Skirj awoke in a void. It seemed to stretch on into eternity, surrounding him with empty, black nothingness. A faint orange glow lit the void nearest Skirj, though there wasn’t really anything for it to illuminate, and it took him a moment to realize he was the light source. He cast his mind back, trying to uncover how he had come to be here.
He remembered smashing Septimus and his father, then opening a portal up to the courtyard to find someone to whom he could explain what had happened. After that, nothing, just a jolt of shock and pain and a burst of yellow-green light.
Experimentally, Skirj tried standing up and found that his exhaustion had vanished. But was that due to rest or had he been magically rejuvenated? Ultimately, he decided, it didn’t really matter. He took a few steps forward. It was a strange sensation; though he could feel his body moving, the bizarre uniformity of his surroundings made it look as if he was walking in place. A thought occurred to him. He imagined the ground sloping up before him and found that as he walked forward he could feel himself moving upward as well, though again there was no visual indication of this.
Taking another step, Skirj looked up and saw a figure in the distance, moving towards him. He sat down to wait. As the figure got closer, he began to make out details. It was a tall man, broad-shouldered, dressed in brown and purple rags and eclectic pieces of pitch-black armor that somehow stood out against the darkness of the void. Where his face should have been there was only a purple mass of flesh with a slit for a mouth. The man stopped a few feet away. “Hello,” said Skirj, “Where are we?”
The man’s deep, jagged voice sent a chill down Skirj’s spine. “We are in the post-mortal plane. You are smashed.”
“Oh.” Skirj thought about that for a moment. “I should have guessed, I suppose, but I don’t remember much from last time. I certainly don’t remember you.”
The man nodded. “I am . . . a recent acquisition by the Keeper of Souls. You may call me the Reaper of Shadows.”
“Very well. Why have you come to me, Reaper of Shadows?”
“The Keeper wishes to speak with you. Follow me.” The Reaper of Shadows turned around and began walking back the way he had come. Skirj followed.
As Skirj walked with the Reaper, a thought occurred to him. “You were Shadowwrath, weren’t you, the Faceless Warrior? I recognize the armor.”
The Reaper nodded. “That was once what I called myself, before I gave my life to the Keeper.”
NOOOO!!!! RuleJJ, you're not allowed to keep smashing main characters after I get really attached to them.
I knew I forgot something when I was making my new signature . . ..
Ah ha! Btw, don't think I've told you yet, but I do really like it.
Thank you! I spent a lot of time trying to figure out which Half-Breed or Dreamspinner scene would work best for it. I'm not totally happy with the way the words are laid out, but it serves its purpose well nonetheless.
-last edited on May 17, 2019 20:05:47 GMT by RuleJJ
Post by RuleJJ on May 17, 2019 20:04:41 GMT
Chapter 120
After an amount of time that Skirj could not quantify, they stopped. The place they were standing appeared to be no different from the rest. “Where’s the Keeper?”
I am here. Rang a voice, clear and impossibly loud, inside Skirj’s mind. You may leave us now, Reaper. And Shadowwrath did, fading away just as another figure, a hooded person, impossibly tall, whose face was the void, appeared. We have much to talk about, Skirj.
Long ago, before the War among the Ancients, I had a servant, another of the Ancients, known as the Reaper of Souls. Its job was to collect those souls that did not leave the mortal plane, for whatever reasons. Unfortunately, many of its compatriots believed it to be the one in control of this plane. They thought that by smashing it they could revive their fallen allies and win the war. They succeeded in smashing it, but the rest of their plan, of course, failed. Without a Reaper to guide them, many souls became trapped in items of magical power. Morath was one such, as was Dernis Jiwovz. And, of course, Septimus Merlinsson.
Skirj listened with rapt fascination. “You have a new Reaper now. Why did you not just force Septimus here?”
As much as I hate to admit it, Septimus was too strong, my new Reaper too untested. I chose a different method.
“Me.” In Skirj’s head, pieces of a puzzle he had not known he was assembling began to put themselves together.
You. The Keeper agreed.
“I remember your voice now, guiding me to take that scroll, casting doubt upon my choices when Septimus told me to smash Renthian.” Skirj laughed bitterly. “All along, I was your tool. I never needed that spear because I was the one thing that could destroy the stone.”
Indeed. You were perfect for the role, the one person desperate enough to do whatever Septimus said, to bring him inches from his triumph, but also the only one who could come back from that darkness to do what was right and end him in his moment of greatest triumph. Septimus’s plan had to almost succeed, you see. Otherwise, he would never have made himself so vulnerable.
“Are you saying you let him control all of our dreams?” Skirj shuddered at the idea, not holding back the venom in his voice, though he knew instinctively this creature could destroy him with a thought.
-last edited on May 19, 2019 19:57:55 GMT by RuleJJ
Post by RuleJJ on May 19, 2019 19:57:26 GMT
Chapter 121
I am saying I helped him. There was another Ancient I knew once, called the Dreamspinner. It had absolute mastery over the dreams of all mortals, and even its power was not enough to truly control people. Little Septimus Merlinsson, as powerful as he was, never stood a chance. I nudged the pieces in the right direction, all with the goal of destroying the alchemist once and for all. The whole thing was rather rushed, but my connection to the mortal plane, and therefore my ability to affect it, grows weaker as time passes since the closing of the Well.
“I suppose congratulations are in order, then.”
The Keeper of Souls laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound that echoed in Skirj’s mind long afterward. Not only for me. You have done me a great service. It is very rare that I give mortals a second chance at life. As I recall, you have already had that, and not by my choosing, but I will give you a third.
Skirj spoke without the need for thought. “Bring Skrag back instead.”
I cannot.
“Why? If a body is a problem, give him mine. He deserves this more than I do. Please.”
I cannot, because there is nothing to bring back. Your brother suffered a wound from an arrow laced with Dragonsbane. Do you not remember? It took his eye during the same attack that smashed Zargan. The part of him that could touch and be touched by magic, the part that would come here, is gone. Your brother is gone, Skirj, and there is nothing you can do. Go, now, and live your life.
Skirj screamed, and he was still screaming when he opened his eyes to find a more familiar darkness. He was in the courtyard of the Dragon Knights castle; judging by the position of the moon, it was nearly midnight. Before he could ponder any more however, he saw two people running towards him, illuminated by a yellow-green ball of light. “Hayteleck! Errica!”
“We thought you were smashed!” said the elf, staring at him in shock.
Skirj grimaced. “I was. It didn’t stick. Look, there’s a lot I have to explain, but first we have to go below the castle. There are some spells down there I need your help to dismantle and some Dragonsbane we need to destroy.” He opened a portal, not really surprised to find his magical strength restored, and the three of them stepped through.
As they did, Skirj realized that, deep down, he’d known all along his quest to save Skrag was futile. It was time to move on. Goodbye, brother.
-last edited on May 20, 2019 19:29:26 GMT by RuleJJ
Post by RuleJJ on May 20, 2019 19:28:51 GMT
Epilogue – 1
After six days of running, Vincent Caloon decided he had earned a break. It was a small, dirty town full of tall, narrow buildings and thin, winding streets that butted up against the river, but it had a tavern, so Vincent stopped in to find a warm meal. Luckily, he had managed to snag a handful of coins from the Bandits’ takings before it had been confiscated.
Vincent chose a seat in the corner, ordered his meal, and waited. As he did, the memories came flooding back.
The fight had been going so well – the Dragon Knights, unprepared and ill-equipped, hardly put up any resistance as Vincent and the other Bandits took them down one by one, dodging in and out of shadows. Even as their opponents began to get a better grip, Vincent knew that all they had to do was hold out a little longer, until the goblin and the wizard were done doing whatever they were doing. And then had come the elf.
He had simply stridden into the courtyard and illuminated everything. While Vincent and the rest – even the Dragon Knights, clearly not expecting whoever this was – blinked in confusion, a portal had opened, and a goblin had appeared, not Skorj. Rathael, following some instinct, shot him, and then was immediately vaporized by the elf. And then suddenly more sorcerers had walked in, what seemed like an army of them. Vincent hadn’t counted in the chaos; he’d simply run, and kept running until he ended up here, wherever here was.
“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.”
Suddenly, Vincent was snapped out of his remembrances. He looked up to see three strangers sitting in front of him. “What do you want?”
It was just about the oddest trio Vincent had ever seen – two lupine women, one strapped liberally with knives, the other armored and carrying a hooked polearm, and an orcish man with a wavy sword and a crossbow slung across his back. The knife-wielding lupine spoke. “The name’s Scarlette. These are my associates, Akeyo and Khamar. You a soldier?”
Vincent shrugged. “Have been.”
“Look, we’re mercs. Work for this guy, Baron Hadd. He’s puttin’ together a force, gonna win gold and glory and all that. He wants all the talent he can get. If you’re any good, there’s a spot for you. You interested?”
Vincent shrugged again as his weary mind, only half listening, tried to process what he had just heard. “Ah, why not? I’m Vincent, Vincent Caloon. Just let me eat first; I’m starving.”
-last edited on May 21, 2019 20:31:58 GMT by RuleJJ
Post by RuleJJ on May 21, 2019 20:31:33 GMT
Epilogue – 2
Overhead, Falkrions flew back and forth, shuttling supplies from river barges to the stores inside the city. Come next spring, they would start planting and farming, but it was too late this year. Some of those who didn’t have work to do frolicked in the river, startling the boat captains, none of whom had ever seen the flying humanoids until a week ago. One Falkrion – Isabel vaguely remembered someone calling him Briagorn – played with his son, a toddler, not even old enough to fly yet.
With a smile, Isabel looked down at her own adopted children as they splashed in the water. It was good to see them happy for once, not haunted by the horror that had happened in their home village. She just wished she knew a way to make it last. Later, they would stop by Shadowwrath’s grave one last time. She would remember him, Anexa and Perin would remember their parents, and then it would be time to go. Isabel was glad the Falkrions had been able to make the City on the River their home, but it wasn’t hers any longer, not after everything that had happened.
Joy now marred with the ugly memories, Isabel tried to return her attention to the happy, carefree scene, but it was snatched instead by a tall, gaunt woman rapidly approaching from one of the barges. Before Isabel could speak, the woman asked, “What happened here?”
Unable to lie, Isabel told the story of Zelfern and his revenge. All the while, the woman stood there, numbly, listening. When she was finished, she set a hand on the woman’s soldier. “Did you know someone here?”
The woman nodded. “Brother. I was off trading, took longer than I expected. I never . . .” She broke into sobs as Isabel embraced her.
When the sound began to fade, Isabel said gently, “I’m Isabel. If you ever need anything–.”
The woman cut her off, pushing away. “Opal. And, no, I don’t.” She spun around, heading back to the boats, and as quickly as she had arrived, Opal was gone, leaving Isabel standing alone on the banks of the river. After a few minutes, Anexa and Perin joined her. Isabel said nothing, just held them close, trying to deny the hollowness she felt.
In the sky, the Falkrions called to one another with joy in their voices.
Ah ha! Btw, don't think I've told you yet, but I do really like it.
Thank you! I spent a lot of time trying to figure out which Half-Breed or Dreamspinner scene would work best for it. I'm not totally happy with the way the words are laid out, but it serves its purpose well nonetheless.
I am saying I helped him. There was another Ancient I knew once, called the Dreamspinner. It had absolute mastery over the dreams of all mortals, and even its power was not enough to truly control people. Little Septimus Merlinsson, as powerful as he was, never stood a chance. I nudged the pieces in the right direction, all with the goal of destroying the alchemist once and for all. The whole thing was rather rushed, but my connection to the mortal plane, and therefore my ability to affect it, grows weaker as time passes since the closing of the Well.
“I suppose congratulations are in order, then.”
The Keeper of Souls laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound that echoed in Skirj’s mind long afterward. Not only for me. You have done me a great service. It is very rare that I give mortals a second chance at life. As I recall, you have already had that, and not by my choosing, but I will give you a third.
Skirj spoke without the need for thought. “Bring Skrag back instead.”
I cannot.
“Why? If a body is a problem, give him mine. He deserves this more than I do. Please.”
I cannot, because there is nothing to bring back. Your brother suffered a wound from an arrow laced with Dragonsbane. Do you not remember? It took his eye during the same attack that smashed Zargan. The part of him that could touch and be touched by magic, the part that would come here, is gone. Your brother is gone, Skirj, and there is nothing you can do. Go, now, and live your life.
Skirj screamed, and he was still screaming when he opened his eyes to find a more familiar darkness. He was in the courtyard of the Dragon Knights castle; judging by the position of the moon, it was nearly midnight. Before he could ponder any more however, he saw two people running towards him, illuminated by a yellow-green ball of light. “Hayteleck! Errica!”
“We thought you were smashed!” said the elf, staring at him in shock.
Skirj grimaced. “I was. It didn’t stick. Look, there’s a lot I have to explain, but first we have to go below the castle. There are some spells down there I need your help to dismantle and some Dragonsbane we need to destroy.” He opened a portal, not really surprised to find his magical strength restored, and the three of them stepped through.
As they did, Skirj realized that, deep down, he’d known all along his quest to save Skrag was futile. It was time to move on. Goodbye, brother.
I am saying I helped him. There was another Ancient I knew once, called the Dreamspinner. It had absolute mastery over the dreams of all mortals, and even its power was not enough to truly control people. Little Septimus Merlinsson, as powerful as he was, never stood a chance. I nudged the pieces in the right direction, all with the goal of destroying the alchemist once and for all. The whole thing was rather rushed, but my connection to the mortal plane, and therefore my ability to affect it, grows weaker as time passes since the closing of the Well.
“I suppose congratulations are in order, then.”
The Keeper of Souls laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound that echoed in Skirj’s mind long afterward. Not only for me. You have done me a great service. It is very rare that I give mortals a second chance at life. As I recall, you have already had that, and not by my choosing, but I will give you a third.
Skirj spoke without the need for thought. “Bring Skrag back instead.”
I cannot.
“Why? If a body is a problem, give him mine. He deserves this more than I do. Please.”
I cannot, because there is nothing to bring back. Your brother suffered a wound from an arrow laced with Dragonsbane. Do you not remember? It took his eye during the same attack that smashed Zargan. The part of him that could touch and be touched by magic, the part that would come here, is gone. Your brother is gone, Skirj, and there is nothing you can do. Go, now, and live your life.
Skirj screamed, and he was still screaming when he opened his eyes to find a more familiar darkness. He was in the courtyard of the Dragon Knights castle; judging by the position of the moon, it was nearly midnight. Before he could ponder any more however, he saw two people running towards him, illuminated by a yellow-green ball of light. “Hayteleck! Errica!”
“We thought you were smashed!” said the elf, staring at him in shock.
Skirj grimaced. “I was. It didn’t stick. Look, there’s a lot I have to explain, but first we have to go below the castle. There are some spells down there I need your help to dismantle and some Dragonsbane we need to destroy.” He opened a portal, not really surprised to find his magical strength restored, and the three of them stepped through.
As they did, Skirj realized that, deep down, he’d known all along his quest to save Skrag was futile. It was time to move on. Goodbye, brother.
NUUUUUUU....Skrag's gone for good. *sniffle*
Skirj definitely had my hopes up with his quest.
Yes, unfortunately. Well, how do you think he feels?
