body save his face. He looked out to Zedrelthus and a mock-smile crossed his face, that smile reminded him too much of Evalyn, way too much.
“Brother of Raia, proper Prince of the throne of Anarika” Zedrelthus greeted with a bow.
“Ah, humbled Zedrelthus. A god in his own image” he spoke lucidly, each word seeming more and more ghastly. “What brings you to the blockade of Anarika?”
“Business is business, prince” Zedrelthus answered, not wanting to reveal the true reason he was there.
“Call me Zakkaith, Zedrelthus. Business of a god must be quite hard for mortal minds to comprehend, correct? Or are you simply not stating the truth?”
Zedrelthus was beginning to like the prince, he smiled “That’s for you to determine.”
“Cryptic. It figures.” Zakkaith threw up his hands mockingly “You and I are some of the most powerful men in the world right now, and we can’t have a straightforward conversation. My strength comes with the men I command, as my father is near death I rule his decisions Your strength comes in quite a different mood, you seem to bear the weight of the world upon your shoulders—yet you have that divine-godlike mood to you. It looks as if it doesn’t phase you one bit.”
“I’d like to think of it as that way.”
“You are indeed a modest man, Zedrelthus, but I am not.”
A grin slipped across Zed’s face. “What do you mean, Zakkaith?”
“I mean that I must bring death to you, how else will I ever be the true power in the world? If you are always around, I will always be second best, and that is a thing I am not too fond of.”
Zedrelthus was a little confused at the quick change of mood.
“I am the most highly trained duelist in all of Lannia, you may be quick with a sword, but I am even quicker with a saber.”
Zedrelthus nodded. “Then so be it.” He sensed a victory ahead of him, he was technically a god and nobody could slay gods. At this point in time, he thought incorrectly, for gods can be slain just as easily as humans—and Zedrelthus was a god by mortal eyes, but he was not near a god to true godly eyes.

Zakkaith met his opponent outside, still wearing his robe. Zedrelthus stood waiting, the rest of his party had now met up with him. Evalyn eyed Zakkaith quite a bit, as if there was something intriguing about him. Landon was still becoming accustomed to his blindness, so Raia guided his every step. Andrakkt stood near the back of the part with Elexus, who stared at his idol, Zedrelthus, a man who Elexus wished he could grow up to be even half as great as.

Zakkaith let his robe slide down to his ankles, revealing a chiseled bare chest of which bared not a single hair, not common among Anarikan males. His skin was almost gray, seeming as if all pigments had been sucked from it. He wore a pair of black pants underneath that were tied at the waist with an elegant golden cord, with this he wore black boots that nearly reached his knees—which was fashion of only the most royal of Anarika, as most others wore kilts. Kilts must have just been introduced into the army as before kilts were only fashion for commoners. Now, instead of red pants, soldiers wore red, yellow and green tartan.
Zedrelthus drew his own sword and faced Zakkaith.

Zakkaith took one sharp step forward and sliced his sword horizontally. Zedrelthus stuck out his sword to block the strike, but was surprised to see that his sword was cleaved in half.
“Sabers, Zedrelthus” Zakkaith spoke in a tone vivid of mocking “Lightweight, and sharp—not to be fooled around with.”
“I’m a man of tradition” Zedrelthus informed “A saber just wouldn’t be right for me. Plus, the blade is much too weak, for it may have cut through mine, but now it looks as if it could break at any second. Definitely a weapon for show.”
Zedrelthus dropped the sword that had been crafted for him by the Eastings, he was a little disappointed, but he knew he would find something else. He lunged forth, avoiding a vertical slash of Zakkaith’s saber that would’ve proven fatal. Zakkaith groaned as Zed met him with an elbow to the gut, dropping his sword, he tried to retaliate, but it was no use. Zedrelthus was much more trained in fighting unarmed as opposed to using a sword, or anything else for that matter. He bobbed left and right, throwing jabs and hooks and throwing Zakkaith off-guard many times. Zakkaith attempted to throw a right under Zedrelthus’ chin, but Zed cleverly spun, jamming his left knee up into Zakkaith’s chest.
Zakkaith crumbled to the ground, winded, and clutching his chest with both of his hands. Zedrelthus turned around and picked up the discarded saber that Zakkaith had unfortunately let go of. He lifted this up to his shoulder and approached Zakkaith, who looked up at him in awe.
“Kill me.” Zakkaith spoke harsh words.
“There’s no need to kill you, Raia would only be angered with me anyway. I was simply giving this saber back to you.”
“You are a man of no honor, I deserve death.” Zakkaith insisted.

Zedrelthus figured he’d give the man some time to think, he dropped the saber beside Zakkaith and walked to join the rest of his party. He saw that everyone stood there except for Andrakkt.
“Where did Andrakkt go to?” Zedrelthus asked inquisitively.
“Two men from his old tribe came to greet him, they were talking to him behind that tent over there” Raia motioned to a tent nearly as large as Zakkaith’s.
Zedrelthus nodded and motioned for Elexus to go with him. Landon stayed with Evalyn and conversed with her, while Raia went to greet her brother.

“Raia, you must leave Zedrelthus” he came out quickly, cutting all of the small talk away from the conversation. “Our Caravan leaves soon back to Anarika, you must come to take ascension of the throne with myself.”
The throne in Anarika did not work as it did in many other places. The king and queen both had separate partners who were nobles, but not royal blooded. The king and queen were brother and sister—and obviously not married. The king then produced two offspring with his betrothed, a noble of his choice, the eldest to be male and the youngest to be female. If the results did not work out as planned, the child was killed and it was attempted again until the proper end results were intact. Both of these children would become king and queen of Anarika, siblings. The throne worked this way because the beginning Anarikans were not too fond of incest to keep the family alive and on the throne—they thought it to lead to mental retardation, as was seen in a few rulers of Cheekien.
“I cannot leave Zedrelthus, brother” Raia spoke regally “for we are party members, and we cannot be broken up—save you want a world flourished of chaos.”
“Has he poisoned your mind, child?” Zakkaith asked rhetorically “he is no man accustomed to be in your presence.”
“I will not leave him, brother, end of story.” She finished snob-like, looking down her nose at him, spinning elegantly, and then walking off to meet up with Evalyn and Landon.

Landon looked as if Evalyn were the devil, he made claims about her soul being impure, she not being human and such, but Raia who was secretly distressed about her brother ignored all said and done. She hated fighting, any form of it, but she knew it had to be done sometimes. Listening to Landon preach did sort of clear her mind, but she shut him up and began talking “girl talk” with Evalyn, who seemed to be not so much the type to enjoy giddy laughter with another female.
Zakkaith walked over to Raia humbly, he had no guards on his back this time.
“I’m coming with you to Anarika, leaving my Caravan and the safety of my countrymen. I want you to be safe, with me in your party, I can keep watch on you to make sure he does nothing to taint your blood.”
“I assure you brother, he is not of that sort” Raia began “But I’m sure he will welcome you with open arms into our humblest of parties.”
Landon motioned to Raia “Don’t you think our party is getting rather large?”
Before Raia could answer a loud outcry was heard, it was Andrakkt. They all in unison rushed behind the second largest tent as quickly as their legs could carry them. When they saw what was going about, they stared in a seeming admiration, jaws agape, but still able to do nothing to help his cause. A trickle of blood dripped from his neck absently wandering, making its way down to meet his chest.

Tainted

11th July 2004, 09:13 AM

Entry XI
A king of no throne, a warrior of the mountains
A queen seldom known, a preacher of blind fountains
A mute warrior of fights, a girl whose soul is gone
Lastly, the leader of light, they are seven strong

Andrakkt looked up to the two barbarians who stood three inches taller than his already immense height. A trickle of blood ran down his neck from the larger of the two, he had placed his large sword, of which he only wielded with one hand, up to his neck. The sheer sharpness of the steel sword had turned the attack from intimidation to something more.
“Where colors go, Andrakkt?” the larger of the two asked mockingly.
“Galvanic! He no longer blue, but black, what is he?” the smaller of the two seemingly giant barbarians asked. He called the leader of the two of them Galvanic, a common name for barbarians.
“I leave your tribe, you all dead Andrakkt thought” Andrakkt told the two of them; he appeared to not be too keen on fighting. “Know I am, you here to take Andrakkt life for abandon tribe.”
The smaller of the two grinned. “You right.”
Andrakkt crossed his right arm to his left leg and in an instant pulled a sharpened axe from a sheath-like object, striking the nameless barbarian in the chest. “Andrakkt not give up with no fight.” The nameless barbarian remained emotionless as his body fell to the ground limp, obviously dead.
Galvanic’s sword glistened as he struck out at Andrakkt, who parried his strong blows. Elexus and Zedrelthus watched on, as did the rest of the party—as they all knew better than to interfere and make the fight unfair. Zedrelthus knew himself that if he joined in, he would have to avoid two barbarians swinging at him, both trying to even out the fight.

Galvanic horizontally slashed at Andrakkt’s knees, attempting to bring him down. Andrakkt leapt higher than Zedrelthus had ever seen anyone leap before—it may have just been because of his height, but regardless, it was high. When he leapt he brought his arm back, axe in his only hand, and he threw the axe at a blinding speed. The velocity of the throw was so high that the axe could not been seen until it was lodged into Galvanic’s skull. Galvanic dropped his sword and fell backward, shattering the ground with a booming crash as his back made contact with the hardened soil.
Andrakkt was breathing heavily, the fight must’ve paid a heavy toll on him. He had just laid waste to two of his former tribe-mates, both of which ranked higher than him. That would’ve been shameful, if he were not solely protecting his own life.
Andrakkt took up the mighty sword that Galvanic had wielded. It was a claymore styled sword, long, sharp, built strong. It appeared to be laced with that black metal that was popular for armor, but would not work as a sword. This would make it strong, and nearly entirely immune to breaking. Carved onto the blade were three letters, reading down towards the hilt: TYR.
“Tear” Andrakkt boomed. He must have been pronouncing the three-letter word. “For Zedrelthus.”
As soon as Zedrelthus put both of his hands on the sword, it glowed brightly and then went dim again.
“Tyr” Andrakkt began “Barbarian for ‘God Slayer’”
Zedrelthus sheathed the massive sword, that wasn’t heavy at all to him, on his back, hoping in secrecy that it would last him longer than his former weapons.

* * *

Landon shrieked in horror and covered his bound eyes with both of his hands.
“That girl!” he cried out “Evalyn! Her left palm burns of incandescence!”
Evalyn looked a little shocked, but she turned both of her hands over, fingers slightly curled in a resting state. She peered at her left hand, only to see a light red symbol looking similar to the Anarikan character for A.
“A birthmark” she spoke quietly “I’ve had it since I was but a child.”
Zakkaith’s mouth fell open and he stared, everyone stood in a circle around the hand. It did not glow of incandescence, but it did to Landon, and it burned the nerves in his eyes that were so sensitive, he could no longer see with them.
Zakkaith reached his right palm into the middle of the group and opened it slowly, showing that he too had the mark on his palm.
“The crown of Anarika” Zakkaith said “It’s what we were branded with when we were born, to tell the true prince and princess of Anarika.”
Raia looked shocked. She held out her hand, and she had the mark too, but it was on her right hand.
“I’ve always pondered of such” Zakkaith began “They are supposed to be on left and right, because the king sits left of the queen and the markings are supposed to be next to each other.”
“That means…” Raia was nearly speechless she couldn’t go on.
“You have been an imposter since birth, Evalyn here was most likely stolen and switched for another baby. This explains a lot, we look alike—you don’t even have the trademark black hair that the rest of our family has—your hair is nearly white.” Zakkaith pointed out.
Raia twiddled her straight blonde hair in her fingers, worried about her descent of rank. In reality, she wasn’t that crushed by it, mainly because she had never been that fond of responsibility, she was more worried of having to be treated as a commoner.
“We treat you as a commoner anyway” Evalyn insisted “You don’t see us using formalities now, why would we think any less of you? I don’t expect formalities to be said about myself, either. In fact, it’s more of an ambiguous label, it won’t hold much weight on me.”
Raia nodded and stepped back “The true princess of Anarika.”

* * *

Just when Zedrelthus thought that the string of events had come to an end, a messenger greeted Zakkaith and told him of pressing news.
“The king and queen of Anarika had been stricken dead, you and the princess must travel to Anarika to take the throne.”
“Who has done such a thing?” Zakkaith demanded.
“Cheekien assassins, they send word from Samuel Cheeks—the king of Cheekien.”
“Why would Cheekien attack? We’re allies!” Zakkaith was outraged.

“Zedrelthus, Samuel Cheeks is the last member of Xhell’s party. You have to go to Anarika, have Evalyn ascend the throne. Before you get there, be prepared for a war, the assassination of the king and queen was an attempt to throw you off guard and make you charge west un-protected. A whole Daemonal army comes for you, lead by Booreminicus and Thorke, Raia and Elexus’ opposition. Prepare them.” Sooz hadn’t spoke to him in a while; it took him a bit to register the words. When he had, he stopped Zakkaith.
“The Daemonal are going to be attack this spot, you need to gather all of your men on this border and prepare them for war. We will fight our way past the Daemonal forces and into Anarika, where you and Evalyn can ascend the throne.”
“Evalyn?” the messenger asked.
Zakkaith answered, “The true princess of Anarika.”

Zedrelthus approached both Raia and Elexus who coincidentally enough were together conversing, Elexus using the subtle method of talking with his hands.
“You two are—” Zedrelthus was cut off.
“Evalyn told us” Raia began “It’s our turn, Ghet and Dett have had theirs. I’m a little worried” Raia continued “To say the least, I don’t want my fate to lead the way of Ghet and Dett.”
“I can’t promise that it won’t” Zedrelthus answered. “To tell you the truth, if that does happen, it won’t matter—as your sole purpose for being born was to lead out this quest, win or lose, we will continue with or without you.”
Elexus stared at him, cold eyes glaring up at his hero.
“The truth does hurt” Raia spoke emotionlessly “But I am glad you have not buttered it up for me.”
“I would do no such thing” Zedrelthus assured him “Ever.”
“Thorke, who is this? And who is Booreminicus?” Raia asked.
“Thorke is a giant, massive twelve foot tall giant, supposedly a mutated human. Booreminicus is a Daemonal warlord, one of the strongest Daemonals to ever walk the earth.”
“Then how does a fragile girl such as myself get stuck with a warlord?” Raia questioned.
“Fate?” Zedrelthus wasn’t even sure of his answer “Bad luck, perhaps. But remember, you may not kill him directly, for if your thinking leads to his death—it will still count as a point for you.”
Raia smiled at Zed’s approach to the question. Elexus knew that this was his time to shine; he had to show everyone that he could accomplish his goal, and not go insane as Dett had. He was determined, but unlike Dett and Ghet, he had no time to train for the upcoming event, as it was taking place in the next day or so.

* * *

Zakkaith had assembled his armies and he rode in the saddle of a white horse that wore battle armor. Zakkaith also wore armor, but in the form of a steel breast plate and a steel helmet with a visor. He wore an elegant red cape that flowed behind him and bore the golden A of Anarika on the back.
Andrakkt was completely encased in armor, and looked like a giant compared to the generally skinny Anarikan males suited in mail. Andrakkt’s armor was a little dirty, but it mattered not to him, who wore the steel for the function and not the look. He had been gifted with a large two-handed stone war hammer that was presented to him by Zakkaith for his grief concerning the death of Galvanic.
Elexus wore his shirt of mail, but now instead of a blue and silver banner draped over his chest, he wore a red and gold one—which he just didn’t feel comfortable wearing, but did so anyway. He wielded dual swords and had them both drawn and glistening in the sun that was only beginning to set.
Landon and Evalyn lurked back at the camp along with the people that worked for Anarika, the cooks and such of which did not partake in the fighting. Landon and Evalyn saw no point to being killed, so they did not even attempt to war alongside the rest of their party.
Raia rode on a horse as well, as she would have been much too short to run among the men. She wore very light armor that basically was only there to conceal the fact that she was a woman. Raia’s helmet felt very uncomfortable to her because she had all of her hair piled in the back of it, as another protective measure to hide her sex. She also wore a red cape, as did all Anarikan Calvary—of which there was very few. They were also the only Anarikan soldiers to not wear kilts, aside from Zedrelthus, Andrakkt and Elexus—the only foot soldiers without uniform.
Zedrelthus wore a steel chest plate along with steel legs covering his thighs. Underneath both pieces of armor he wore chain mail to protect his calves and his arms. His helmet was a spectacle to behold, coming to an edge that ran up to his nose, spreading apart into a horizontal strip for him to see out of. The helmet was crafted with such care that Zedrelthus almost felt wrong using it—as he knew himself it would be destroyed for sure by the end of the battle.

All the waiting endured was shattered with the loud and consistent war drums booming across the landscape. At first they were but a whisper in the ears of the men that stood ready for war, injecting fear further underneath their skin as the drums began to boom louder and louder as the army marched closer.
Zakkaith could see the frontlines of the army in the distance, and they could see his warriors assembled. In front of the Daemonals rode a man on a black war-hound, which was just a creature that lived in the mountains of Daemonal. It was like a wild dog, except about the size of a bear, and as fast as, if not faster, than a horse. It was encased in armor, as were the rest of them that were ridden by Daemonals.
The lead Daemonal was Booreminicus; his black flesh seemed more packed on him than the others, as there were less bits hanging from his bones. Like all Daemonals, he had the characteristic “no-nose”, just the two triangular-like holes that would be present if a human were to have no nose. It was at this point that Zedrelthus realized they were just mutated humans, nocturnal mutated humans that lived in caves, but still resembling a human.
A large hulking figure plodded erratically beside the leader of the Daemonal. This was Thorke, the hulking giant. He was completely encased in black armor, making him about as strong as an elephant made of pure steel. Nothing could be seen about what he really looked like, but his armor was crafted acutely, the helmet of the armor bearing two large tusks.

Zakkaith rode his horse in front of everybody else’s, raising his sword up in the air; he waited for his men to fall deathly silent. When they did all that could be heard was the chattering of the Daemonals, seeming like ghouls whispering in the winds. That, and the still ever-beating war drums chipped away at every human soul present, even Zed got goose bumps.
When the Daemonals and Anarikans stood one hundred yards apart, the drums stopped. There was an extended silence while the two armies stared at each other—eyeing each man down.
Zakkaith and Booreminicus simultaneously rose up their swords and bellowed deeply. Each one of the Anarikan soldiers in the front-most line fired off one shot from their rifles and then charged to eliminate in close quarters all that they had missed.

Andrakkt smashed through Daemonals left and right, knocking them to the ground with his large hammer, where they were either trampled over and killed, or smashed with the hammer again until they died.
Zedrelthus leapt to his side and jammed his sword into the side of a lumbering Daemonal, drawing it out and cutting the throat of another beast that stood near him. He, along with the others, fought through the mass of Daemonal until he saw his mark: Booreminicus.

The warriors on either side had begun to spread out more evenly as most had been killed in the first charge. The Anarikans fought strong and hard, and were advancing on the Daemonal quite nicely, but were tiring quickly. Thorke was what the Anarikans truly feared, for he smashed through their forces unstoppably. A few arrows jutted out of his sides, but he still continued attacking forward, plowing Anarikans left and right.
Elexus saw only one way to bring down the giant, he fought until he was behind it, slaying several Daemonals and trying his best not to be seen. When he was behind Thorke, he pulled his sword across his body and carefully slashed at the back of Thorke’s bare leg—it appeared they hadn’t bothered armoring the back of his legs. Elexus’ slash had cut a tendon in the beast’s left leg.
Moving with haste, Elexus cut in the same spot on Thorke’s other leg. The giant fell to it’s knees, crushing it’s own team as it fell. It also crushed a few Anarikan soldiers, but most that died under his immense mass were Daemonals. Elexus raised his sword in victory, noticing that the giant could not get up, although it was not dead, it wasn’t going anywhere. Anarika soldiers hacked at the back of his legs with brutality, cutting chunks of flesh from the beast, leaving his legs bleeding too much blood to leave the giant conscious. Thorke let out one deformed, strangled cry as he left the world of the living, a gasping, strangled cry that would sound off forever in the eardrums of Elexus, for that was the sound of him achieving what he was birthed to do.

Entry XII
Kill yourself, let it all loose
Then stab your brothers in the back
You’ll find if you hang from a noose
There’ll be no one to cut you slack

Zedrelthus looked to his left to see Elexus, remembering him from before and noticing only now how much he had changed. Back then he had black hair, which it had found to be dyed as it was now a pale blond color. Hell, he was so grubby and poorly dressed back then that when Zed first met him, he figured he was older than Ghet and Dett. He was mistaken, though, as Ghet and Dett were both a couple years older than Elexus.
Now he was a warrior, none of that thievery business anymore. He was a mute, thanks to an unfortunate accident, but he was still a damn good warrior. Zed thought Ghet would be proud if he were there to witness Elexus laying waste to Daemonals left and right.

Booreminicus slaughtered kilted men to either side, leaving corpses in the path that he traveled. Then he was knocked from his war-beast, and when that happened, Zedrelthus thought him to be dead for sure. Right after he was knocked to the ground he got up, parried a thrust at him from an Anarikan soldier, and jammed his sword into another. Booreminicus continued on, until he spotted Zedrelthus.
Zedrelthus eyed him also, and watched as the Daemonal warlord laid waste to men left and right while he kept his eyes on Zedrelthus. When he saw an opening he charged, the warlord throwing a mailed fist at Zedrelthus.
Zed leapt to the side and lunged his sword at his opponent, Booreminicus parried and slashed at Zed’s stomach. The mighty slash broke his armor near his gut, a shard of steel that had not been properly connected to the armor dug deep into his stomach. Zedrelthus immediately coughed up a mouthful of blood. Zedrelthus was in Raia’s line of sight, and she watched with horror as Booreminicus kneed him sharply in the stomach, and then bashed him with the butt of his sword, knocking him to the ground. Booreminicus drew up his sword, prepared to bring an end to the life of the mighty Zedrelthus.
Raia immediately picked up a rifle from the ground that had not yet been fired, so it was loaded freshly with one bullet. She held the gun at her waist, feeling it awkward to hold it up to her eye and aim like she had seen the men do. Using this method, standing at roughly forty yards, she fired—looking on as the bullet soared through the sky.
Zedrelthus looked up at Booreminicus as he prepared to bring his sword down at his neck. He watched intensely, even as Booreminicus’ eyes widened as a bullet pierced the side of his helmet, and continued on out the other side of his head, leaving with it a small explosion of blood from the exit wound. Booreminicus’ mouth dripped with blood, and he dropped his sword inches from Zed’s neck, proceeding to fall over backwards and lay dead on the battlefield.

Daemonals rushed over to attempt to slay an already nearly fallen Zedrelthus. Just as Zedrelthus had again sealed his own demise, Andrakkt bashed one of the creatures in the head with his war-hammer, caving in the side of its skull. He swung it horizontally at another, knocking it flailing sideways. Andrakkt advanced even further, until it was safe to sling Zedrelthus over his shoulder. Zed could not help but be reminded of him carrying Landon in the same fashion when he was wounded.
Andrakkt ran quicker than Zedrelthus had ever seen anybody run with a full suit of armor on, and Andrakkt took Zedrelthus back to the camp with Evalyn and Landon, where shortly after he rushed back into battle—as he was a big difference in the skirmish where the living diminished rapidly.

Zakkaith’s saber sung as it cut through the flesh of Daemonals as he advanced on their forces. Elexus had fallen back and was now firing well-aimed shots from a rifle that he continued to load after every shot.
From then on, the Anarikans advanced heavily on the Daemonals, pushing them back until they were only archers firing aimlessly into a massed troop. One of these archers happened to strike Elexus in the thigh. Elexus pulled the arrow from his thigh and screamed in agony, as doing such a thing hurt quite a bit. After doing this he limped back to the camps where he too met with Zedrelthus, Evalyn and Landon.
The remaining Daemonals were either killed, or chased off, and after a long fatiguing battle, the remaining soldiers returned to their camps to rest before the travel to Anarika.

* * *

“Not good” Andrakkt analyzed after looking at the wound on Elexus’ thigh. The skin around the cut had turned black, and the blood that surfaced from it was also a dark black in coloration. “Daemonal poison, kill him if no medicine.”
“How do we get the medicine to treat this?” Zedrelthus asked Andrakkt, his stomach had been wrapped up tightly and he felt very little pain now.
“North Slalomen, it where we need go anyway.”
“Why is this?” Landon asked inquisitively.
“We can’t travel Daemonal lands, we be killed, we need to go over Daemonal lands.”
“What’re you suggesting?” Landon was curious.
“Barbarian men have Griffins, pay gold, they fly us to Anarika.”
Zedrelthus was pleased with the idea. “Just how much money will this cost us?”
“One hundred gold pieces” Andrakkt replied with a grim tone to his voice.
“Not even most rich men can afford such a price!” Landon was appalled.
“I’m not like ordinary rich men, Landon, but even I do not have such a hefty sum of money. I’ve got seventy-five gold pieces, not nearly enough.” Zedrelthus replied.
“Zakkaith money” Andrakkt suggested. Zakkaith, who sat there with the rest of them, quickly shot down the suggestion.
“The money I now come to own is sitting in Anarika, just where it won’t do us any good, I’m afraid we have but seventy-five gold pieces” Zakkaith brought up.
Andrakkt immediately sat up straight in delight “Slalomen games. Win thirty gold pieces for joust, ten for sword, ten for barbarian wrestle, other event too.”
“But Elexus won’t live that long for us to sit there in Slalomen and play these games.” Zedrelthus pointed out.
“I take him up mountains, see brethren” Andrakkt spoke boldly “You do sword, Zedrelthus, Zakkaith do joust, win.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, but if you’re sure you can take Elexus to get medicine, we’re good with it.” Zedrelthus noted.

They left for Slalomen the next day, gifted with a war-cart to travel in. A war-cart wasn’t all that hospitable, as it was only a small carriage that was pulled by four horses. It held about twelve people; in this case, everybody had a fair amount of room. Andrakkt drove the horses, sitting at the reigns, as he also had a sort of affection for animals—horses and sheep in particular. The remaining consisting of Zedrelthus, Elexus, Raia, Landon, Evalyn, Zakkaith and the child, of whom Raia cradled in her arms.

* * *

“No, actually” Zedrelthus answered “I’ve never competed in anything as such before.”
“First time everything.” Andrakkt boomed, Elexus silently agreed.
Zakkaith begin to explain the concept of sword fighting in organized tournaments. He had personally never competed in the event, as he, from the age of a child, had been raised for the joust. “The object is to knock the sword your opponent carries from his own hand, and if such shall fall to come about, you’ll win. If this does not happen, however, flags are used to determine scoring. For every time you cleanly strike him, a flag is scored on your side. First man to five flags wins.”

Zedrelthus nodded, he removed his helmet that had come out of the battle undamaged. His chest plate, however, had been taken off before they entered the war cart—as it was useless. He wore a chain mail shirt and that helmet as his only protection, now. Zakkaith was completely garbed in armor, even wearing mail pants with steel legs. His armor was a work of perfection, polished, as it had to look good for inspection prior to the jousting. Andrakkt had made him three lances out of a strong wood in the area, strong was good—as it wouldn’t be prone to breaking. Andrakkt put on each one of the ends a small steel fist, as the purpose of jousting was for sport, and there was supposed to be no intent to kill the other—even though it often did happen.
“Jousting works as so” Zakkaith explained “Each combatant rides on opposite sides of poles that are put in the ground, you cross to the other side, you’re disqualified. The object is to knock your opponent from his horse—do that, and you win. Jousting works differently than sword dueling, though, as we keep going until someone is knocked from their horse, or at least until someone is no longer able to joust.”
“I understand quite clearly now” Zedrelthus noted.
“One more thing—for the sword dueling, you won’t be using your sword, they use regular sword handles, but a long metal rod replaces the blade. Prevents fatalities, they still happen, however.” Zakkaith told Zedrelthus.
“I suppose the rest of you have a free day” Zedrelthus began “Evalyn and Raia, I suggest you two visit some shops, stock up on supplies.” He handed each one of them five gold coins. “That should do for a lot of excellent supplies, I expect nothing less.”
Raia scooped up the child and walked off with Evalyn trailing close behind, they would most likely follow a schedule consisting of gossip and bartering prices. Zedrelthus knew this from the start, which was why he gifted them with the job—he knew they wouldn’t complain all that much.

“We leave now” Andrakkt’s voice broke all silence in the air.
Zedrelthus turned to Andrakkt and bowed deeply before him “You fill me with great respect for you, safe travels. You too, Elexus.”
Elexus nodded and Andrakkt returned the bow, proceeding to head north into the mountains with Elexus following close behind. Zedrelthus expected Andrakkt’s journey to be long and tedious, finding the specific herb that they needed for Elexus’ condition would require some time. After that, they would scout out the roads ahead to the barbarians with the Griffins and then return to lead Zedrelthus and the rest of the party with whatever winnings they had.
That left only Zakkaith, Zedrelthus and Landon, the latter still with nothing to do. Zakkaith would’ve asked him to come with him to the joust as part of a crew, but Landon refused as he claimed he wasn’t all that well with armor. This mattered not to Zakkaith, as he would have Zedrelthus to help him with his armor and such, for Zed’s event was much before the jousting. The jousting was always the last event, as it kept the audiences there until the end of the day, it was the main attraction, and people came to see people get their bones broken.

* * *

It had come to Zed’s realization that they were not going to win enough money to fly the Griffins over to Anarika. Evalyn and Raia had returned with supplies, and the ten gold that they took left him with sixty-five. He had not come close to winning the sword event, and now even if Zakkaith won the jousting they would be short five pieces.
So when Zedrelthus spotted twenty or so black robed figures, hands joined, with hoods that would not show their faces, he breathed a sigh of relief—he figured he could rob the place in all of the confusion. As the leader threw back his hood, Zedrelthus froze where he was standing and stood with his mouth agape. Two black down-turned horns protruded just above each eyebrow, his face was tattooed wickedly, sharp ridges outlining his pale complexion. He let the whole robe slide off of his body to show that he was not wearing a shirt, and that his chest too was tattooed, along with his back. A pentagram was tattooed onto his chest, and underneath the words “Tel habretth, lidrp tel rekkyi Saeian” were also written. Zedrelthus could not quite make out the language, it resembled Noïrettéan writing, but a few words were off, then it came to him. It was the language of the nomads, derived from Noïrettéan. These people were those told in fairytales from the east, they were the Sinerik.
As soon as the crowds had silenced, people had stopped screaming demon-worshipper, or even devil itself at the leader, Zedrelthus caught a familiar glance in the eyes of his opposition. He shrugged it off as nothing until he began to speak.
“Tel titooh, els sroobenan gattel, fel tu zett, Zedrelthus!” he spoke wickedly, many of the crowd was already running about, as his voice exploded into their ears. “Translation, I come, to lands far unknown, for your head, Zedrelthus.” This second voice would forever haunt Zed’s ears. It had come to pass that his former shrugging off was inaccurate, and that he should’ve stayed with his assumption. It was he; all this time it was he.
“Tel brungen tol heyyikhan, wrykk ul ut, Zedrelthus, varrkrai erm amenoira vill frish!” he began “Translation, I bring my brethren, this is it, Zedrelthus, surrender or everyone will perish!”
There was a long pause in which Zedrelthus stared down the leader of the Sinerik people, in his head the transformation from Dett to this thing appeared roughly imagined. Nobody came forth, and Zedrelthus knew it was about to get brutal. He motioned to Landon, Evalyn and Raia and they ran first over to the collections booth where they picked up roughly fifty gold, and second they began running up the same trail that Andrakkt had taken into the mountains.
“So be it, Zedrelthus, we will find you!” Dett screamed, bearing his teeth, which Zed noticed some were sharpened and pointed. He supposed a cannibal would have to have sharp teeth, or he wouldn’t be much of a cannibal. Dett threw a side-glance at all of his men and yelled at the top of his lungs “Zaalbrakk!” The twenty or so behind him simultaneously threw off their robes and drew swords, spears, spiked maces, and axes from sheaths and charged. Zedrelthus thought this would be easy game for the knights and such until he saw twenty more men pull out bows from the stands and began picking off people running away.
The Slalomenian police rushed in and began attacking these men that looked like they were no fighters, that assumption was incorrect as they fought as though they were each possessed. The tale was that each man sold his soul to the devil to give him strength, and that he would fight like a devil himself for fear of dying and burning in hell.

Zedrelthus drew Tyr from its respective sheath on his back and gripped it tightly with both hands. He paced around until he saw where Dett was. His stance became defensive as he called him out. “Dett! I am here!”
Dett turned to him; the same two swords he wielded at his supposed defeat, now each had the blade engraved with Saeian.
“Dett, that is no longer my call” he replied, walking towards Zedrelthus. “But you reminded me of the old times, the corrupted times when I was one of you. I have found my ways; I am now Zephyr, the Sinerik stone of depart. We speak to the demons with the stones, and the demons will soon speak back, you will see. When your flesh burns, ignited by the compressed hate of a demon, then you will see.”
“What are you talking about?” Zedrelthus demanded.
“The demons come, Zedrelthus, they come for you. They have never been summoned in the past, but you will see, you will see.” Dett spoke madly.
“What will I see?”
“They will burn this world you call home, and the heavens will fall, the call of the ultimate Armageddon reigns supreme. All it takes is one demon to ravage this earth, to tear the lands free for others to roam, to burn these lands, to singe the very makeup of humanity. The end of the world is now, Zedrelthus, accept the fact.”

Pig on the Wing

11th July 2004, 09:57 AM

Tainted

11th July 2004, 05:10 PM

Finally we get to the unposted chapters.

Very good. One of the best so far, whether you think so or not. You've really got it in for Elexus though haven't you?
Dett's bringing the world to an end? Wow, unexpected to say the least. The Booreminicus bit was good; Zed came so close to death too soon. And he lost the sword fight? Again, unexpected.
Looking forward to the next chapter, you keep surprising us all...

I, honestly, am not so happy with these latest chapters because I feel very uninspired-- it's part of the reason why I'm having trouble writing what comes after this... every time I make progress I end up deleting it after re-reading it wondering what the hell was I thinking. It's a very clinching part, and I'm having trouble with it.
And yes, Elexus is the punching bag-- it's how it goes, he always will be the punching bag, it builds his character, I suppose. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Unexpected? Good, that's how it should be, and yes, Dett is bit of an unpredictable antagonist. Zedrelthus came so close to death so soon against Booreminicus mainly because he is a Daemonal, and they have a greater strength than humans-- Booreminicus was also a much better swordsman than Zed, he had, after all, been sword training for hundreds of years considering Daemonals never die unless slain in battle. There's some tidbits of background information for you.

And for the readers: prepare to be surprised-- because whatever comes next should be a shocker.

Will Dett raise a demon? How will everyone get out of Slalomen? Will they make it to Anarika in time? How will Zed make it out of his trouble? Find out in Entry XIII shortly, same Zed time, same Zed channel.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

mr_pikachu

12th July 2004, 03:00 AM

Interesting. I haven't read this for awhile, because I figured it would be pointless to reread the same things.

So Dett's truly evil, now, huh? A demon won't be easy to topple, so Zedrelthus had better act fast!

I did notice some grammatical errors, mostly in punctuation. If you're going to quote someone speaking, you need to end with a punctuation mark (before the end quote), even if the sentence is not complete. If you continue with the true sentence, a period is never used; a comma would take its place. For instance:

"Hi, my name is Adam" said the man.

That should instead be:

"Hi, my name is Adam," said the man.

If you start a new sentence after the quote, though, a period is used instead of a comma. Take, for example, this:

"Hi, my name is Adam." The man smirked at her surprise.

Note how the period is at the end of the quote. Also note that other punctuation marks are used normally to end a quoted sentence. And, if you break up a quote before the quoted sentence completes, use a comma. It would be done in this way:

"So, are you going to New York," he replied, "or are you just sitting here for no reason?"

Take notice of the comma at the end of the first quoted portion. Also make sure you notice that the second quoted portion does not begin with a capital letter, as it is not a new sentence within the quote.

So ends the lesson. Keep writing! I'll be waiting... :wave:

Tainted

27th July 2004, 05:54 PM

Entry XIII
A crazed prophet, tongue whips
With each lucid word your mind dips
To a world of complex incomprehension
It’s time to make that final ascension

The rough snapping of an animal startled Elexus, who for once had some self-pride in being a mute, as he might have yelled out in fright if he could speak. Andrakkt immediately drew his two-handed war hammer and approached with a listening ear. As Andrakkt reared in closer to the thick brush on either side of the pathway, he was knocked down as a massive albino bear tackled him. His war hammer was knocked from his side and Elexus drew his own weapon and approached.
“Stay!” Andrakkt boomed, and Elexus complied, sheathing his sword.

The bear was probably about ten feet tall and had thick muscles, even for a bear. Its glowing red eyes could scare even the toughest of people, and its white fur bared not one mark of dirt or mud. Andrakkt moved his head acutely as the bear snapped at him, trying for his throat; eventually he managed to slip from the bears grip. He readied himself in a wide-legged barbarian stance, accustomed to battling animals.
The bear made the first move, lunging forward and snapping at Andrakkt. The barbarian leaped out of the way and rolled to the bear’s side, tackling it to the ground. He wrapped his massive arms around the bear’s stomach and gut wrenched it, pulling it onto it’s back. As they both tumbled, the bear knocked loose of Andrakkt’s grip and swiped at him, hitting him cleanly in the chest.
Andrakkt stumbled back, but readied himself again. With one timed advance he leaped forward and put the bear in a headlock. A swift and timely crack filled the air as Andrakkt twisted his forearms only slightly. He had broken the bear’s neck, and had killed it with his bare hands.

Elexus looked at him with pride, and he stuck out his hand to help the barbarian to his feet. Andrakkt prayed for killing the bear, shortly after, and they continued their ascent up the mountain ranges.

* * *

“Kaztan Sannh, our strongest warrior next to myself, Zedrelthus. Fear the sharp of his blades, taste their steel” Zephyr spoke cruelly. Zedrelthus wasn’t all that fond of Dett’s choice to change his name to Zephyr, but it didn’t bother him all that much. What did bother him was the fact that he was still alive.
Zephyr began drawing crude patterns with a stick in the dirt. When he appeared satisfied he began chanting. “The clock starts now, Zedrelthus.” Zephyr cackled “One hour until I reign as king of all mankind.”

Zedrelthus turned his attention to Kaztan. He too had horns protruding from his scalp. They, however, were white, and they encircled his head in a crown-like fashion. It appeared that only the highest ranking of the Sinerik had these horns planted in them. Kaztan had black and green tattoos on his face and they joined with the ones on his back and chest through his neck. The tattoos were almost spindly, floating and intersecting often. They came all the way down his forearms until they met with the peculiar weapons he was using.
Zedrelthus eyed the sabers closer. At the base of each of Kaztan’s forearms he had a blade strapped down. They appeared to fit nicely, and leather was placed on the bottom of the part of the blade that made contact with the arm. The weapon appeared almost comfortable, and Zed took precautious measures, as any man that wields such an odd weapon probably knows how to use it.

Kaztan walked with a Sinerik man on either side of him, each wielding their own double-sided pike. These two men charged first. Zedrelthus held Tyr defensively and blocked both swift strikes, and it was only at this point that Zed realized he had his work cut out for him. This wouldn’t be like other skirmishes, this was the real deal—the fairytales were accurate about the fighting skill of these Sinerik.
Zedrelthus swung his sword backwards to block an incoming charge, and then stabbed it forward only to be parried. Zed rolled casually in the direction his sword was parried, avoiding two oncoming jabs from both sides of him. Zed looked up, his black hair molded to his forehead with sweat, and he saw their blue tattoos almost mocking him. They danced across their faces like demons, intimidating even the likes of Zedrelthus.
“Tel Xhell-hakken frrahe ilk e punno!” one Sinerik spoke to the other quickly as Zed looked up upon them. The other Sinerik laughed and translated.
“The god-slayer fights like a woman” he translated in a voice of heavy Noïrettéan accent, even though he wasn’t black-skinned.
This puzzled Zedrelthus, he was no god-slayer. It also came to his attention at this point that his nemesis, Xhell, was the Sinerik word for god. This hit him harshly, for at this point in time, he knew he would have to combat a god eventually, or at the very least a god in the eyes of the Sinerik.

* * *

“Eat” Andrakkt boomed and he put a small herb onto Elexus’ tongue. He watched as Elexus chewed the herb thoroughly. Elexus swallowed weakly, but regardless still getting the herb down. “Poison gone soon.”
Elexus nodded and grinned minutely. He felt the herb’s medicine rush quickly through his body and soothe every aching nook and cranny.

It was then that Raia, Evalyn, the child and Landon, of whom quickly told Andrakkt what was going on back in Slalomen, interrupted them. Andrakkt took it as no faulting of words and leapt up on the horse that they had walked behind them. In the blink of an eye he started off towards Zedrelthus, leaving only simple instructions to continue up the mountains and pay the barbarians the money.

It wasn’t much longer until they reached the barbarians with the Griffins of flight.
“And now we wait.” Raia sighed deeply.
“He says to go on.” Evalyn told the rest of them. “Zedrelthus is telling us to go on without him or Andrakkt.”
“How would you know?” Raia asked, the confused look on her face startled even Landon—who was too blind to even see it.
“My mind. He doesn’t know he’s talking to me, but I do. I can hear him in my head. I’ve been able to do it since I was very little, but I don’t let word get out about it.”
“Demon!” Landon shouted at the top of his lungs “Blasphemy! You are not even human, are you?”
Evalyn didn’t know what to say, she was caught in perpetual shock. Elexus stared on grimly, a contorted look of pain on his face. He knew what was going on was not good.
“I refuse to fly on the wings of the Griffin near this deformity. Soozeltaeliam, why hast thou made this child so impure?” and then he prayed. Elexus, Raia and Evalyn all mounted the Griffins after paying the barbarians and Landon was still there praying.
After they were long gone he was still praying, kneeling on the dirt, praying. He had his mind set about something, and he wasn’t going to move until Zedrelthus and Andrakkt arrived.

* * *

Zed threw his sword over his head with a high velocity, Tyr embedding itself into the skull of one of the Sinerik men. The other Sinerik man rushed Zedrelthus, and Zed sidestepped and flicked his wrist acutely. The sword came towards him out of the first man’s skull, and right through the second man’s back. It ripped it’s way through and carried on to Zedrelthus’ hand. Zed motioned towards Kaztan and the skilled Sinerik assassin approached.
“Ah, an adept I see—Zephyr has told us no lies, then.” Kaztan spoke. Kaztan flipped in the air backwards and readied himself. “I too possess similar powers.” Kaztan stood with his legs spread out and his knees bent, he then sprang forward and jabbed at Zed. Zedrelthus parried the blow, and fell backwards.

Andrakkt came riding in and leapt with great speed, rolling to a crouched position with his war hammer drawn. He faced Kaztan as Zedrelthus got up and recollected himself. Andrakkt had since removed his armor and was now wearing an Anarikan kilt of different shades of blue that had been bought for him previously. He was bare-chested, and had painted his chest with the same pattern of black war paint that was on his face. The war paint curved wickedly around his features and outlined his muscles. He carried his war hammer in his only hand and had his legs spread, ready to attack.
“Others, they left—we catch up later” Andrakkt boomed, his voice filling the battlefield with a certain terror.
“Ah, Andrakkt—so good of you to join us” Kaztan spoke crudely “I had thought surely that the flames would have consumed you whole, but I guess my assumption was wrong.”
“You know this guy, Andrakkt?” Zed spoke through his teeth.
“Kaztan, greatest assassin in world. Once infiltrated Anarika, killed the king at throne, everyone suppose be on watch for him, too—but he still manage to off king and escape.”
“How much did that job cost?” Zedrelthus asked.
“A million.”
“Who would pay that?” Zedrelthus seemed outraged.
“Family.” Andrakkt hit his chest with his handless-nub. “We had not enough money, so he kill us all. He tried kill me, too, but I manage to live.”
Kaztan stared at Andrakkt “I left him as a child in his house to burn, but he must have escaped. I won’t be so merciful this time. Brace yourself, Andrakkt, I’m finishing my business here and now.”

Kaztan sprinted at Andrakkt and leapt in the air clear over the barbarian nearly twice his size. As he flipped over Andrakkt, he slashed at his back and cut a large wound right up the flat of it. Andrakkt breathed in sharply and spun around to face his opponent.
“Too fast for you, am I?” Kaztan mocked him. Andrakkt grimly clenched his teeth and charged, swinging his war hammer over his head at the Sinerik. Kaztan leapt to the side and swung quickly at Andrakkt. He managed to avoid the attack, but he was very close to taking the shot in the face.

As Andrakkt stumbled back a few paces, Kaztan ran at Zedrelthus. Zed drew his sword to no avail, as he was tackled to the ground. He dropped his sword on the way down and was met with a blade to the throat.
“If you want to play the hero, Andrakkt, go right ahead. You take anymore steps towards your friend here and I kill him, and then you.” Kaztan spoke wickedly. He knew he had Andrakkt just where he wanted him.
Zephyr approached, Zedrelthus no longer saw any hint of Dett’s characteristics in him, and it was like he had taken on a totally new persona.
“Zephyr, should I kill the one dubbed Zedrelthus?” Kaztan asked.
“No.” Zephyr spoke boldly, reminding Zed of Andrakkt’s speech.
“No? What logic was put into that decision?” Kaztan was outraged.
Zephyr only smiled grimly. “We kill Andrakkt. We kill the people around him, his loved ones, the ones he looks up to, his companions, comrades, friends. We’ll kill all of them, then when we’re left with a man devoid of allies—we’ll come back for him.”
Zedrelthus cursed under his breath, and when Zephyr pulled his glance towards him, all Zed could do was shake his head in shame.

* * *

The final rope was bound and knotted tightly around Andrakkt’s elbow. Two ropes protruding from each elbow, two from each ankle—the other end of each rope tied nicely around the waist of a horse. Zedrelthus had seen this done before; it was a process known as quartering. Someone would make a loud noise, and the horses, scared, would take off in separate directions—pulling the victim apart limb by limb.

Dett approached Zedrelthus, who was still behind held by several guards. Held in his firmly gripped clutches was a rifle.
“Zedrelthus, you can try to stop me here, my friend, but I’ll let you know there’s three of me. We work like time itself, in fluid motion, and not even the gods can stop the work of time” and with those words he kicked Zed sharply in the gut and fired the rifle into the air.

The four horses, startled, took off in separate directions—still each bound to the ropes that slowly were tearing Andrakkt apart. The barbarian clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, each muscle in his body rising from the bone, ready to snap.
Zedrelthus breathed in sharply and found himself suddenly teleported behind his opponents. The guards that had been holding him were surprised, to say the least, when with a clean, smooth swipe of Tyr—Zed cut them all in half at the waist. At this point, Dett drew from two sheaths across his back two black-bladed short swords, which perplexed Zed as he thought only one man could wield a black-forged blade. Dett gripped both swords tightly and looked as if he were to charge—but stopped, and vanished into thin air suddenly, only seconds short of sucessfully summoning a demon.
At the disappearance of their leader—the Sinerik fled the scene, all except Kaztan, who was glued to Andrakkt being pulled apart limb by limb.

Andrakkt, mere seconds away from being separated into five pieces, yelled in anger—in his barbarian tongue he cried out. His yells seemed as if they could be heard for miles, and as he yelled, his body pulsed. Suddenly, he kicked his legs and threw his arms across his chest, boasting tremendous power, and throwing all four of the horses onto the ground. From here he stood up and broke each rope from his body.
Kaztan jumped at the unarmed barbarian and slashed wickedly—Andrakkt blocking each blade with his forearms. Bleeding considerably, Andrakkt took Kaztan’s neck in his one hand and raised him above his head.
Andrakkt tightened his grip as he spoke “Family gone.” His voice boomed in the seeming surrounding silence, Kaztan stared back at him with fear as the barbarian forcefully threw Kaztan five feet at a wooden pole, where his head collided and retracted momentarily, snapping his neck. “Now you gone, too.”

Kaztan’s body flickered, as if it were sparking, and then suddenly imploded into a pile of dust that blew away in the constant wind. As the dust blew away, a small circular blue stone was left behind. Zakkaith, of whom had just been let go by the fleeing Sinerik, set his hawk-like eyes upon it.
Picking it up, he spoke, “So, then the legends are true.”
“What legends?” Zedrelthus asked curiously.
“The legends of a path that leads underneath the Daemonal land—where not even the Daemonals dare roam. Supposedly, three Sinerik hold keys, which are in the form of small stones, and when these three keys are brought to the entrance the doors will open.”
“This could work for us,” Zedrelthus began, “The others took our gold and we need to get to Anarika without crossing Daemonal territory.”
“Good luck finding the other two Sinerik,” Zakkaith replied.
This was when a small voice piped up “I think I could help with that, sir.”

A Tainted Note:
Well, let's have a look-see and re-cap, since it's been a while.

Evalyn, the newly proclaimed queen of Anarika, is off with Raia as her personal assistant and Elexus to Anarika so Evalyn can have herself rule her country in it's time of hardship.

Landon refused to go with them, seeing as he feels Evalyn is not human, or is moreso a demon, so he is trekking down the mountain to meet up with Zedrelthus, Andrakkt and Zakkaith-- who just came to a dilemma that is partially solved.

They need to get to Anarika now, as well, but they have no money-- this was when Zakkaith brought up the stones of the underground passage that supposedly runs underneath the country of the Daemonal.
Now, in order to open the door of the passage, since it is a secret and all, three stones are needed. These three stones lay before you only after slaying three differant Sineriks that have them in possesion. Now, this isn't easy even for Zedrelthus, since these three are the highest ranked disciples next to Dett (or Zephyr) himself.

Watch as Zedrelthus faces a number of tasks ahead of him-- does he take the right path, or the easiest one?

Adieu,
Zak Hunter