Destiny of Scord: Stoll (Part One)

[Neo-Xantios]

Hello once again, fellow forumers of TPM. Indeed, I was absent from TPM for quite some time since the cancellation of Pokémon: A Philosophy. Please know that I've been extremely busy with homework and studying since school commenced. But, never have I turned my back on literature. So now, fellow members of TPM, I present you my fantasy trilogy: Destiny of Scord.

Feel free to offer suggestions and criticisms.

Enjoy!

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Prologue
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The War of the Decrasos now dwells in the ancient tomes of history. This old war which almost left the continent of Yohanion void of existence was now in the minds of many as a folktale, a story to educate the young ones the horror of war. Only a few in Yohanion knew the complex details of the old war. Perhaps it was no longer essential to learn about the Decrasos and the history of this terrifying war. Perhaps peace will continue to reign over the continent of Yohanion as it did five hundred years since the war concluded. But in the minds of the old and wise, peace never seemed permanent. War will eventually return to claim what it longed for these five hundred years of peace. But what threatened the continent to such a degree that a war has to be waged? Something dark and dangerous possibly lurked within the vast plains of Yohanion. Could the Decrasos, the ones which lost the war and perished with the ashes, be rising to claim their ultimate vengeance? But a chance of that happening was like a single drop of water in a wildly flowing river. The Decrasos had been extinct since the end of the war.

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Chapter 1
The Frozen Castle
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Scord, a prosperous kingdom in the heart of Yohanion, had been standing for over three centuries. With thirty cities ranged over eight hundred miles, this kingdom stood as the largest and the most economically developed nations in the continent. It hosted most continental meetings and is the centre of trade across Yohanion, a rather important function for a thriving continent. Its defences was just one level below that of the kingdom of Stoll. But what good would defence be when peace is the continent’s dominance? Scord emphasised not on military power, but rather education and money. When war isn’t at reach, the latter is indeed the cornerstone of prosperity. Should war come, Scord would be prepared anyway.

In the centre of the bustling Scordian capital of Pheldia, laid the Pheldia Castle, which stood as a shepherd, overseeing the flock-like city with windows as eyes on every wall. The height of the fortress was so great that on a cloudy day, the point of the lowest tower would be obscured by clouds. The walls were made of rough but quality boulders of a variety of colours which gave the castle its traditional Scordian look. At the foot of the great castle, a garden with essence of nature’s blessings welcomed citizens and tourists. Trees provided shade when during a sun-beat summer afternoon. Flowers provided fragrance which turned the mind afresh. Castle dwellers, whenever they walked or rested in the garden, were constantly reminded of their fortune to have the castle as their home. The front gate which separated the castle and the rest of the city were not closed for quite some time. Even during the evening, the gate remained opened for anyone who wished to seek shelter behind the castle walls. Perpetrators knew better than to intrude the castle, for consequences for such crimes were serious. This magnificent beauty could be clearly seen at the city’s Grand Entrance Arc well over a mile away.

The city of Pheldia was just as distinct and beautiful as the castle itself. Two-storey buildings, made of the same materials as the castle, were spread across the city in straight lines around the fortress. Roads separating each line of buildings were paved well enough to be called a work of art. Almost every part of the city were clean, except for the marketplace. This busy centre of trade in Pheldia would attract thousands of local citizens and hundreds of outlanders from across the continent. Indeed, litter and garbage were inevitably seen at the end of the day around the marketplace. People who dispose of their rubbish improperly would be fined by the local police. But the number of people who committed this foolish crime was so low that the police would only need to patrol the area once every hour. The frequency of fining such people would be on the average three times a month, but many months have the number of zero appeared on the record.

*

In one of the many giant bedrooms of Pheldia Castle, Vanerim and Gerisio Sineirivel were waken rudely by the red parrot which perched on top of his cage in the morning. This kind of call from the parrot was typical on Sundays, for the brothers usually overslept and the old parrot constantly wanted his owners to feel the energy he felt in the morning. Actually, he wanted more than that. The parrot wanted his owners to converse with him more often to sharpen his articulation in speaking. But the call on Sunday mornings were out of fun from the parrot. He loved how he sounded and wanted to share the essence of his voice with Vanerim and Gerisio. However, parrot interests weren’t necessarily human interests; Vanerim and Gerisio truly despised his caw in the morning. When parrot interests coincided with human interests, Vanerim and his pet would come together for an hour’s lesson of speaking where the former would teach the art of human speech to the latter. Gerisio would sometimes assist his brother in this activity, but he much preferred reading the ancient texts of history. The younger brother had a natural talent for understanding history better than many of the instructors of Scord. He barely needed to reread any of the texts in order to fully fathom its facts. The cause of the War of the Decrasos, the course of the war, the conclusion of the war, the years of development during the unwavering reign of peace, and the birth of Scord and the other great kingdoms. All that knowledge were stored firmly in Gerisio’s mind. Not only was Gerisio talented in understanding history decisively, he also possessed the will of understanding the art of languages. He, in his childhood, was keen on learning every language available in the Scordian Language Archives. In the castle, he was known as the Decipherer. But never was he interested in business. With his talent of language, everyone in the castle agreed that he would make a great fortune of he worked in the field of business. The majority in Scord could already make a decent living with the level of language they had. If ordinary citizens could do just that, imagine what Gerisio’s abilities could take him if he had the slightest bit of interest in this field. He would be making thousands of scoruses in a matter of hours. Within a month, he could hire enough workers and purchase sufficient materials to build a second Pheldia Castle. But then, he rejected this path. He believed that knowledge overweighs any wealth, so he continued to dig deeper in the well of learning.

While Gerisio was talent in the arts stream, his older brother was particularly interested in medicine. During his age of learning, he would visit the castle healer daily, with much hunger which only lessons of medicine can sooth. Ambitions boosted his understanding so at the age of eighteen, he was acknowledged as the healer’s assistant. When the healer was required, he would summon Vanerim to represent him and perform his duties. This helped deepen his abilities in the field and provided him a chance to become the healer’s equal. Vanerim, like his brother, believe that knowledge has a greater worth than wealth, so he refused to accept money from this who he helped. Just being a resident of the castle sufficed his need for wealth. Money in general was an inferior priority for Vanerim and Gerisio.

The parrot continued to caw until the brothers couldn’t take anymore of the miserable waltz and reluctantly got up. The tiredness which lingered in their long night’s rest failed to subside immediately. It would take a short while, maybe the entire time before breakfast, for it to completely disappear.

Vanerim drowsily got up first, stretched his well-built body and slowly rubbed his eyes. Obviously, he wanted to scold the parrot for giving him such a rude awakening, but seeing its futility over and over again, he decided against it. The parrot never seemed to heed his words.

Gerisio stood on his feet when Vanerim finished stretching. He fingered through his black hair, contemplating easy day ahead, then slowly entered the basin room next to his bed and readied himself. After washing his face, Gerisio gestured Vanerim to the basin room and the latter did the same. Vanerim felt comfortable washing his hair in the morning, so he would always exit the basin room black hair wet with style. But Gerisio always frowned upon that idea.

“Morning, Vanerim and Gerisio. I’m sow glad to see you ready fow youw day!” the parrot cawed in a sharp voice.

“Good morning to you, Terrift. Disturbing your call was, but at least we didn’t oversleep,” Vanerim replied wryly as he dressed himself up with long, blue castle robes.

“Indeed. Your call was loud and horrid, but it woke us up real fine there,” Gerisio added.

“Why do you awways say my voice bad? I do not like that kind owf cowmment!” Terrift retorted, trying argue that he was doing the right thing.

“Agh! Don’t take that to heart, Terrift. You know we are only joking!” Gerisio replied in a moderate tone.

“Awright, awright, then. Get on with youw day now! I will see you again!” Terrift said dismissively.

“Very well, Terrift. You have a good day now. Good bye.” Vanerim smiled and left the room with his brother.

Out of the bedroom sprawled a cavernous corridor running inwards, going as far as the sight could perceive, and outwards towards a long flight of stone stairs. The brothers walked briskly towards the stairs, eager to arrive at the dining hall to fill their hungry stomachs. They descended with an even quicker pace and was greeted by the castle’s main hall which stood as high as three storeys with a beautifully designed marble floor and the ceiling painted with the most intricate Scordian designs of multicoloured patterns which dispersed from the centre and careened to the walls. Straight ahead was the main castle exit leading to the garden. To the left and right, openings led to more corridors to offices and service rooms.

Today was Sunday, meaning a free day for all castle dwellers. However, the castle staff seemed busier than on working days, trotting around the main hall, passing around news and information. The Castle Guard, which was normally station throughout the fortress, assembled in three groups of a dozen men, facing the exit. Vanerim and Gerisio gave each other a befuddled look before a scribe appeared before them.

“Master Vanerim, Master Gerisio. This is dire news indeed. Your father, Sir Gorichor, wishes to see you in his chamber immediately!” he said.

Following the scribe into one of the many corridors which stretched from the main hall, a storm of foreign thoughts invaded the brothers’ minds. This kind of behaviour never happened on Sundays. It never happened at all! What could possible be stirring? Was there a threat to Scord? Dozens more thoughts continued to fire at the brothers and eventually, they came to conclusion that if they were needed desperately by Gorichor, the chief minister of defence, the chance of trouble rousing is definite.

At last, they reached a large wooden door nearly at the end of the long corridor. When the scribe opened it, a cavernous chamber with a window which stretched from the floor to the ceiling and an enormous stone desk in the centre came into view. Six men in robes stood around the desk, discussing this matter in such a low voice, that no even the slightest sound could not reach the brothers’ ears. The man directly facing the door, who was the tallest and had the most well-built body, looked up towards the them and gave a smile as they walked in.

“Ah, Vanerim, Gerisio. Welcome to the meeting, my sons!” he greeted as the men made space for the brothers to stand.

“Morning father. Is there something troublesome that you need to summon us here?” Vanerim asked.

“Indeed, Vanerim. Something most disturbing has happened. Last night, His Majesty King Eclipsor went missing.” Gorichor dipped his head low and gave out a heavy sigh.

The brothers jerked back and almost fell. An inexplicable type of fear surged through their bodies, with Vanerim receiving more of it. This was all beyond conceivable sense. How could the great King Eclipsor be missing when there was no one known to Scord who wished to harm it? It was impossible to believe it when the news first went through the ear. It was impossible to believe it even after the room went silent.

Vanerim no longer felt he was in this room, or even in this world at the first few moments when he absorbed the information. After Gorichor spoke those words, his soul went into a dream. He kept his eyes wide and saw everyone in the room, but he believed they were all an illusion.

Gerisio closed his eyes for a couple moments, calming himself from his drastic shock. When he reopened them, he took a deep breath and decided to talk. He wanted to find out the truth about the king. He wanted to know what he could do.

“By all of sanity’s name, what ever happened to King Eclipsor?” Gerisio asked, breaking the momentary silence.

Gradually, Vanerim was taken back to reality. He knew in his dreams, his brother could not speak with such vividness. This was no special dream. This was the Sunday he woke up on.

He stepped back into place and continued to heed information from the meeting.

Gorichor opened his mouth to speak when the man next to him caught his attention with a gesture. He gave a brief smile and said, “Allow me to explain, Sir.”

Gorichor nodded in return then the man began. “Last night, an hour before midnight, our guards heard a sound of a window breaking. When they went to investigate, they realized that someone had broken into the King’s chambers. But as they went in, they saw a dark figure flew out the broken window with the King trapped in its arms, flailing. They couldn’t do anything to stop it, or even get an opportunity look at the dark figure closely. All that was left behind was a note.” He paused for a brief moment and let out a heavy sigh before continuing. “The note said that whoever, or whatever kidnapped him will not harm him, unless we resist. It didn’t state his specific whereabouts unfortunately, but all we know is that he is held for ransom, and we are required to pay them fifty thousand scoruses at the Frozen Castle before midnight tonight for his safe return.”

“My heavens. This is can’t possibly be!” Vanerim commented at last, now fully focused on the discussion. “What shall we do now?”

“Fear not though. The Castle Guard is assembled and is prepared to leave for the Frozen Castle. We assume that is where the King is held. It will take us the entirety of this morning to get there. The treasure they crave will be given to them, but it is, of course, fifty thousand scoruses of fool’s gold.” The man managed to let out a little laugh when he said that. “Once we have the King in our custody, we will take the perpetrators in as prisoners.”

“Thank you, Commander Yorel. The plan is discussed. Vanerim, Gerisio, have you had your morning meal yet?” Gorichor sounded impatient but calm.

“No, Father. We completely forgot to arrive at the dining hall after the scribe sent your message to us,” Gerisio informed.

“Ah, very well, then. You two have a quick meal now while my officers and I prepare for the mission. After your meal, meet us in the main hall.” Gorichor gestured to the door and the brothers disappeared through the corridor.

When the brother’s entered the dining hall, a waiter directed them to a seat. He hurriedly took their orders judging their need of time from the looks on their face. Their meals of bread, cheese and milk came no more than five minutes after. The brothers stuffed all they could through their mouths, worrying nothing about their behaviour, but time. What normally took them ten minutes to eat during normal days was reduced to five minutes today. After finishing, they rose abruptly, gave a small tip to the waiter and dashed towards the main hall, eager to know what their father was planning next.

Upon entering the main hall, Vanerim and Gerisio were greeted by the three dozen soldiers, their father and the officers in silver and gold armours respectively. Gorichor walked up, and gave them both a glance.

“Sons, your abilities will prove to be most valuable on this mission. Therefore, we have decided that you journey into the Frozen Castle with us.” Gorichor puffed out the words without hesitating, expecting at least one of them to attack him with his surprise.

However, the brothers were as sober as if the news about the kidnap of the king didn’t reach their mind.

“Very well, Father. We shall serve Scord in anyway we can and help you in saving the king.” Gerisio nodded and exchanged looks with Vanerim.

Abruptly, a familiar sound from up the stairs interrupted. Terrift materialized just moments after the he cawed and flew in front of Vanerim’s face. His eagerness to gain knowledge of the situation was portrayed by his looks.

Terrift cocked his head and began speaking. “What is gowing own here?”

Vanerim exhaled hard and replied, “Terrift, the king is missing, and we are on a mission to save him.”

“Quawk! The king missing?” Terrift’s caw was loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the hall.

“Yes, so unfortunate, Terrift,” Vanerim said, lowering his head.

“Ah, Terrift. It’s a good thing you arrived. I reckon you should come with us for your abilities to scout will serve us well,” Gorichor suggested.

“Come with you to save the king? Quawk! Why shawn’t I!” Terrift said enthusiastically as he perched on Gorichor’s armoured shoulder.

Gorichor couldn’t resist a smile. With Terrift in the team, they would gain the upper hand. He was small and quick, perfect for scouting and being the eye which sees further. This ensured the gap between them and success was narrow enough to cross. It ensured they gain the upper hand and seeing the king return safely.

“All seems well as prepared.” Gorichor nodded and gestured the guards to begin deployment.

The party of six officers and the brothers trailed behind the three dozen guards, through the grand garden of Pheldia Castle, leaving behind the castle entrance which remained opened despite the situation, and put foot on the road outside. The guards marched orderly while the officers rode on horsebacks, seeming as if they were parading. They were given the full attention of everyone they passed. Some people even gave them shouts of praise, although they had no knowledge about the current event. Even the busiest stopped their work and gave the party at least a small glimpse.

They passed the busy marketplace, and under the Great Entrance Arc, finally seeing nothing but a vast field of tall grass in their view before them.

*

The Frozen Castle positioned itself in the barren tundra, five miles north of Pheldia. Standing since the beginning of the last war, this iced fortress laid in the solitary of year-round seasons of harsh coldness, enduring frequent blizzards and gales plummeting from the mountains on the backdrop. Anyone who even thought of seeing it would be considered beyond the thought of soberness in the civilised world. Indeed, a few people were curious about the ancient relic, but courage never met their path when they wished to see it.

But once, two hundred years ago, an adventurer of Stoll possessed a degree of courage which enabled him to travel across the continent, braving heat and ice, and arrived through the castle gates to behold the art which was lost after the war. However, he never made his way home to report the ancient sight. After a year since his disappearance, he was virtually forsaken. Those who still remembered his perilous journey thought him reckless, a person who’s arrogance overwhelmed him in the end.

Today, the party of Scord with courage which rivalled the old Stollian adventurer will meet his path once more, proceeding on down the road in which many thought impossible to survive through. But this was an objective task. They required their lives, if necessary, in order to rescue the king and restore stability in their homeland. If fate allowed them, they would apprehend the perpetrators and dispel their ignorance of the current event. The simplicity of returning the king to the throne was only the surface of this task. If they were to fulfil their sworn duty to the kingdom, their obligation was to gain knowledge. Only that may safeguard Scord from the looming perils.

It was a couple of minutes before noon when the air grew colder and the white mountains materialized on the horizon. Grass below them grew white at their tips. Cold winds howled at the party spontaneously, causing the less experienced adventurers, Vanerim and Gerisio, to shiver under their armour.

A couple moments later, the ground became completely barren with a soft, thick layer of snow, decelerating the advancement of the party members with a firm grip on their every step. Tiny specs of snow sprinkled from the blanketed sky and placed themselves on the soldiers’ armours, but powerless at robbing their heat. Abruptly, a gush of arctic wind ridded the soldier’s armour of snow and sent the brothers shivering anew. Terrift, even though deep in his sleep, trembled in his master’s arms. They tightened their arm and torso for a trace heat, but were to little avail.

They endured the route for the remainder of the morning and into the early afternoon. Although the sky was masked by an impenetrable layer of clouds, the soldiers could still see a glimpse of sunlight directly above them. The mountains on the horizon grew clearer in their view. Mist swirled around their peaks continuously, obscuring what ever nestled there.

They continued on for a couple more steps when out of the horizon two bright towers materialized. The view got clearer by the second and the true colours of the towers were revealed, a bright blue reflecting the blinding light of day. They had seen the lower part of the structure when they realized that it was surrounded by a mystical blue aura.

Scord castle was indeed this structure’s inferior, the team concluded. The height seemed to scrape the floor of heaven.

The larger the structure came into view, the harder the winds blew. When door of the iced building appeared in their sight, Sir Gorichor Sineirivel began to give a minor shiver. They came to an abrupt halt has the winds prevented them from proceeding.

“The winds ahead are preventing us from continuing. Let us wait till it tranquillises before proceeding. As for now, we shall have a break for lunch,” the high knight said, dismounting his horse and unloaded some stock from his laden carrier.

The other officers and the brothers followed and laid four large red mats down on the snow. Although sitting down provided them no warmth, they did so to relieve themselves of the fatigue of travelling the entire morning.

The guards unloaded the supply of food, and set them down for the grabbing. Bread and cheese were consumed hurriedly, followed by a refreshment of ale. The officers and the soldiers revised the plans of the mission after their quick meal which were followed by several voices of agreement. Then Terrift woke from his slumber in Vanerim’s arms and joined the discussion. He cawed whenever a point seemed agreeable, making Gorichor an optimist.

As the arctic wind subsided to a soft breeze, the guards and officers reloaded the horses and set off once again. Apparently, they were still hindered by the thick snow below them and coldness which threatened to sack their heat. The parrot returned to its sleep in Vanerim’s arms, still shivering as if it was the signal that he was still alive.

Vanerim squinted against the brightness reflected by the enormous structure. Already, he could feel the dangers looming inside. A wave of fear was sent through his body again, threatening to overwhelm his consciousness. It was something he was fighting already. It was the first battle he couldn’t think of forfeiting.

Within another half hour, they found themselves facing the gate which bordered the world they knew this day and ancient interior lost to the sight since after the war. From the angled they viewed, it was impossible to see the top of the gate, never mind the twin towers of the castle.

The party stopped and gave their attention to the bright walls, emitting a mysterious blue mist. The sight was so surreal that they decided they could only be sure it was genuine if they used their sense of touch. The wall felt colder than the snow at their feet, and was as smooth as the edge of a steel blade. They continued rubbing it until the coolness numbed their hands.

Gorichor motioned the party forward. Complying with his order, Commander Yorel approached the towering gate wordlessly and pushed it gently. It abruptly emanated a roar like that of a dragon, flinching the entire party for a brief moment. The gate slowly pushed inwards and a soft wind gusted out which sent a shiver down Vanerim’s spine. Anxiety went through his mind. He suddenly thought of all the dangers that could happen inside the ancient fortress. He now believed that joining his father on this mission was a mistake most regrettable. A healer cannot be a warrior, he heard his master stressed time and again. He immediately realized the profoundness of that statement. Courage to battle the unknown was something he didn’t quite possess, but it is definitely something integral of a combatant. He was not the latter and never will be, he concluded. The way of healing was his destined path already taken. A change of path so abrupt was unquestionably impossible.

His brother patted his shoulder and gave him a smile of encouragement. Journeying to the Frozen Castle filled Gerisio with a new hope that his dream of adventuring may be coming to existence. Being a castle dweller deprived him of such an opportunity to enjoy the experience of adventuring and finding the true forces of nature. Indeed, he loved and appreciated the fortune of having the Scord Castle as his home and place of learning. He understood the importance of education and thus fulfilled his place in the world by becoming what others couldn’t possibly become. He spent his childhood sharpening the tip of his intellectual character, to walk the extra ten miles in life. But that cost him an opportunity to know what was beyond Pheldia personally. Reading books about the outside world could inform you of it, but could never connect you with the driving force of its life. He wanted to feel it. To garner in every bit of its exotic flavour. Coming on this journey he never dream possible gave him that feel right now. The feel of the fortress’s exoticness and the breath of nature for the first time paralysed him with a mixture of fear and joy.

As more of the interior were revealed by the opening gate, the soldiers and officers slowly directed their gaze upward, trying to view the ceiling, but was lost to them from without. They slowly entered and halted fifteen feet through the castle doors, amazed by the vastness of the interior. Their sight were confound and lost for the first few seconds, flooded with choices of which direction to look first. Holes tiny to their sight in the remote ceiling shot down beams of light, illuminating the castle and revealing a thick haze of dust surrounding each person. Giant pillars with a diameter of five horses rose from the iced-covered floor to meet the roof with a string-thick end. The far walls around them were carved with the most intricate patterns, sealed behind a thick layer of ice, depicting an art now lost in history. Before them laid a smaller door, covered with a sheet of ice as thick as the ones on the walls. And about twenty yards around it, a curved flight of ice-capped stairs connected their floor with the balcony above them.

Vanerim and his horse froze in place, observing everything in detail for a minute.

“What a wonder!” he managed to finally say. It was apparent from his speech that his fear left him like the years of childhood.

Sir Gorichor, a normally swift man at finishing his mission, stopped himself like the rest of the party members to perceive what he couldn’t in his deepest dreams. A sight like this couldn’t possibly be observed by mere mortals. Not those of Scord. No by anyone on this continent. This was an impossible sight.

“Just seeing one part of this tells us how limited the images are in our world,” Gorichor commented.

He had taken a few minutes to observe, but still he persisted. Gorichor could not seem to break himself free of the bond this castle’s image had connected him to.

“Simply amazing! No books combined in this world can portray the lively sight of this castle. No, never this vivid!” Gerisio had to burst out his words in the way of a child.

His excitement of seeing what was merely impossible to see raced through his mind and made him a child of himself. His hopes of adventuring has turned out to be far more than he had expected. Navigating the thick foliage of a rain forest, riding across miles of grass and wild flowers, and combating potent beasts trying to cut your path ahead was his definition of adventuring. But this sight was as blissful as seeing the post-death world where the roof was the sky, the waters flowing through a channel of a sightless end, and winding trees growing miles and miles high.

When finally the inconceivable sight was wholly absorbed into their mind, the party realized the objective of their journey here. The perpetrators and the king were waiting for them. The former in wish of the treasure. The latter in need of rescue. But judging from the size of this room, it would take days, perhaps weeks to thoroughly search the castle. Since a sight ahead was vital for this mission, Terrift would be the leader of their search. But that alone would fail without luck.

The search would begin through the ice-covered door ahead. Sir Gorichor, drawing out his sword, approached it and with a quick slash dismantled the thick ice sheet. With a forceful kick, the door swung open abruptly, revealing the next fathomless chamber.
With curiosity erupting in their minds, the soldiers and officers moved adjacent to Gorichor to glimpse the chamber ahead. Ten pillars identical to the ones in the first room rose from each side, bearing large pieces of debris at their feet. At the end of the chamber laid three openings, but from where they observed, the were virtually lost to view by a thick veil of dust clouds. Gorichor gestured the party to hold their positions and beckoned Terrift from Vanerim’s shoulder. The parrot flew obediently in front of Gorichor’s rough face, prepared to receive his orders if any were to be given.

“Terrift, the path ahead lays unknown to us. In order to reduce the risk of our team, we would like you to go scout ahead and inform us of anything interesting,” Gorichor announced slowly.

“Quak! Will do, milowd!” Terrift responded joyfully.

The next second, Terrift darted into the next room, penetrating the thick clouds of dust. When half way through the chamber, he slowed himself to observe his surrounding. He still could not believe this sight, so he studied it more analytically. But seeing more of this confounded him. The more he looked, the more surreal his surroundings became.

The parrot disappeared through the first opening and entered a narrow room as high as the chambers he passed. To the left, broad windows which nearly met the ceiling gave in bright white light from without. As it got brighter here, the thicker the clouds of dust became. Terrift could see no further than five metres despite his sharp eyes. He hovered slowly across the narrow chamber, gaining sights as he did so. He flew much slower now, as the dust clouds could corrupt the true vision. Examining every spot at least twice, Terrift met the end wall of the chamber in a couple minutes. From the entrance to the dead-end, nothing seemed suspicious, at least not to Terrift. The parrot scout darted out of the chamber at once, feeling wasted over time, finding nothing to report.

Without further thought, Terrift darted into the chamber through the middle opening, finding himself watched by vivid gargoyle statues situated on footholds on the walls. Fearing nothing, he lanced across the chamber. Then came to an abrupt halt as he saw a door barring his advancement at the other end of the chamber. He tilted his head and scrutinised the door for a few seconds before realizing the ultimate sign of suspicion. He felt foolish not finding it the moment he saw the door. A case of thick ice was absent here. A suggestion of presence beyond the door raced across Terrift’s mind, giving him the instinct to caw and flap its wings with greater ferocity. He turn his head instantly and lanced back quicker than the eye could follow, laden with the desperate need to report his sightings.

As Terrift’s figure got clearer behind the haze of dust, Gorichor impulsively cried out, “Terrift! Was there something you saw?”

Another five seconds passed when Terrift was right under Gorichor’s nose.

“Milowd! Something is through the doowr!” he responded in a high-pitch caw.

“What is it, Terrift? Which door?” Gorichor sounded more grim and impatient.

“Doowr in the big chamber of big statuews. The chamber of the middle opening. In there!” Terrift replied.

“Hmm, intriguing. Very well, then. My gratitude to you, Terrift, for your most valuable help. Men, forward!” Gorichor said enthusiastically as he stretched his arm to the direction ahead.

Terrift returned onto Vanerim’s shoulder as the guards and the officers drew out their weapons and marched slowly into the next chamber. While some marched briskly and stopped in front of the middle opening, many, struck by the sudden wave of tension, glanced at their surroundings, cautious of any concealed danger, as they approached their waypoint. From the entrance of this chamber, the three openings seemed no bigger than the main door of a cottage. But up close, the height was a two-storey building’s rival.

Gorichor was the party’s tail, riding with certainty that danger will abruptly reveal itself from the pillars to his side.

As the party assembled at their checkpoint like they’ve planned during lunch, Gorichor gave another order to proceed. The first dozen men staggered into the room where gargoyle statues stared lifelessly at the floor. With a new rush of anxiety through their minds, the guards kept their eyes on the statues that wielded life-sized sickles. The officers entered soon after, their weapons raised, prepared to strike anything that moved save for Gorichor who rode to defrosted wooden door marking the end of the chamber. He unloaded his horse of the treasure box of fool’s gold, the hope for King Eclipsor’s safe return, the bait for the criminals’ apprehension. The high knight slowly pushed the door open, emitting a screech which echoed through the immense chamber. When the door widened to reveal the contents behind, the party’s attention at the gargoyle statues were slapped away immediately.

A dark, hooded figure in a long cloak stood in the gloom in the chamber beyond. Many of the party members flinched as their attention was robbed by this new-found threat. Even the most gallant, Sir Gorichor, exposed his fear from the expression on his face. But soon, he brushed it aside, realizing the situation of the king and the purpose of this mission.

Weighed with the treasure chest in both hands, Gorichor moved firmly to the dark figure, eyebrows furrowed in anger. As he walked close enough to feel the cold breath emanated from the darkness behind his cloak, the high knight laid down the chest, feeling once again the fear which threatened to consume his consciousness. He wanted retribution, but couldn’t rid himself of his new-found anxiety. It was as if the figure had transformed from shape to his fear, attacking him when he couldn’t retaliate. A formidable weapon. One that could fall the most experienced if not overcame soon enough.

“Well done, fool. The valued treasure in the eyes of Scord is now mine, and your pathetic king will be returned.” It was when the dark figure spoke those words that Gorichor recovered from his momentary skirmish with fear.

The figure’s voice was bass, echoing across the emptiness.

“Where is my king?” Gorichor retorted, showing a fresh surge of defiance.

“Oh, he’s fine. In fact, he is here!” the figured replied with a quick laugh, then unlocked the chest and stared at the contents inside.

Beside the high knight’s feet, an eerie white light materialised and formed a shape of a human. As the light cleared, a weathered man with his hands tied behind him, his brown hair upped in a mess, and widened, terrified eyes an emerald green was exposed. The tattered clothes he wore suggested he was tortured constantly.

“Your Majesty!” Gorichor cried, as he bent down and untied the ropes around the man’s hands.

The king let out a couple coughs, lifted his head off the ground and placed his hands on the high knight’s thighs.

“My loyal knight. I thank you and our men for your salvation.” The king breath out the words with difficulty.

“Save your strength, Your Majesty. A rest is what you need now.” Gorichor helped the king up and carried him a few feet away from the figure.

Suddenly, the treasure chest levitated and was smashed into the ice-covered wall, its contents spilling and creating a trail of gold in the wake of its toss. The treasure disperse in all directions, some flying across the vastness, some lashed across the figure’s cloak, and some even flew at Gorichor, clanging against his armour, forcing his balance away.

He fell instinctively, loosing the king from his cradle, sending His Majesty sliding to the wall. Then the momentary turmoil settled and Gorichor stood up, finding himself nose-to-nose with the tip of a sword.

“Your weak kind is so foolhardy and predictable!” The roaring voice of the figure echoed and shattered the ice at his feet. “So typical of you to bring what you thought would deceive me. Believing yourself the ultimate kingdom, the most unconquerable, was the truth lost with time. But now, the elite guard of your precious palace will die in my hands!”

The dark figure raised his sword to scrape the tip of Gorichor’s nose, leaving a thin line of blood dripping onto the iced floor, and fixed its position pointing at the party outside the chamber.

“Behold the threshold of destruction!”

Gorichor slowly turned around, finding himself facing a closing door.

*

In the chamber where the party held their position, the gargoyle statues began to emit a bright green light. Their bodies of stone were slowly softening to flesh. Their teeth protruding from their mouths began to harden to steel. With dominant eyes glowing red to reveal their fury and sharp, glittering scythes raised for an offensive, the gargoyles descended upon the terrified party.

“Archers, fire!” Commander Yorel yelled as the first few gargoyles landed on the ice-covered floor.

A stream of arrows darted across the room and the air, finding some of their airborne targets but missing many. Forty gargoyles landed on the floor, braving the continuous rush of arrows, fighting to keep pace with the Scordians in the battle. A few of them leaped towards the party with imaginable speed, forcing guards in the front row to instinctively draw out their weapons. Swords and sickles clanged to fill the room with the roar of battle. Arrowheads forced themselves into their targets’ tough hide, but never able to bring them down. The party soon dispersed throughout the room, each man fighting one enemy.

*

“While your comrades find their demise outside. I shall settle this matter with you!” The figure back away a couple feet and began swinging his sword in all directions.

A rush of heat began to run through Gorichor’s body, promising him a return of courage.

He turned to face the king once again, a small assurance to His Majesty.

“Do not worry, Your Majesty. My life is all for you and Scord!” The knight drew his sword out and pointed it at the figure, determined to show him his unwavering strength in combat.

*

Vanerim froze in place and gazed around the chamber with inexplicable fear which ruptured his mind anew. He was wielding a long, steel sword and had the appearance of a warrior, however, he was unable to bring himself to steer his weapon. No gargoyles have engaged him since the battle commenced, but an overflowing river of fear was passing him as time went by. Even with Terrift constantly cawing beside him, he could not carry out a single action.

An image of this dreadful situation never showed itself in his mind. He did not even stop to think that such a nightmare could be a reality. But perhaps this wasn’t reality.

As more anxiety flowed into his consciousness, the more surreal the battle seemed. The state of dream returned. This was a nightmare he never had. Wretched abominations of the netherworld given life to combat the stalwart warriors of Scord. A sight that had not, and never could have been real. A dreadful nightmare.

Vanerim closed his eyes, hoping the nightmare would end, hoping he would return to the Sunday he was supposed to wake up on. The sounds in the backdrop persisted. The vivid clashes of metal still perceivable.

He could not tell if it was his wakening or not when Terrift flew off his shoulder and his horse rose and neighed. He immediately opened his eyes and saw in front of him, a gargoyle with his sickle raised, standing on top of a terrified guard.

*

(Continued on post two)

[Reborned-Dragon]

You cease to amaze me N-X. Great fic, nice details, descriptions and all sorts of good writing like stuff. I plan on starting a new fic, Poke`mon: 619. Check it out once it's up.

[Neo-Xantios]

Gorichor charged at the figure and swung his sword against the antagonist's. But the enemy’s endurance was so formidable, it helped sustain the position of the blade. The high knight felt his heart hammering in his chest as he fuelled greater strength into his weapon, futilely trying to flinch the enemy. With a powerful swing, the enemy’s sword forced Gorichor back three feet and made him collapse onto the floor.

“Your pathetic human skills are no match for me, prodigal knight,” the figure commented bitterly.

Gorichor was alarmed by the abilities of this nemesis. This stranger seemed to be twice as strong as he was. There was a huge possibility that failure and even death may present itself in this challenge. He began to hear a part of his mind telling him to turn back and run. But where to? The door was shut, leaving no path to escape. Gorichor dismissed that though the second it arrived. He was a knight of strength and gallantry, a master of the arts of battle. It was his persistent endurance which made him what he was this day, a high knight and Scord’s Defence Minister. He had endured years of endless training, hoping one day his services would be of full use to Scord. This was the day. His strength will undertake its first test to see if he was worthy of holding his title as Defence Minister. A test to assess his purpose in life.

Gorichor relieved himself from his profound thinking and began to make a stand against this mortal antagonist. Sword raised, ready to strike, he rushed towards the figure again, slashing his weapon anew, using all the strength he was trained to muster. Loud clangs of metal filled the air and invaded the long-lived silence of the castle. Gorichor fought so intensely, that the figure had decided to swing his sword against the knight’s. His style of combat was unlike anything Scord had seen before. The way he manipulated the sword, swinging it rapidly without moving any other parts of his body, suggested he had mastered the art of battle long ago and the experience of a warlord.

It was not long when Gorichor’s vitality showed a small sign of deterioration. He felt himself gradually slowing. Perhaps his heavy armour provided little space for manoeuvring. Perhaps the quickness of the figure drained his stamina like water.

The swiftness of his sword was slowed by each strike. He could no longer cope with the extreme ferocity of his enemy’s weapon, nor the experience he possessed. Time and again, the enemy’s blade would strike his armour, forcing him to shout out curses and try to generate more power into his sword.

King Eclipsor watched helplessly at the corner as the battle persisted, feeling useless and inferior, unable to help his loyal knight. His eyes widened and could feel a stream of fear overpowering him as the figure’s swift strike slashed off bits of Gorichor’s thick hair.

*

No! This cannot possibly be.

Vanerim tried to break free of the web of fear, a tight hindrance disallowing him to perform what he needed to.

Help him Vanerim. You cannot let your fear consume you! Do it now or you’ll be lost in the labyrinth of fear!

His conscience seemed to be in the web with his soul. They needed to break from it. Now or never. To save one man’s life is his duty. He could not fail that. No, he could not allow his fear to deliver him failure.

Vanerim mustered his remaining courage to drive out the web. It was a battle hard enough for him to fight. Strength and time-consuming. Tightening his muscles and letting the force of his considerate nature into his mind, the fear slowly drifted out.

That’s it Vanerim. Cut the tight threads. Burn the remains of the web!

With a new presence of spirit in him, Vanerim raised his sword, patted his horse and charged towards the unwary gargoyle. Fuelling the weapon with his strength, he swiped it through the gargoyle’s neck, severing its head with a burst. A jet of green blood erupted out of its neck and stained the guard’s armour, painting the latter’s face with disbelief.

Vanerim breathed hard, feeling the forceful action of his heart behind his chest, feeling his body trembling in the border of fear and courage. Then he let out a faint smile, pleased with himself and his wondrous action, pleased with the fact that a life was saved.

He holstered his sword and held his arm out. The guard grabbed it impulsively and felt the essence of standing he thought would be lost with his life just a minute ago.

“Master Vanerim. I owe you my life,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Think nothing of it, my friend. It is my sole duty as a healer to see that a fellow Scordian survives.” Vanerim’s voice was strong and reassuring.

Drawing his sword out, in solidarity with his saved friend, Vanerim engaged the remaining creatures in the chaos.

*

“Curse you, abomination! Curse your creatures you created!” Gorichor blurted as he tried mustering the last of his strength.

The figure moved back a couple feet and pointed his blade at the high knight.

“Your kind is weak, fool. None of you know the experience of war. None of you have the skills of battle. All you mortals deserve is death!” the other’s penetrating voice, profound and dominant, sparked Gorichor’s anger.

“Perish, you devil!” Gorichor cursed, charging in a way he could call reckless at his enemy.

The knight’s swing was intercepted by the other’s sword. Beads of sweat ran down his cheek as he tried endlessly to find a point to strike. Whenever the point was found, it would be protected by an anticipatory blow of the enemy. It seemed all too apparent to Gorichor that the figure was grinning dryly behind the hood of his. He must have thought this battle insignificant, that he had fought far stronger enemies than Gorichor. Nonetheless, Gorichor could never allow the thought of surrender be sighted in his mind. This was a battle against not only the dark figure, but the thought as well. This was a battle for Scord and the king. This was a test of allegiance.

Then the figure raised his sword just above his cloak in an attempt to end this wasteful battle. Out of pure instincts, Gorichor bent low, used the last ounce of his diminishing power and slashed through his enemy’s cloak, shredding bits of cloth into the ground. The figure surprisingly froze in place, showing no presence of the slightest movement. Slowed at ease, Gorichor lifted his head and fixed his eyes on the figure’s hood, beholding eternal darkness within. Not a sound gave in this moment. Everything in the chamber froze in time.

Like a person woken up by a loud sound from his dream, the silence and stillness in the room shattered moments later. Gorichor felt a force as abstract as magic rocketing him towards the wall. Large shards of the ice covering rumbled down and vanished on the floor as the high knight’s heavy body rammed into it. He could vividly picture the dark figure laughing at him, at his human weaknesses. What was that power? Who is this figure?

Gorichor’s vision gradually became a blur, unable to see clearly the features of the antagonist.

“Well done, human. Your skills which I thought unworthy have proven themselves they were not. Consider yourself the victor of this fight. But do heed my words. I am more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You have not seen the last of me!”

The last words were lost to Gorichor as sleep fell on him like a blanket. The last image he perceived was the figure’s shape turning to a green light and evaporating into the vastness.

*

Gerisio, the historian and apprentice warrior, manipulated his sword like he saw his father did during training, fending off the threat of his last opponent on his horse. The first two beasts he slaughtered provided him the will to continue with this battle. His passion, inherited from his father, offered him the path which defied the web of fear his brother encountered. A path to lead him to victory.

He met every slash of the gargoyle’s sickle like a parent countering a child’s obnoxious complains. The creature hissed at times, a clear sign that the historian was its obstacle, while Gerisio laughed at its inferiority. Eventually, he cornered his enemy to the wall. However, the gargoyle showed no sign of surrendering. It kept its vigilance up and strength conducting its sickle efficiently.

“Do not believe yourself great, little creature! You are merely a child’s play!” Gerisio said laughing, his power at his sword steady.

The gargoyle hissed anew, countering the tough blows of Gerisio’s sword. Suddenly, its power began to fade as the density of its flesh increased. Then its legs turned to stone. It emanated more hissing sounds, this time louder, revealing the pain it felt. Abruptly, its body hardened, unable to move its weapon. Then the biological head unleashed one last hiss before the solidness of rock consumed its flesh.

“Well, not bad at all. Your puny powers seemed to have failed you!”

Grinning bitterly at the transformed gargoyle, Gerisio holstered his weapon at last. The experience devised a new definition of adventuring. He would call this the hero’s adventure. An adventure where you were free from your stress as a castle dweller.

As the gargoyles lay dead or transformed, the group of Scordian survivors gathered at the door trapping Gorichor within. Soldiers assembled in groups of eight, officers on horses at their rear, ready to proceed through the door to report their victory.

“Men, forward!” Commander Yorel ordered.

Two soldiers in the front row kicked the wooden door open. In the chamber, the dark figure disappeared. But what caught all their attention was the presence of King Eclipsor by the wall were Gorichor lay, taking off his armour and helping him recover. The high knight seemed so tired and worn that the only movement he made was the rising and falling of his chest.

“Father!” Gerisio and Vanerim yelled in unison, dismounting quickly and dashing inward.

They knelt down beside the King and gave him a nod of reassurance.

“Your Majesty. We are so relieved to find you returned,” Gerisio said calmly.

“Father, you seem to be injured terribly. I must apply medicine to your wounds immediately.” Vanerim’s voice came out in a smooth and worried manner.

He drew out a glass bottle with the content of red liquid and applied it on Gorichor’s elbows. He could tell from the expression on his father’s face that the pain was unlike anything he experienced before. His hard muscles tightened as the red liquid found its way in. For a moment, the pain seemed to aggravate, then lessen a minute later.

“Do not worry, Father. Your collision with the wall could have caused you greater pain. It could have disabled your movements for a month,” Vanerim explained.

He poured more of the medicine on Gorichor’s legs as the high knight held his cry of pain. His legs were trembling as Vanerim rubbed it.

“Thank you, my son. You abilities to heal are now clearly matching that of your teacher. You two are the light of my life.” Gorichor’s voice was soft and filled with a warmness which suggested a little of his strength returning.

“We are safe now, Father. All threats have been eradicated,” Vanerim said reassuringly, now rubbing his father’s back, his last painful spot.

“Indeed, son.”

King Eclipsor moved close to Gorichor as Vanerim healed his remaining wounds. The king put his hands on Gorichor’s, showing him his gratitude where words were superficial. The touch assured their victory. A victory against the threat to Scord for the first time.

[Neo-Xantios]

Ah, Reborn-Dragon. Greetings again. I couldn't possibly believe that a reply would already arrive before I could finish posting the chapter. Thanks for your comment. I shall read your fic as well.

[RJdude]

Jeez, that was long.

Anyway, I want to congratulate on the. It was very well written, it almost seemed like you're a proffessinal writter. The genre's not my cup of tea, but the plot's fine, and I'm sure you can turn this into a great story. Keep this up.