Post by Yoshiko on Feb 27, 2006 22:33:01 GMT -5
The Shadow of the East
Chapter Four
A Slight Dilemma
“Where… Where is my brother!?” Azreal shouted, turning to his General Hector.
“Sire, we’ve received no information as to his whereabouts, but if it could help, I could—” Hector was cut off instantly, as Azreal pulled Erstatz from its sacred sheath, and thrust the rapier into the armored man. It easily pierced the shimmering gold plates, and continued on to his skin. The moment the cold steel made contact, Hector jumped with pain, and was executed on the spot with the electricity emanating from the blade.
“There now, General Hector. Relieving stress can be so easy. Have a nice sleep.” Said Azreal coldly, as he pointed at a passing soldier. “You there! Take him out and burn him!” He gestured jerkily towards the dead General on the floor, and smirked. The young soldier gulped nervously, and continued into the room. With the help of two other new recruits, they lifted the large body up, and carried outside to be burned in the rocky cliffs of Tal’Salym’s capitol, Al’Syruuk.
“Your Majesty, may I—” A knight had entered the throne room of Al’Syruuk, a messenger, and he held information.
“Shut up, shut up! Silence! I must think.” Azreal screamed, turning around to face the bold speaker. When he saw it was merely the knight, he scowled, and decided to humor the young soldier. “What? What is it? A problem outside?”
“No, Sire. I bear good news. We’ve obtained the information that your brother is no longer in Dramoor.”
“Is… Is that all!? When I request information, I request a full and detailed report! Leave my sight! Leave! Now.” Azreal demanded, glaring at the warrior. Erstatz was still in his hand, and, considering the situation that Azreal was in, he readied to hold the blade above his head and instantly electrify him as he had General Hector. Azreal, however, was in a tight situation, and he needed all the men he could earn. No, not earn. Have.
The knight bowed deeply to his lord, and then turned and ran from the room, almost in tears.
“I swear to you, Lance, I’ll find you. I’ll find you and rip you limb from limb!” Azreal shouted, swinging Erstatz wildly. “…Just wait. Wait, and watch. But now, action is necessary. Can’t be without action. Ilyar!”
A tall man walked forward, his body and head disguised by a light brown, burlap robe, which wrapped around him loosely. “Yes, my lord?” Ilyar bowed low and respectfully, his voice deep, and dripping with pride.
“Word is that my brother is no longer in Dramoor. I’d like to know where he is then. Where exactly he is.” Azreal commanded, pointing his rapier out the door. “Find him! Find him and bring him to me at whatever costs! Sacrifice my men at your will, as long as you bring that wretch to me!”
“Sire, where should you have me search?” Ilyar requested politely, giving a high bow as he spoke.
“Outside of Dramoor, you fool! Have you not paid attention to me this whole time!? Go! Leave my presence! You’re not worthy to bask in my excellence!” Ilyar glared up at his King, before bowing once more.
“Yes, Your Highness. It was shameful of me to ask such an absurd question. Please, forgive me.”
“I’ll forgive you once you bring back my brother! And do not kill him!” The King demanded, sparks beginning to snap around Erstatz’s blade. Ilyar nodded, and bowed once more, before chanting a strange language. “Nar elyuu sa ter, kil e tjah nu sellazfz.” A shining black and red pentagram appeared beneath him on the floor, and then, in a circle of bright red light, the sage disappeared.
“Hah! So is this the castle of Tal’Salym, now? A bit run down, but I think it’ll do. Now, where’s that king?” A large man had entered the room, a yellow cloak flowing behind him with his speedy steps. His build was large, muscular, and his attire looked as though it were of Tal’Salym, but not Al’Syruukian; his hair was a blondish orange color, short, and slightly curled naturally, his eyes blue-green, resonating with a turquoise glow. Now his clothing, as aforementioned, was Tal’Salymian, showing he was of the kingdom. He wore a royal blue shirt, a dark brown sash lying across his body from his shoulder to hip. In the sash, in small pockets, were vials of different colored liquids, which varied from purple to turquoise, and red to green, being six or so in number. The man wore a light brown, leather belt, which held up his white, long pants, which appeared to be too long for the six-foot man.
“Who… WHO DARE INTERRUPTS ME ONCE MORE!?” Azreal screamed at the top of his lungs, spinning to face the intruder.
“…Whoa. Calm down, calm down! I’m just looking for the king. Seen ‘im around?” The stranger asked, unaware of whom was in his presence.
“Why, yes, I’ve seen him, my good sir. You stand in front of him as of this moment!” Azreal scowled at this new man, but paid him no more mind. A peasant like him was not worth the king’s time.
“Ah! My lord, I am terribly sorry!” He kneeled down, bowed his head, and closed his eyes, well aware of how merciless the king could be. “Your Highness, I am Glenn Riley, Tal’Salymian professional mercenary. I have come to the castle to perhaps—”
“Ah, but don’t tell me why you’re here.” Azreal had decided to listen to Glenn’s explanation, but had cut him off. “You want me to hire you for war. How much will it cost me, Mr. Riley?”
“Hah! My best subject, and I see you like to take care of business quickly. Well, Your Highness, I would only ask for a small fee of… One thousand gold.” Glenn said with a slight smirk on his lips, happy the king could not see his face, for he was still kneeling.
“One… One thousand gold pieces!?” Azreal cried, his eyes growing wide. “That’s absurd! Such a price is not worth my time.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve realized that may be a bit steep, but, Your Highness! I’ll lower my price! Eight hundred gold!” Glenn shouted in desperation. The mercenary liked to gamble quite a bit, but he wasn’t always the winner.
“Eight hundred gold, then? Very well. You’re… You’re hired. Welcome to the army of Tal’Salym.” Azreal said, collapsing in his throne, and placing his head in his hands. The king didn’t believe he had hired one mercenary – a single man – for such a price as eight hundred gold pieces.
However, one man could make a difference in the massacre of war.
“Ah ha! My good Sire, you will not regret this, I assure you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make preparations.” Glenn stood, bowed lowly to his king, and then turned from him, yellow cape flowing behind him.
“As do I, boy. As do I.”
“Lance!” Jenna cried. “We’ve been walking forever! Can’t we rest?” She pouted, Quizzle riding on her shoulder. “I mean, we’ve walked at least ten miles.”
“Ten miles? Bah! Not even five, Jenna. Calm down, aren’t you used to walking? You came from Falthalym, didn’t you?” Lance asked, playing with a small ball of fire in his hands. Spending so many battles with Esperanza, Lance had developed the ability himself to conjure and manipulate fire.
“Hey! Neat trick! Could you show me sometime how to do that?” Jenna asked, looking over Lance’s shoulder and into his hands.
“It’s hard to develop, and I’m sure it would be rather hard to learn on purpose. I developed this ability on accident, and a friend of mine almost paid with his life for it.” Lance said softly, looking back at Jenna.
“Oh…Well… Lance! I’m a mage! I’m built for these kind of things.” She said cheerily, patting his shoulder. “I’m sure it couldn’t be too hard.”
Quizzle then made a small ‘tut-tut’ noise. “Jenna, you are an apprentice mage! Please now, my girl, if Lance feels he needn’t teach you such a skill, then he doesn’t have to.”
This absolutely made Jenna angrier than an ugnarook with a toothache. She fumed for at least an hour, during which time the group walked on in silence; Lance continued to navigate, and play with fire; Jenna walked behind him, grumpily; and Quizzle sat on her shoulder, contemplating the twos’ plans for the moment they reached Xiovi. Jenna was to visit her master, and Quizzle would have to wait outside for as long as he could.
The silence was broken when Lance had drawn his sword as an eerie cry rent the air. “Banshees! Run!”
“What?” Quizzle said in astonishment. “Banshees in the desert!? That’s highly improbable!”
“I don’t care what’s improbable anymore! Ever since Azreal came here, blood trackers have been killing off villagers!” Lance shouted back, already gaining a head start from the others. Jenna began running as well, holding her gnarled root staff in a defensive position, with Quizzle on her shoulder.
“Blood trackers!?” Quizzle shouted. He knew what terrible beasts they were – cousins of the ugnarook, but smaller, nearly half in size of the ugnarooks, which were the size of a fully-grown komodo dragon. And these little scaly beasts hunted for blood, that which they lived on, and once they tasted a being’s blood, they would never stop looking for that one being until it either died, or the blood trackers themselves did.
Now, as Lance and Jenna ran along the plain, they looked to the sky only to be greeted with another banshee call. It pierced the air, and painfully intercepted Lance and Jenna’s hearing; a screaming headache began throbbing in their heads, and Lance had had enough.
Stopping dead in his tracks, the swordsman pivoted on his foot, bringing his sword around after the rest of his body, and swung horizontally, full force at the banshee three inches from his face. It had just opened its mouth, and gotten ready to take a bite out of Lance, but he quickly brought the miserable beast to an end with his motion. When he looked back to the sky, he counted another four banshees flying among the clouds – that left two for him, and two for Jenna. If she could handle them, anyways.
“Jenna!” The Prince called. “Can you take two down alone?” He asked, quickly bringing up his blade in a defensive stance from another banshee’s claws. When he pulled back, so did Lance, then lunged forward, leaving a gash in the creature’s transparent torso. It screeched miserably, and then tackled him to the ground, although this time, he kept a stronger grip on the hilt of his sword – it stayed firmly in his hands, and before the creature could take its mouth to his arm, he brought his right arm around, and thrust through the side of the beast.
Lance had killed another banshee, as Jenna was struggling with one. First, when it dove towards her, she had thrust out her staff, which it flew right into, giving it a nasty throbbing pain in its mouth. When it circled her, she swung around it a full circle, while a holy white light flew from the tip of her staff; the beast backed away quickly, but it fell to the ground, and disintegrated from the top of its bald, ghostly skull, to the tip of its raggedy, transparent purple cloak.
Two down, two to go, but Lance and Jenna were now back to back, holding off the banshees as well as they could. They fought like the demons they were, lobbing great balls of dark matter at them from afar, and slashing at them with razor like bony claws from mere inches away.
“Alastor! Ineduer! Back, now!” An unfamiliar voice called firmly, to what Lance and Jenna took to be the wraith-like banshees. And, as this command was given to them, the listened attentively, and flew to the caller.
“Lance O’Rien. Jenna Armentine, I assume? I am Ilyar Etchidson. I have been sent by my king, Lord Azreal, to exterminate the two of you, and any others you’ve had contact with.” The voice was cold, as Lance’s had been not too long ago when he was joined with Azreal in the throne room of Dramoor.
“If you’d allow me to, please just step to the side, and your deaths’ will be less painful than I would wish them to be.”
Chapter Four
A Slight Dilemma
“Where… Where is my brother!?” Azreal shouted, turning to his General Hector.
“Sire, we’ve received no information as to his whereabouts, but if it could help, I could—” Hector was cut off instantly, as Azreal pulled Erstatz from its sacred sheath, and thrust the rapier into the armored man. It easily pierced the shimmering gold plates, and continued on to his skin. The moment the cold steel made contact, Hector jumped with pain, and was executed on the spot with the electricity emanating from the blade.
“There now, General Hector. Relieving stress can be so easy. Have a nice sleep.” Said Azreal coldly, as he pointed at a passing soldier. “You there! Take him out and burn him!” He gestured jerkily towards the dead General on the floor, and smirked. The young soldier gulped nervously, and continued into the room. With the help of two other new recruits, they lifted the large body up, and carried outside to be burned in the rocky cliffs of Tal’Salym’s capitol, Al’Syruuk.
“Your Majesty, may I—” A knight had entered the throne room of Al’Syruuk, a messenger, and he held information.
“Shut up, shut up! Silence! I must think.” Azreal screamed, turning around to face the bold speaker. When he saw it was merely the knight, he scowled, and decided to humor the young soldier. “What? What is it? A problem outside?”
“No, Sire. I bear good news. We’ve obtained the information that your brother is no longer in Dramoor.”
“Is… Is that all!? When I request information, I request a full and detailed report! Leave my sight! Leave! Now.” Azreal demanded, glaring at the warrior. Erstatz was still in his hand, and, considering the situation that Azreal was in, he readied to hold the blade above his head and instantly electrify him as he had General Hector. Azreal, however, was in a tight situation, and he needed all the men he could earn. No, not earn. Have.
The knight bowed deeply to his lord, and then turned and ran from the room, almost in tears.
“I swear to you, Lance, I’ll find you. I’ll find you and rip you limb from limb!” Azreal shouted, swinging Erstatz wildly. “…Just wait. Wait, and watch. But now, action is necessary. Can’t be without action. Ilyar!”
A tall man walked forward, his body and head disguised by a light brown, burlap robe, which wrapped around him loosely. “Yes, my lord?” Ilyar bowed low and respectfully, his voice deep, and dripping with pride.
“Word is that my brother is no longer in Dramoor. I’d like to know where he is then. Where exactly he is.” Azreal commanded, pointing his rapier out the door. “Find him! Find him and bring him to me at whatever costs! Sacrifice my men at your will, as long as you bring that wretch to me!”
“Sire, where should you have me search?” Ilyar requested politely, giving a high bow as he spoke.
“Outside of Dramoor, you fool! Have you not paid attention to me this whole time!? Go! Leave my presence! You’re not worthy to bask in my excellence!” Ilyar glared up at his King, before bowing once more.
“Yes, Your Highness. It was shameful of me to ask such an absurd question. Please, forgive me.”
“I’ll forgive you once you bring back my brother! And do not kill him!” The King demanded, sparks beginning to snap around Erstatz’s blade. Ilyar nodded, and bowed once more, before chanting a strange language. “Nar elyuu sa ter, kil e tjah nu sellazfz.” A shining black and red pentagram appeared beneath him on the floor, and then, in a circle of bright red light, the sage disappeared.
“Hah! So is this the castle of Tal’Salym, now? A bit run down, but I think it’ll do. Now, where’s that king?” A large man had entered the room, a yellow cloak flowing behind him with his speedy steps. His build was large, muscular, and his attire looked as though it were of Tal’Salym, but not Al’Syruukian; his hair was a blondish orange color, short, and slightly curled naturally, his eyes blue-green, resonating with a turquoise glow. Now his clothing, as aforementioned, was Tal’Salymian, showing he was of the kingdom. He wore a royal blue shirt, a dark brown sash lying across his body from his shoulder to hip. In the sash, in small pockets, were vials of different colored liquids, which varied from purple to turquoise, and red to green, being six or so in number. The man wore a light brown, leather belt, which held up his white, long pants, which appeared to be too long for the six-foot man.
“Who… WHO DARE INTERRUPTS ME ONCE MORE!?” Azreal screamed at the top of his lungs, spinning to face the intruder.
“…Whoa. Calm down, calm down! I’m just looking for the king. Seen ‘im around?” The stranger asked, unaware of whom was in his presence.
“Why, yes, I’ve seen him, my good sir. You stand in front of him as of this moment!” Azreal scowled at this new man, but paid him no more mind. A peasant like him was not worth the king’s time.
“Ah! My lord, I am terribly sorry!” He kneeled down, bowed his head, and closed his eyes, well aware of how merciless the king could be. “Your Highness, I am Glenn Riley, Tal’Salymian professional mercenary. I have come to the castle to perhaps—”
“Ah, but don’t tell me why you’re here.” Azreal had decided to listen to Glenn’s explanation, but had cut him off. “You want me to hire you for war. How much will it cost me, Mr. Riley?”
“Hah! My best subject, and I see you like to take care of business quickly. Well, Your Highness, I would only ask for a small fee of… One thousand gold.” Glenn said with a slight smirk on his lips, happy the king could not see his face, for he was still kneeling.
“One… One thousand gold pieces!?” Azreal cried, his eyes growing wide. “That’s absurd! Such a price is not worth my time.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve realized that may be a bit steep, but, Your Highness! I’ll lower my price! Eight hundred gold!” Glenn shouted in desperation. The mercenary liked to gamble quite a bit, but he wasn’t always the winner.
“Eight hundred gold, then? Very well. You’re… You’re hired. Welcome to the army of Tal’Salym.” Azreal said, collapsing in his throne, and placing his head in his hands. The king didn’t believe he had hired one mercenary – a single man – for such a price as eight hundred gold pieces.
However, one man could make a difference in the massacre of war.
“Ah ha! My good Sire, you will not regret this, I assure you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make preparations.” Glenn stood, bowed lowly to his king, and then turned from him, yellow cape flowing behind him.
“As do I, boy. As do I.”
“Lance!” Jenna cried. “We’ve been walking forever! Can’t we rest?” She pouted, Quizzle riding on her shoulder. “I mean, we’ve walked at least ten miles.”
“Ten miles? Bah! Not even five, Jenna. Calm down, aren’t you used to walking? You came from Falthalym, didn’t you?” Lance asked, playing with a small ball of fire in his hands. Spending so many battles with Esperanza, Lance had developed the ability himself to conjure and manipulate fire.
“Hey! Neat trick! Could you show me sometime how to do that?” Jenna asked, looking over Lance’s shoulder and into his hands.
“It’s hard to develop, and I’m sure it would be rather hard to learn on purpose. I developed this ability on accident, and a friend of mine almost paid with his life for it.” Lance said softly, looking back at Jenna.
“Oh…Well… Lance! I’m a mage! I’m built for these kind of things.” She said cheerily, patting his shoulder. “I’m sure it couldn’t be too hard.”
Quizzle then made a small ‘tut-tut’ noise. “Jenna, you are an apprentice mage! Please now, my girl, if Lance feels he needn’t teach you such a skill, then he doesn’t have to.”
This absolutely made Jenna angrier than an ugnarook with a toothache. She fumed for at least an hour, during which time the group walked on in silence; Lance continued to navigate, and play with fire; Jenna walked behind him, grumpily; and Quizzle sat on her shoulder, contemplating the twos’ plans for the moment they reached Xiovi. Jenna was to visit her master, and Quizzle would have to wait outside for as long as he could.
The silence was broken when Lance had drawn his sword as an eerie cry rent the air. “Banshees! Run!”
“What?” Quizzle said in astonishment. “Banshees in the desert!? That’s highly improbable!”
“I don’t care what’s improbable anymore! Ever since Azreal came here, blood trackers have been killing off villagers!” Lance shouted back, already gaining a head start from the others. Jenna began running as well, holding her gnarled root staff in a defensive position, with Quizzle on her shoulder.
“Blood trackers!?” Quizzle shouted. He knew what terrible beasts they were – cousins of the ugnarook, but smaller, nearly half in size of the ugnarooks, which were the size of a fully-grown komodo dragon. And these little scaly beasts hunted for blood, that which they lived on, and once they tasted a being’s blood, they would never stop looking for that one being until it either died, or the blood trackers themselves did.
Now, as Lance and Jenna ran along the plain, they looked to the sky only to be greeted with another banshee call. It pierced the air, and painfully intercepted Lance and Jenna’s hearing; a screaming headache began throbbing in their heads, and Lance had had enough.
Stopping dead in his tracks, the swordsman pivoted on his foot, bringing his sword around after the rest of his body, and swung horizontally, full force at the banshee three inches from his face. It had just opened its mouth, and gotten ready to take a bite out of Lance, but he quickly brought the miserable beast to an end with his motion. When he looked back to the sky, he counted another four banshees flying among the clouds – that left two for him, and two for Jenna. If she could handle them, anyways.
“Jenna!” The Prince called. “Can you take two down alone?” He asked, quickly bringing up his blade in a defensive stance from another banshee’s claws. When he pulled back, so did Lance, then lunged forward, leaving a gash in the creature’s transparent torso. It screeched miserably, and then tackled him to the ground, although this time, he kept a stronger grip on the hilt of his sword – it stayed firmly in his hands, and before the creature could take its mouth to his arm, he brought his right arm around, and thrust through the side of the beast.
Lance had killed another banshee, as Jenna was struggling with one. First, when it dove towards her, she had thrust out her staff, which it flew right into, giving it a nasty throbbing pain in its mouth. When it circled her, she swung around it a full circle, while a holy white light flew from the tip of her staff; the beast backed away quickly, but it fell to the ground, and disintegrated from the top of its bald, ghostly skull, to the tip of its raggedy, transparent purple cloak.
Two down, two to go, but Lance and Jenna were now back to back, holding off the banshees as well as they could. They fought like the demons they were, lobbing great balls of dark matter at them from afar, and slashing at them with razor like bony claws from mere inches away.
“Alastor! Ineduer! Back, now!” An unfamiliar voice called firmly, to what Lance and Jenna took to be the wraith-like banshees. And, as this command was given to them, the listened attentively, and flew to the caller.
“Lance O’Rien. Jenna Armentine, I assume? I am Ilyar Etchidson. I have been sent by my king, Lord Azreal, to exterminate the two of you, and any others you’ve had contact with.” The voice was cold, as Lance’s had been not too long ago when he was joined with Azreal in the throne room of Dramoor.
“If you’d allow me to, please just step to the side, and your deaths’ will be less painful than I would wish them to be.”