FANTASY NOVEL (Title in Progress)/Chapter Two

Rilamir’s Mother stood and looked longingly at her son as he walked out of town. Tears were building in her eyes, but she still had a smile on her face. "Yes, I'll be careful, and I promise to write you, just like Ailmon, tell Father I love him for me," he called back out, as he waved to her one last time before heading out on the road. He looked onward and saw his new co-workers. Puebeard was leaning on his walking stick, packing a long tobacco pipe, letting off a scent stronger than even the finest of perfumes. Cheldric was polishing his knives one by one, and making sure they were all nice and steady in their sheathes. Rilamir was all dressed up for adventuring himself, with a nice tight leather doublet, and his Grandfather's old sword he inherited. How Rilamir yearned for his company once more. "Such a nice family you have there," Cheldric complimented as he continued to tinker with his knife collection.

"You know it sounds less like a compliment and more like a threat when you're playing with those vile contraptions," Puebeard exclaimed as he started following the trail.

"What, you don't like MY family?" Cheldric snickered, continuing to play with his knives.

"No, not one bit," Puebeard took a few puffs from his pipe, intensifying the aroma around them.

"Speaking of family, is that Ailmon character you mentioned an uncle or something?"

"He's my brother actually," said Rilamir, "He volunteered to help out with the war over in Callista."

"Unaq? You're brother cares about what happens to those damned devil blooded creatures?" asked Cheldric.

"I think he was more concerned with who wins and how that could affect Morthan."

"We are only a sea away from them. However, if I was the Great and Powerful Emperor, or whatever they call their blighted leader, I'd sneak around the back entrance and hit the Elves where it hurts instead of alerting them ahead of time by attacking the Humans." He grinned and motioned an uppercut. “ No offense to Morthan, but it ain’t exactly the most threatening part o’ Kyrtaaria.”

"Maybe that’s the point,” Puebeard chimed in. “Take down the weak, occupy the land, and slowly push at the rest,” he stopped and took a few puffs of his pipe before asking, “Which side is he on?"

"The Rebellion, I believe. However, according to his last letter, he seems to be regretting his decision to get involved at all in the first place." Rilamir thought back to his brother’s last letter. The vague, yet extremely vile atrocities being committed on both sides sickened him to his very core. “The Rebellion claims to be saving the lives of the people, yet they put no damned effort in protecting them from the Empire’s Zealots and their brutal tactics of interrogation. They’ve burned down three villages in the past week alone! “It’s just a scare tactic” is what I’m told, but it doesn’t convince me. This damned war is getting out of hand, and I just want to come home,” he wrote once. Rilamir could hear every word in Ailmon’s voice. “Oh how he hasn’t changed one bit,” he thought aloud. “What was that?” asked Cheldric.

“Hmm? Oh just saying that sign ahead should point us in the right direction.” He looked up to see a road sign, signaling the cities direction to each city. "If we take the North-West road, we'll get to Zranzas within two days time." He began to pull a map out of his bag. "There's a city on the crossroads we can stop at to rest along the way. If we hurry, we'll get there before dark."

"Then let us be off." Puebeard said, starting the long journey.

"This still doesn't explain why you're always insulting people and their cultures," Puebeard argued.

"It's not that I necessarily hate them or their cultures, I just find it funny to insult things, and what's easier to insult then something you're not?" Cheldric said in a snooty tone.

"I'd be fine with it if the jokes were actually funny, but they aren't."

"Well it can't always be good material, and what do you know about funny anyway? I haven't heard you crack a joke in the three months we've been on the road, let alone the year we've worked together.

"Maybe comedy doesn't come to me as easily as it does for you, but that doesn't mean I can't tell good comedy from bad," Puebeard stroked his beard as if he was trying to remember something. "And another thing-"

"Is the town generally that lit up?" interrupted Cheldric. They three looked onward into the distance and saw the sun setting on the hill, right behind the scorching city in front of them. The men rushed to the city gates to try and help cool the flames. As they reach the gates, they see a guardsman on top fo the wall, holding a bow at them. "Who are you!" he frantically calls out.

"We're coming from Rockport," Rilamir yells back up to him. "Would you like some help?"

"Oh thank the Ancient One's you can speak! Please hurry inside, it's a massacre in here." The man begins to pull a lever that slowly open that large gate. "Get yourselves to the barracks! Guard Captain Alecar will-" He immediately stops as a blade slices from the back of his neck straight through to his jaw. His eyes roll back as the blade smoothly leaves from it’s entry point, causing him to fall forward off of the wall, crunching from the impact. The culprit stands in his place, scouring over them. A strange, dripping creature with long limbs and a disfigured head. Black as the night. Rilamir was so fixated on the creature that fear didn’t even come to mind, just pure curiosity. The creature snarls at the men before running back down the wall and into the city. "What in the hell was that!?" Rialmir asked.

"I was really hoping one of you could tell me," Cheldric coughed up, sounding almost worried.

"Whatever it was, I could smell the magic on it. I'd be careful if I were you," warned Puebeard as he kneeled down and closed the eyelids of the guardsman. “May your Gods look upon you kindly in death,” he whispered.

The three drew their weapons, Cheldric pulling out two daggers, Puebeard a shortsword from under his cloak, and Rilamir unsheathing his steel longsword, almost in unison. Passing by the corpse of the man they just spoke to, Rilamir leads the group through the gates to find a battlefield over what used to be a quaint little town. Flames pouring from the windows and open walls of the buildings, corpses of civilians and guardsmen scattered about. The sound of screams came echoing down the streets, and were quickly drowned out by the booming noise of battle in the distance.

Looking to the North towards the gate, Rilamir notices a massive fire, seemingly hotter than the sun, even from hundreds of feet away. Looking to the South Gate, he noticed a group of men fighting off a horde of beasts. He turned and noticed the other two already advancing to the North. Puebeard’s fingers lit up as he cast a spell, letting out a burst of cold air, quickly fanning the flames. Cheldric climbed the steps up the wall to dispatch the creatures lingering above, cutting through them like butter. Rilamir rushed ahead, sword in hand, to face the creatures further inward.

Sprinting through the streets, he came across a man and his daughter, surrounded by three of the creatures. Before he could land a single strike on any of them, a fourth jumps from above, landing directly on him and forcing them both to the ground. Rilamir, now face to face with it, became almost obsessed with it, and was instantly calmed. He could feel the oozing liquid cover him, engulfing his body, making it difficult to move. The creature started making an odd noise, one that reminded Rilamir of a more peaceful time. Before he knew it, the creature jumped from him, shrieking, it’s back engulfed in a bright blue flame. The man, holding his daughter and the handle to his lantern, sprinted past Rilamir and down the way he came.

As his senses began to return, Rilamir saw two balls of fire sporadically zip past his head into the fiends, letting out two more shrieks, and a terrible odor of oil and burning flesh. Rilamir grabbed his blade and stood up, still dripping bits of the liquid. He ran up to the last beast and drove his blade into its torso, before slicing up, splitting it straight in half. It sprayed blood and the tar like ooze from it’s wound as it fell to the ground. “Rilamir!” called out a voice from behind. He turned to see Puebeard spraying fire from the tips of his fingers at a few more of the creatures, and Cheldric running up to him. “Oh... you smell as awful as these things. How did you get it all over you?”

He looked down at himself and realized how covered he really was. His cloak and doublet were stained black, and still very damp. “Let’s just say we both had a little accident.” Rilamir awkwardly chuckled.

“We need to get to the barracks!” Puebeard called out as he started putting out the flames he conjured.

“Then let’s go.” Rilamir began to jog at a steady pace. He felt uneasy. “What was it trying to do to me?” The thought kept bouncing around in his head. He noticed that a significant portion of the city was now in flames, excluding the parts visited by Puebeard and his magical frost. Looking to his right, he noticed the line of guardsmen had moved back twenty paces, and was now met with twice the number of foes. “They seem to be flocking to the South Gate like a beacon,” stated Cheldric, “You’d best move in before it’s too late.”

“What do you mean you?” questioned Puebeard.

“I’m gonna continue picking off the wanderers and saving the townsfolk. It’s how I work best anyhow.” He ducked down into an alleyway, disappearing into the shadows. The two men rushed up to help the line of defenders. Puebeard began forming a huge ball of light on the end of his staff, growing ever brighter and larger by the second. As he released it, he slid back a couple of feet, and it launched at an immeasurable speed. Before they knew it, two of the creatures were on the ground shooting the tar like substance into the air like a geyser out of their new found wound, and the rest of the beasts turned and rushed in on them. Rilamir bolted ahead, sword in hand, slicing and dicing at them one by one. He was quickly surrounded, hearing the snarls and growls of his enemies from every direction. He had taken down maybe three of the beasts, and the others that he wounded seemed no worse for wear, filled with energy and excitement for their new prey. He was terrified.

Then, suddenly, he remembered, “Fire!” He drew a match from one of his many pockets, and looked down at his blade. It was still covered in the creature’s vile escrements, but so was he. “Here goes nothing,” he said before lighting the match and setting his blade ablaze. They all staggered backwards, some even fleeing at the sight of the flame. “Back you fiends!” He called out, lunging at them with his blade. More of them began to step backwards, all of them fearing the mighty flame he wielded. Rilamir sliced forward at one of them, cutting slightly into it. Before he knew it, it was ablaze and began rolling on the floor, screaming in agony, taking his sword with it. The creatures saw an opening, and took it, leaping towards Rilamir. He heard a strange noise, almost like a strong wind from behind, and became instantly chilled. Turning around he saw one of the creatures frozen in place, just paces from him. The ice started from the floor and lead up to the creature, which was middair. As he studied it, a fire ball flew past his head yet again, slamming into another creature. “Catch,” yelled a man from the line of troops as he tossed a sword his way.

Rilamir, now rearmed and among allies, charged ahead to carve a path to the guards. He sliced and slashed in every direction, almost becoming the blade for mere seconds. Left and right his enemies dropped, some leaving with graver wounds than others. As the battled neared its end, he could see many of the creatures fleeing towards the mansion on the hill. It felt as if a river was flowing from his forehead with all the sweat he had pouring down to his cheeks. “Holy shit!” called one of the men. “We didn’t even need to do anything.” Rilamir looked around at the writhing corpses scattered about. The bits and pieces all clawing at a chance to cling back together. “Fantastic Rilamir!” yelled Puebeard as he hobbled over to him, carrying his Grandfather’s sword. “I assumed you wanted to retrieve this before we burn the bodies,” Puebeard began to hand the blade to Rilamir, still hot to the touch.

“I take it your name is Rilamir then?” asked one of the men, in a deep and gravelly voice. He looked more grizzled than the others, wearing a short stubble on his face and a helm upon his head, and he smelled of alcohol. “You sir are just what we needed to turn the tide in our favor. Come, let us talk inside,” he motioned towards a small door leading to a tower connected to the gate.

Stepping inside, Rilamir noticed the near empty weapon racks and the beds full of wounded men. The smell of healing powders filled the air, making sick to his stomach. “How long have you been fighting like this?” he asked, wiping his brow of sweat.

“Two, maybe three days I believe. Though, it wasn’t a full assault like it is now for the whole time. It started with mild raids. We just thought the Goblins in the East had found a new toy to send our way. Oh how we were wrong.” He took of his helm, revealing the upper part of his face and the rest of his head. The man looked worried and tired. He had bruises running down the left side of his face all the way to his jaw. He had a slight jitter, which Rilamir noticed as he struggled to pour a few cups of wine for the men. “Please, take a drink. You’ll need something in your belly before I tell you what we’re up against.” Rilamir picked up the cup and began to sip on the wine as he sat down with the man. Puebeard did the same, but declined the glass. “I don’t blame ya, wine was never my kinda drink. But we ran outta rum ages ago, so this is all we got.” He picked up his glass and downed it all in one gulp, right before doing the same with Puebeard’s glass. “Damned drink is all bark and no bite, don’t know why the Elves love it so.” The door swung open and Cheldric comes hobbling in, dragging one of the men behind him. “One of yours?” asked the man.

“Aye, he is,” answered Rilamir, standing up to help the man Cheldric carried in.

“Oh there’s no need for that,” he said sitting Rilamir back down. “My men will take him from here. Excuse me sir,” he called out, “Come and join us, if you would.” Cheldric began to take a seat, while the man was helped into a bed and his wounds tended to. “My name is Alecar, I’m the captain of the guard in this shithole.” He began to pour himself another glass and Cheldric a glass, spilling it onto the table as he did. “I know this man here is Rilamir based on what the Dwarf fellow called him. What’re you two called?”

“Well I’m Cheldric, and this here’s Puebeard, don’t ask, it’s a long story.” Cheldric took a sip of his wine and made a sour face. “I see you dislike the wine as well,” he said as he quickly sipped on his glass. “You know we were just talking about how it’s a-”

“I don’t mean to sway the subject away from alcohol, but we should probably focus on the matter at hand,” interjected Puebeard. “What exactly is going on outside?”

The man finished off his glass and looked over at the men with a angered look in his eyes. “Well isn’t it obvious? The damned world is coming to an end! Those creatures are straight out of the fucking history books!” He stood up, grabbing Cheldric’s glass. Waving it about, he began to shout, “Hear ye! Hear ye! The Ancient One’s have decided it’s time for another Great Damnation. So line up and take it in the ass, as you won’t like the alternative.” He chugged the rest of the glass and slammed it onto the table.

“The Highest One couldn’t have said it better himself,” joked Cheldric.

“What the hell do you mean by Great Damnation?” asked Rilamir.

“Have you never read a story in yur life boy? It’s a damn rise of Iloshor that we’re facing here. And of course the Ancients have the sense of humor to send em my way first and foremost. Well I say give me all you got you damned bastards. I’ll fight ye all to th’ end,” he began to raise his fists and swing about the room, stumbling into a few chairs, and just narily not falling.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about there. The Elves stopped him the second time around.”

“Screw the Elves. I ain’t never trust one in ma life.” He looked over at Rilamir and began to eye his facial features. “Well, until today of course...” he became very silent for a second, and then started back up at full volume. “Alright listen. We’ve been holding up here for the past 12 hours. We’re low on supplies and men, and I say we just storm them and end this once and for all. Now the men didn’t have the morale for such a feat until you showed up. With someone like you to lead us, we may just gain the edge we need to strike em down and take back our home. So here’s what I propose.” He lays out a map of the town on the table, arrows already drawn about on it, leading up to the Baron’s mansion up on top of the hill. Alecar goes through the plan, slowly but surely, and tells the men what he needs them to do.

After going through it a couple of times, he has the remaining guardsmen who are fit for duty meet up outside, and encourages them all to resupply before heading out. “That means you too,” he directed at Rilamir. “That leather armor is covered in their juice, and I’d rather not set you ablaze thinking you’re one of them. Go ahead, take whatever ye need.” Rilamir looked over the small selection they had. A single steel helmet sat on top of three woodent shields, with a chainmail shirt draped beside them. “Well shit,” he thought, as he picked it all up.

The helmet was a little loose on him, with the chainmail being quite the opposite. The shield, however, fit onto his arm better than anything he’s ever worn. He walked outside of the barracks and set the other two shields on the ground for anyone who wanted one, and joined in the rallying of the troops.

“Alright men, this is it!” cried Alecar, “We’re going to storm those damn beasts and take back what’s ours! There is no other option, so don’t let them give us one!” He yelled as he charged ahead, leading the first group down the middle road towards the Baron’s hill. “Hmm, speech could’ve been better, but I don’t blame him. My best work is never done drunk either.” Cheldric said, while walking ahead with Puebeard. The two were leading a smaller battalion towards the Northern gate to retrieve any fuel left over. Rilamir turned to his group of men who consisted of a younger man who was shaking and two middle aged men that were still preparing their gear for battle. The four of them were tasked with flanking to the East while the larger groups attacked straight down the middle path towards the Baron’s Keep.

Rilamir turned to the shaking teenager. He looked barley sixteen. “Don’t be afraid,” Rilamir said to the boy, “All will be fine. I promise you.” The boy looked up at him and gave him a slight smirk, but continued shaking immensely. Rilamir couldn’t help but think of Timm as he looked at the boy, and a sense of responsibility took over in him. “I’ll keep you safe,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “Alright men, we’ve got a job to do, so let’s get to it.” The four of them sprinted ahead, and ran down some alleyways. They passed many corpses along the way, all of them telling a different story of the massacre. One that stood out to Rilamir as he jogged through the various back streets was a man lying against a wall missing his arms. “What kind of creatures are we dealing with here?” he thought to himself.

After several alleyways and running for what felt like miles, the four of them appeared out of the shadows, and into a new landscape. There before them stood the towering mansion, still in perfect condition. The steps leading up to it were covered in blood and black sludge, but not a single soul in sight. “We’re in luck!” whispered one of the older men, “Now we just gotta sneak over to the steps and we’re golden.” The man began to sprint ahead and run up the small staircase, the others not far behind him. As he reached the top of the staircase he looked behind him and raised his arms as if he had just single handedly won the battle. As he lowered his arms, he began rise up off of the ground, and he began to screech. A tall figure, dark green and covered in red tattoos from head to toe, was now holding the man above his head. He let out a loud guttural scream, and chucked the man down the stairs. He screamed all the way down, before sharply stopping as his head met with the ground, blood soaking the soil under him.

The man on top of the stairs pulled a horn from his side, and blew into it furiously. “BOWUUU,” it echoed throughout the town. The group of creatures that were at battle with the larger of the three groups was now speedily making its way towards the three men and their apparent master. He began to slowly move his way down the steps, weilding a massive warhammer that had bones hanging from it. He was growling at the men, meat and blood flying from his mouth. Rilamir looked to his side and saw the boy beside him shaking, sword in hand. The other man had his bow drawn and an arrow aimed at the monster on the steps. “If I go down, you’re to flee, understood?” he asked the men, both shaking their heads in approval. He took a deep breath, and yelled “FIRE!” as the man shot his arrow straight into the creature’s chest. Rilamir charged him, expecting time to strike after it would flinch at the pain of the arrow, but he underestimated it. It continued moving forward, and, with time to see the attack coming, stepped to the side and charged at the owner of the arrow in his chest.

With one single swing, he had cracked open the man’s skull, and left the man with less than half of his head. His body twitched as it lied on the ground, still in shock from the blow. Rilamir charged at him yet again, yelling at the boy to run back to the barracks. The boy headed his words, and bolted back into the alleyway just as Rilamir slashed into the flesh of the creature. Turning towards him, blood flowing from the wound, he raised his warhammer and brought it down onto him. Rilamir raised his shield just in time to catch it. He heard a loud snap as his shield shattered from the blow. His arm felt like it had been hit with the force of a wave during a storm. The man staggered backwards, which gave Rilamir enough time to swing upwards into his stomach, drawing enough blood to garner a reaction from the beast. He groaned slightly, and then smiled. He raised his warhammer above his head again and struck down on Rilamir, causing him to collapse onto the floor. He saw the horde of dripping creatures start to crowd the area and greet their master right before blacking out.