Featured Novel: The Shadow Channeler | Chapter 27 ('Just a simple uber w00t shall do it :)') | 03/08/08 | Rated 5 Stars

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The Shadow Channeler


Prologue





Janus’ knife slowly hovered over the
limp body of the victim, tracing the body parts slowly. “Where." He muttered,
“Where.” He eyed the body closely, not expecting to see anything in
particular. A crack caused him to whip
around, bone dagger ready, spell at his lips. He slowly stepped away from the
body. “Grantiagas Visonas” He whispered. Suddenly, the whole cave lit up in a
bluish light. Nothing. Just as he was about to go back to work, movement caught
his eye. “COMBUSTIO COMPLETIO! “ He yelled fiercely. A massive pillar of inferno
engulfed the figure. When it subsided, Janus slowly walked to the charred
remains. He grimaced. He had just wasted half of his energy, on a rat-spider.
The eight legs attached to the furry body were almost completely destroyed, and
the many eyes froze in their last plea of hope for the pain to stop. He was
disgusted at himself. He was getting sloppy. A mistake like that could have
cost him his life. He returned to the body, determined with a renewed strength
to find what he was looking for and prove himself wrong. Just as he was
re-tracing the body for the thousandth’s time, he froze. There! He found it!
The thing that didn’t exist was actually right in front of him! The years of
searching. Endless searching. The pain of it all. It was finally over. Slowly,
with grim determination, he brought the dagger to a halt over the spot. Taking
a deep breath, he brought the dagger down with full force. A spark of purple
lightning erupted from the wound. Janus didn’t see it. He was caught up in the
moment. He found it! It was his! The years of turmoil and evil deeds were over!
This was it. As he turned to face the body once more, he noticed something
strange. Small, but strange. The body had stiffened slightly. Janus was sure
this was not, as he had read and studied carefully, Rigor Mortis, as he had timed everything perfectly. It





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was much too
early for it to strike this body. He sighed. He was doing worse then he
thought. This sloppiness would cost him his life. He slowly moved his hand near
the wound. He touched it, the proper incantation ready at his lips. A bolt of
purple sparks shot out from the body, engulfing Janus’ arm. He cried out in
pain and collapsed to the floor. “No! Not yet! I must…” He slowly rose, each
muscle movement a stab of pain. The spell was ready. All he needed to do was
say it. Two words. “Repleniun Co-“ The spell never finished. Janus slumped to
the floor, knowing that these were the last few moments of his life. It was not
the lightning that had killed him. Janus knew this pain. It was the pain of a
physical object. He looked around to see the face of his killer. No one was
there.





Chapter One


12 years earlier








Zuthis never really liked taverns. The thought of being
squashed between gigantic drunk oafs, smelling of who-knows-what, disgusted
him. But, since tonight was a unique night, he decided to go with his friend.
The doors of the Puffering Platapurrien opened without a single creak. Zuthis
gasped. The outside of the Puffer looked very nice, elegant even. Nothing at
all misplaced. Inside was pure hell. Tables overturned, drunken behemoths
singing off-tune songs together, waitresses hopelessly trying to take someone’s
order (on one of the few tables that weren’t upturned), all was in this bar, in
front of Zuth. He was about to turn on his heels and leave, except for a large
man to block his path. “ Oh no you don’t, Shadow. This is YOUR night! You’re
staying here, voluntarily or not! “ The man was Hogar, his massive and friendly companion. Despite his size, Hogar’s
intelligence surpassed most people’s, although he went out of his way (and





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beyond) to prevent that from any one’s knowledge. Being a
Shadow Channeller, a warrior skilled in magic of the night as well as stealth
and bow, Zuthis was used to do their spy-work and assassination in their
mercenary job. They called him Shadow for that specific reason. “He he…” Shadow
laughed weakly, “ Why of course. It IS my
night, isn’t it, Hog?” With a sigh, Shadow moved through the crowd, trying not
to touch any one in vain. Hogar was called Hog because of his pig-like
appearance. ‘ If he would’ve been a
dwarf’ his friends joked, ‘He would’ve grown up on a farm… As the main course!’
Hogar found this nick name very annoying, except, for some reason, when Zuthis
called him that. Hogar was about six and a half feet, was completely bald, and
had a nose that fitted a pig’s almost to a “T”.
He was wearing his battle armor, as he always did (“EVERYWHERE! “ Zuthis
added, wrinkling his nose ) making him an intimidating sight, if his height
didn’t do justice to that. You could say, in a matter of saying, that Zuth was
an exact opposite of Hog. Being barely
at Hog’s shoulder’s, Zuth had jet-black hair, a flawless face ( “So, what
spell did that to you again?“ joked Hog all the time. ) and piercing blue eyes
that cut through you ( if his sword didn’t first ). Tonight was a celebration,
because their band of mercenaries successfully completed an “impossible”
mission, according to their employer. The victory was almost entirely because
of Shadow, so Hog insisted that he and Zuth go to a tavern. Hogar knew Shadow
hated taverns, and that’s specifically why he loved to take Zuth there. His set
thought was, as he said himself, ‘The more he goes, the more it grows’. Zuth
knew he did it all in good heart, so he tried to enjoy himself the best he
could. They found a suitable seat, and they both sat down. The chair collapsed
under the weight of Hogar’s massiveness. Apologizing and saying to put it on
his tab, Hog grabbed a table (reinforced with four chairs under it) and sat on it.
He ordered his favorite drink, Dragon’s
blood, and Zuth ordered his, The Magician’s
Spite. They sat down at talked about the events, and how he managed to do
the mission, which Hog was still amazed by. “So the guy shouted that spell at
you HOW many times?”





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chanted Hog.
As Zuth was about to answer, he heard a tray crash to the floor, then a scream.
The duo whipped around, weapons and spells ready. Two men were facing each
other, fists clenched. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” yelled one of the men. Zuth was
determined to stop this. A brawl would start pandemonium (if pure hell wasn’t
enough) and he was in no mood for it. The group turned to each other, nodded,
and ran towards the two men. Hogar stepped between the fray. “Hey, hey now.”
Said Hog in his most soothing voice, “There’s no need to fight. What happened?”
Then, Zuthis saw it saw it. One of the men had slowly stepped away, and his
lips were mouthing silent words. Zuth knew a spell caster when he saw one.
“REFLECTIUS INCATAGIONUS! “ He yelled. Just in time. A waterfall of light
enveloped Hog, just as a skull made of darkness flew towards him. It bounced
harmlessly off him. End of story for most people. Not for Zuth. He knew that
spell. It was one of the most deadly spells in night magic, designed for one
and only one specific goal. Kill the target. The opponent turned towards Zuth,
readying another spell. By now, the whole tavern was cleared out, except for a
few brave spectators, probably skilled in weaponry, ready to help the side with
the advantage at any time, and the owner. Shadow was in no mood to kill (or be
killed), so his mind quickly raced across all the spells that weren’t deadly.
“PIERCONIO PROJECTILEINIUM!“ Zuth yelled. Three spears emerged from his hand in
a blinding flash of light. “DISPANTIAL SPELLIAMUS!” cried the opposition. His
spears fell to the ground, dissolving into the floor. For quite some time, the
duel went on; the two sending spells, reflecting others. Hog stood there, not
knowing what to do. By now, the one who started the brawl was long gone. Zuth
didn’t care. The man had tried to kill Hogar. This was personal for him. Zuth
was tired of this child’s play. He decided to end it. With a cry that could be
used to send the demons back to hell, Zuth yelled, “RESTRICTIMIUS ULTIMATIUS!”
A solid wall materialized before Zuth, and, with a careless flick of his hands,
he sent it flying at the man. The man was catapulted into the opposite wall.
Then, the wall


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dissolved, turning
into hand cuffs, pinning the man to the wall. Brushing dust off his chest, Zuth
went to see the damage he had caused to the man. He stepped back, stunned. The
man was dead. He soon realized why. Magic, like fighting, was not an unlimited
source of energy. Casting something took something out of the user. The
exchange of spells, combined with his Ultimatius spell, managed to… “No…”
Muttered Hog, after realizing what happened. Zuth shed a tear. Nothing good
came of death. Then Hog stepped back, stunned. He sat down, hands on his head.
“What’s wrong? WHAT?!” Zuthis yelled at him. As grieved as the Hog should be,
they were mercenaries, and they should be more then accustomed to death. Hog
couldn’t manage to speak. He just pointed at the man. Shadow stepped up to him.
What he saw knocked the breath out of him. Zuth stepped back, paralyzed, like
Hogar. He realized, in killing the man,
he just sealed his own fate, because on the dead man’s jacket, there was a
golden seal. Zuth now realized what it was. That was the Royal Seal. Only His
Majesties’ most finest could wear this. He had just killed a prince.

Chapter 2





Zuth sat in the prison, head held
low. Even that, however, drew suspicious looks from the guards, as he could be
secretly casting a spell. The rules were simple. Cast a spell, cut your head
off. He was on constant patrol, and anything he did was on severe watch. Well, he said to himself, what the hell do you expect. You killed a
bloody prince! Life in prison was hardly how he thought he would spend the
rest of his years. For him, being in prison was like having something you always
wanted, separated by a glass that demanded just a little more then you








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already had,
and there was no way to get more. He looked at the bars. He could open them
with a thought. The door. So simple it hurt. Even the solid stone wall was
barely an obstacle. Seeing him glance at all these things, the guard pressed
the sword near his neck. “Try it” he growled. Zuthis was so tempted to send
this guard flying into the next cell with the head of a donkey, but he
couldn’t. As powerful as he was, barely any wizard could handle an army of
elite guards, especially in a closed space like this. That would be suicide.
But he could not, WOULD NOT stay here like a dog on a leash, being hit every
time it asked for food. The guard lowered his weapon, spit on him, and walked
to the other side of the cell again. With a look of disgust before he left, the
guards changed watch. Furious, Zuth wiped the spit off his face with the hem of
his much-too-dirty shirt. He had no choice but to surrender. He knew, in
refusing to be seized, he would en-danger himself, and more importantly, Hog.
He couldn’t do that to him. He just couldn’t. So he let himself be taken in,
like a common thief, without any dignity what-so-ever. That meaned a lot to
Hogar. Hog knew how much control of his emotions that must of took. Being able
to destroy simply by saying two words and not actually doing it when the time
comes is extremely infuriating. There was nothing he could do. Head once again
held low, he sighed and said that he was lucky enough not to be dead. Although, he thought, that may have been a better fate.





The city of Dreadnar was originally
founded on the continent of Oriniutum as a fortress to hold off armed forces
during the great Terrional War. It
was placed between a large number of cross-roads, in the hope that enemies
would travel there. They did. Seeing that it was doing its job, the king put
even more money into to, in the goal to make it ultimately invincible. After
the war, the fortress was of barely any use, and was about to close down. As
legend tells it, an elderly man slowly








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approached
the walls, sack of odds and ends in hand. The man insisted to be let inside the
fortress. In the end, they let the man in, and that, strangely enough, opened the
door for all kinds of merchants. Being literally between all the main capitals
of the continent, Dreadnar was the place
to shop. As merchants came, the city found themselves with more money than they
could possibly use. They decided to use this fortunate profit to populate the
city even more, and, eventually, it became the bustling and resourceful city it
is today. Despite the years, however, the original fortress of Dreadnar still
stands proud and tall, as if to show off the work of the fine crafters in this
land. Because of this fortress, the city of Dreadnar was now not only a
bustling town of merchants, but the prison for some of the most dangerous
criminals on this continent. The elite guards stationed at this structure were
the best in the land, and even a certain numbers of mages were posted among
their ranks. For the more dangerous and suspicious creatures, there is a
24-hour watch, on the rules of kill if necessary. Zuthis was one of those creatures.
He knew he had to free himself of the clutches of His Majesty (Zuth pronounced that word with bitterness and sarcasm)
or he would rot in this a cursed place forever. He knew that either way he
would spend the rest of his life here, and worse. He knew a lot of things, but
could barely do anything about it. In Dreadnar, a unique group of mages, called
Necromagius have secretly been
trained, used to torture only the vilest of prisoners. They are skilled in one
and only one skill: Necromancy. The purpose they are here is the hover over a
body only hours after its death, searching, searching for the right place to
let loose the soul. Once found, the spell is cast, and the soul literally gets
sucked out of the victim. This form of life is called Spectamus Suffurum, and is considered the ultimate way of torture,
as it prevents the victim to return to its after-life. After a few days in
jail, Zuthis was called to his trial. He was not surprised at all that that was
the exact form of punishment he would endure. Quiet and grim, he


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marched back
to his room. As he was pushed along roughly, he glanced at the other’s cells.
Most of the criminals had given up their tough-guy masquerade, and were huddled
in a corner, quietly crying, knowing their life was over and that was that. Not
for Zuthis. He refused to be ridiculed any more. He did not deserve any of
this. The PRINCE should be the one suffering under Spectamus Suffurum! Not him! That pompous idiot tried to murder him
and Hog!Realizing all this, Zuth
smiled weakly. I’m trying to prosecute a
dead man, he thought with a weak chuckle. That earned him a sharp punch
from one of the guards. Zuth gritted his teeth. He would escape. He would
escape and return to Hog. They would leave this city and offer their work
somewhere else. These idiots would never find them. Tonight. Tonight he would
leave. He said that he couldn’t fight the guards. Who said anything about
fighting?





The time
until his escape was torture. Standing there, knowing that you would be gone so
soon, but you weren’t gone yet! By
now, Zuthis had gritted his teeth almos to a pulp, and biting his nails would
just make things worse. Then the time came. He sat there, not doing anything in
particular, waiting for the guards to change watch. He heard the low off-tune
whistle of a guard, then the shadow near the torch. The footsteps and the
shadow grew louder and larger. Zuth could hear the desperate cries of the other
imprisoned men, begging to be released, yelling threats, curse words, bribes,
and even crying. Zuth ignored them. Now it was time. Making an un-noticeable
gesture that could have easily been mistaken as brushing a fly off a shoulder,
Zuth cast his spell. He would have to time this just right.





Falcun was
in his early thirties, but he was considered a senior in this place. He’d been
here since he was 15, and every one- even most of the people inside the cells-
respected him. He was very annoyed that he was on watch duty, which


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was considered the most useless and degrading job, according
to the guards. Falcun guessed that this was another subtle yet effective
attempt his brother-in-law used to knock him off the force. He wouldn’t let him
get the satisfaction. The previous guard on watch brushed past him, and handed
him the key to the cell. Just as he was about to enter the cell, he heard a
scream that still haunts him to this day. It was a scream of pure horror and
pain. Falcun glanced at his cell. The prisoner was sitting there, silent and
head hung low, almost as if the scream didn’t affect him at all. Then, he ran
to the other cell. The man was curled on the floor, clawing at his face. He
either didn’t or couldn’t respond, and his face was bright red. He was still
screaming. Falcun crouched down next to the man. He continuously shouted things
at him. Threats, pleas, even orders. Nothing worked. Frustrated, the man called
for the mages. The young man in the hallway nodded and brought back a pair of
Necromagius. Frustrated, the man shooed them away. “I MEANT REAL MAGES YOU
IDIOT! THIS MAN IS DIEING! GET THEM NOW OR YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE IN HIS POSITION!” Surprised by the sudden outburst,
the young once went off again to do what Falcun asked. The mages came in a flock.
They began squawking things at him, at the man, and at everyone. After a while,
they managed to push Falcun away. Falcun stood there, stunned. For the love of Dread. That man i- “THE
PRISONER!” He yelled, and broke into a run. Falcun’s heart stopped. His career
was over. He was over. The prisoner
was gone. The room was empty. There had never been an escape in this fortress
since it was built. Now, of all the chances that he would be on watch, one of the most dangerous criminals ever managed to break free. He checked
the cell once more in a useless and half-hearted attempt, then put his head in
his hands. Completely empty; just a shadow in the corner.






And that's it! Please comment on this if you like it, because Kamo is good and all, but I'd like some one else to say something...HELLO? *echo* *echo* okk... creepy!

Chapter 3








The man walked past the guards on the main road of Dreadnar,
with a quick and determined pace. His hood covered his face completely,
granting him a flurry of suspicious looks. He didn’t care. He kept walking. His
cloak flapped wildly behind him, giving him the look of a Shade. Everyone on
the street barely seemed to notice him, but, almost as if by magic, they swerved around him, not even
brushing past. He clutched his bone dagger close to his chest, ready at any
moment for trouble. He walked swiftly past the streets, full of bustle and
trade. He made his way down a deserted alley. He waited. “Hey, old man? What
a’ya doing out so late at night? There could be someone dangerous out.” A man stepped out of the shadows. He was muscular
and tall. The man in the cloak smiled. Maybe this would be it. The man who
appeared walked slowly towards him. He spoke with a dangerous, soft tone, like
a poisoned sweet. “Yeh. Like I said. Something dangerous could happen to you.
Like ME!” he said, laughing. He was
disgusted at this man. Laughing at his own jokes? “Look, old man. Give me
everything you have, and maybe I’ll let you leave with your purse. Get it?” As
he said this, his put the hand on the man’s shoulder. His final mistake. He
needed the man completely un-blemished. A stab wound could ruin everything. He
couldn’t waste an opportunity like this. This man was perfect. He was almost
sure that he was the one. “Exterminatio
Ultimatius.” Said the
man softly. “What’d you say? Stop stalling old man, or you’ll regret it.” Said
the brigand, angrier this time. “EXTERMINATIO ULTIMATIUS!” yelled the man. A
black skull flew towards the unfortunate victim, hitting him squarely in the
chest. The man slumped to the floor. The man bent down, completely calm, and
checked the man’s pulse. He was dead. Smiling, the man bent down to find what
he was looking for.














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Hog slowly paced their mercenary head-quarters, at a loss.
Zuthis was trapped there, and doing anything about it would put him in jail,
making matters worse. He felt so helpless. He should’ve done something. What
could he have done? Nothing! But, for some reason, he felt like this was his
fault. He should have helped Zuth when they were dueling. He should’ve. But you didn’t, you fool! Your best friend,
who has never left you side and saved your life countless times! Then, for no
reason, you abandon him! He thought. Hog sighed and sat down on his custom
made triple-reinforced chair (even then it creaked uncomfortably under his
weight.). “There is no point in blaming myself,” said Hog, reasoning with
himself, “It’s both our faults. Well, not really Zuth’s, how could he have
known that oaf was a prince? Ohohohhoh...I’m so sorry Zuthis!” Although Hogar
still couldn’t find a reason that was one-hundred percent his fault, he still
couldn’t convince himself otherwise. He got up and really hoped that the rest
of the group didn’t come in for a while. He needed to be alone. He sat down
again. Then got up. Sat down, got up, over and over again. He needed something
to do! Hog went outside to get some air. The crisp night sky reminded him of
Zuthis. Still, there was no way he could stand another moment inside, so he
stepped into the fresh night air, wearing his traditional battle garment. He
slowly walked down the street, aware that the world didn’t center on him. He
also knew that seeing a six and a half-foot giant crying, walking slowly with
his head held low was an abnormal sight. Hog tried his best to stop crying, and
walked normally, but he could do no more. He was deeply sad, and that was
that. He skipped his normal route, as the sight of the Puffering Platapurrien
would send him into tears. He decided to head in a different direction, a route
less used by himself, although he knew his way fairly enough. He stopped at one
of the taverns he went to


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sometimes if
the Platapurrien was too busy, and went inside. Thankfully, it wasn’t too bad
inside. An occasional yell or humming broke the clamor, but nothing was too
loud, which Hog was thankful for. He order his usual Dragon’s Blood drink. As he
waited for it to be served, Hogar looked around. Everyone happy, together. No
one knew an amazing man was trapped in a prison for something that wasn’t his
fault. And they’ll probably never know, thought Hog grimly to himself.
When his drink was brought, Hog thanked the waitress and gave her a rather
cheap tip. Giving him a dirty look, the waitress stormed off. Hog barely
noticed. He stared into the dark-reddish liquid of his drink, and thought of
all the duo had been through together. Maybe, like all his other problems, he
could drown this one in alcohol. He took a drink and scowled at the extremely
strong liquor. He could always take it when he was with Zuthis. Now…he just
seemed weaker. That was plainly it. Weaker. He sighed once again and twirled
the liquid in his glass. It sloshed about. It spilled out of the glass, onto
his hand. Dragon’s Blood contains a large number of spices, some which burn
like hell. When the liquid fell on his hand, the pain was tremendous. Hog
didn’t care. Nothing mattered any more. His life was over. He sighed and
continued to stare into the glass.





Falcun shouted orders at the top of
his lungs. It had been almost three hours now. Where in the name of Dread could
that prisoner have gone? They had guards posted in each hallway. There’s no way
he could have slipped by! He’s a mage you
idiot, he reminded himself, he
probably turned into wind or something, like those stupid mages all do. He
shook the thought out of his head. Wouldn’t the other mages intercepted him, or
at least feel his magical presence? He interrogated each mage. Nothing.
Frustrated, Falcun slammed the tip of his foot against the wall, which, had it not
been for his reinforced leviathan hide boots, would have rewarded him with a
nice pair of broken toes. Flustered, the jail was





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chaos.
Guards everywhere, captains trying to keep everything under control in vain.
Falcun didn’t need this. The world had to be calm right now. The prisoner was
gone, and he knew damn well that he was dead. But he wouldn’t go down without a
fight. He could just imagine the smirk on his brother-in-law’s face, then how
it would be wiped off, replaced by surprise and anger when he found out that
Falcun had actually found the prisoner. The realm of possibility was against
him; the prisoner could be anywhere by now. But,
he said to himself, possibility has
never met Head Captain Falcun before. He made his way to the fortress’ courtyard,
and then stormed out towards Dreadnar, bright read red cloak flailing wildly everywhere, completely
covering him, looking like hell itself.

Chapter 4





The man tossed the body into the
flames in disgust. Another wasted victim. He took off his hood and looked to
the sky. It’s out there somewhere, he
said to himself, I will find it. Nothing
is beyond my grasp. He put his hood back on, and emerged into the frigid
dawn air. “Grantiagas Sphereius” he murmured.
A sphere of metal liquid formed in his hand. He toyed with it a bit,
making is shadow his movements. Then, he blew on it. “ Copias Buetiomatius” The liquid shivered, then hovered slowly in
front of him, giving off a faint, pale light. Then, it started to take form.
The ball first began to grow, and then feathers started rippling out on the
smooth surface. The bottom slowly dripped down, then split apart, then again,
creating two pairs of terrifying talons. Two wings emerged on either side, and
then the feathers slowly covered it. The head started as a lump in the front,
then slowly grew, and then the features were etched in. The beak was the most


14





stunning of
all. A razor sharp curve, it was a deadly weapon that many feared, especially
after the special “modifications” the man had made to it. The tail slowly
emerged, splitting into many pieces, forming many feathers. After the whole
body was complete, the excess liquid sunk into the hawk, and then, a ripple
spread across its whole body, giving it color. The result was a perfect hawk,
giving absolutely no indication that it had originally been a ball of liquid
made from a magician. “Find one.” Said the man to the creature, “Find one and
alert me when you have.” The creature nodded, almost as if it understood him,
and took flight. The man’s gaze followed the hawk until it was barely a speck
in the morning sky. He returned to his work, his bone dagger glowing faintly.





Zuth emerged from the shadow in the
corner of the cell, and collapsed. He had been there for close to three hours.
No weak magician could accomplish such an act. When the man had examined the
cell for the second time, he has practically collided with Zuthis. The spell he
had cast made him become one with the shadows, but that didn’t mean he was one. It was like being invisible. No
one could see you, but they could still feel it if you banged into them. He
needed to get out. Staying here any longer would be suicide. He quickly racked
his brains, and then suddenly, he had an idea. It was a one-spell combo that
would almost surely get him out, but it was risky. If the mages detected him,
he was instantly dead, or worse. If the guards detected him; same thing. Yeah, right. He thought to himself, It’s too dangerous, so I’ll just sit here
and wait for them to find me, and say that I’m sorry for pulling the wool over
their eyes. Zuth slowly made his way to the edge of his cell. He regretted
what he had to do to that man, but that spell was the only one that cost
minimal energy, and was an ideal distraction. He needed all the energy he could
conserve. Besides, apart from minor trauma, the man would be fine. Zuthis
waited at the edge of his cell, once again merging with the shadows, this time
not with magic, but purely the skills of a Night Chaneller. Then, he heard what
he was looking for. A guard was slowly whistling, looking


15





into each of
the cells, checking on the prisoners. When the man looked inside his cell, it
was time to act. He firmly grabbed the man on the shoulder. “What in the name
of Dread. Are you… GU-“ “Tramatus Totalus!” whispered Zuth. The guard slumped
to the floor. Nothing deadly. He may be out for a few days, but that was it. He
heard the thump of guard’s footsteps. They had heard him, and he didn’t have
long to act. He bent down, and hoped grimly this would work.





Sandarus was fairly new to this
force, being here for only about a year. But, using his cunning and skill, he
managed to become a captain. He was also very young, by this place’s standards,
being only about 20, making him one of the youngest captains ever. He had been
nearby when the man had suffered that horrible spell. He shuddered. That sound,
the horror of it all; that was a traumatizing experience. Why did he have to be
there? As he was chatting with a few other guards about what to do next, he
heard a scream, cut off by groan, and a body thump to the floor. Sandarus began
to run, followed by three or four other members of the group. Then the
screaming continued, this time another voice, much lighter and less rough,
“GUARDS! GUARDS! COME QUICK!” When they arrived, there was a guard bent over a
body. What Sandarus saw knocked the breath out of him. “Th-the prisoner.” They
all whispered in unison. The guards behind him started chattering together.
“SHUT UP!” Yelled Sandarus. “What happened, man?” Asked sandarus to the
surprised guards. “CAPTAIN! YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT! I was doin’ me rounds, and
al’ o’ a sudde’ dis man jum’s a’ meh, and chan’s dis spell! Then, I fee’ al’
druws’ n’ I cullapse’. He he. But this varmit n’vr fought wit’ me befur did e’?
‘Alf ogre I am! Not’a wee spel’ like dat could take meh duwn! Afta’ dat, de’
man sturts chantin’ sumtin’ again, un’ al’ uf a sude’ e collapsed! Den dats wen
I called yu’ tree!” To be honest, Sandarus didn’t understand one word the man had said. Fortunately,
one man managed to grasp the just of it, and whispered it into the San’s ear. Sandarus
whispered thank you, and that the man should look forward to pay day. “So
that’s it then?” said


16





Sandarus,
looking at the prisoner. “Lock up the prisoner again, and this time, three
guards on constant watch on him, and only one changes at a time, the other two
keep watching. UNDERSTAND?” The men agreed, and hurried off before the captain
asked them to start the shifts. Sandarus smiled. He was sure to bump down
Falcun after this. His brother-in-law was no match for him. This was the day
Sandarus Hamiun found the most dangerous prisoner in all of Oriniuntum! His
future was bright. Nothing could ruin this moment. He skipped off, ready to
send a message to the king about his “great” accomplishment, and maybe mention
something about a guard who pointed the way. Maybe.




When Hogar
heard the news of Zuth getting free, he literally jumped out of his chair (earning
him a few dirty looks from the owners), causing him to splatter some of his
drink on the table. Apologizing and mopping it up with his shirt, Hog sat down
once again. He knew Zuth would get out! There wasn’t any prison that could hold Zuthis! He was one of a kind! Hogar
happily skipped out of the tavern ( and what a strange sight that was… ) ,
knowing that he should return to the mercenary base, in case Zuth decided to
return there before they left. As he was walking down the street, he
“accidentally” heard a few strips of sentences. “…Was said to have put the
guard asleep, then…” “…Collapsed like a stone e’ did.” “…Now on three guard
watch. He ain’t going ANYWHERE.” “…Wasn’t his name…” Hogar held his breath,
“Zuthis?” The world suddenly shrank around him again, feeling much smaller,
colder and lonelier then it used have. Zuthis had been captured, in as little
the time it had taken him to escape. “It…it’s impossible!” Complained Hog,
“There’s NO way those corrupt metal heads captured him!” Hogar collapsed
against a wall. There was no point in sulking like this. He walked to the
mercenary camp, in an almost worse mood then he had been before he left the
place. He took a less used route, breaking the arm of a pick pocket unlucky
enough to pick Hog as a target without a thought. Hog entered the grand main
entrance of their abode, but it just seemed smaller and less amazing without Zuth


17





there.
Everything did. And there was nothing he could do. Nothing. In almost exact
similarity to before he had left here, he started pacing the room, at a loss.





The guard slowly walked down the
streets of Dreadnar, ignoring the strange looks people gave him, as if to say,
‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be besides pestering us?’ Sighing, he
continued his slow pace, taking in the night sky. He walked back and forth,
looking for the right thing. Then, he spotted it. A man was walking down a
rather deserted street, looking this way and that, as if to spot something.
Exactly like him. He slackened his pace one again, now adding slyness to his
steps, not easy in the bulky armor. The man did not appear to notice. Now, the
guard quickened his pace, just fast enough to catch up to the man. The guard
then placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.





He was gone. He looked around, each
shadow the looking like the thing he was searching for. Then, he knew someone
was behind him. He removed a shiny object from his pocket. The newest thing on
the market, the mirror was a rather
useful tool to find out what was behind you, without that thing knowing that
you knew that. He positioned it correctly, and gasped silently at what he saw.
A guard off duty? What was he doing following him? He should be on his rounds! He slowed his pace, ready
for trouble. Suddenly, the guard caught up, and roughly grabbed him by the
shoulder.





The guard then said something under
his breath. The man slumped to the
floor. He gazed down, and saw that the man had his hand on the hilt of his
sword. He knew he was behind him. He smiled. Being a guard did have its advantages. He picked up the man with relative ease,
and carried him to a locked doorway of a mansion. Perfect. Isolated, deserted
and out of the way. He flicked his wrist, and the lock flew off the door. The
gates opened with a creek. He walked inside, then found a suitable area to do
his work. He slowly chanted the spell. The armor melted off him, as did his own
skin, slowly becoming a new form, the one of the unconscious man. When he was
done, he carried the man out of the mansion’s courtyard. Now was the easy part.
He laid the man down, and said the words to the spell. “Castium Etheralatius”
The man slowly faded away, out of existence. Or, rather, out of existence for
the naked eye. He was successfully invisible. No one would find him. “Well, no
one will find him until they trip on him”, said the man to himself, with a
chuckle. Work finished, he took the man’s outer clothing then he strode off,
clad in the man's rather fine bright red cloak.

This day couldn't get any better, thought Sandarus to himself, But it sure as hell is going to get a lot damn worse.

Chapter 5





The man slowly paced his
location, waiting for the hawk to return. It had been far too long. He sighed.
Nothing could be done by others any more.
Then again, he thought to
himself, I myself am highly unreliable
lately… He put on his midnight-black coat, and stalked off into the
darkness. He slowly breathed in the calm night ear. He listened to the silence.
He frowned. A cricket was making a rather unpleasant sound. He snapped his
fingers, and somewhere, he heard a light thump. Now, he could enjoy the night
in peace. He entered a heavily foraged area, well aware that many a thief has
chosen this place as a hide out. He sighed. The only trouble a robber would
bring would be a slight annoyance, as he was in no mood to cast a spell. He
needed to conserve his energy. He needed to find what he was looking for.
“Apparatus ListOfThoseLeftios” He chuckled lightly to himself. A rather bad
name for a spell he made himself, but, then again, was there a good name for a spell? He remembered
many years in the past, where yelling fire ball gave you a fire ball, saying
some one was flamboyant didn’t turn them into a feather, and greeting Lord
Combust of Stible didn’t cause the man to suddenly explode in a grand flame of
inferno. He sighed again. Nothing was the way it used to be. But, then again,
technology brought new advantages too. Now, making a spell was as simple as
adding the suffix “ios” or “agius”. Obviously, longer spelled required more
complex words, but nothing was a bother. Getting back to the task at hand, he
concentrated. A glowing, pocket-sized
pyramid appeared in the palm of his hand, and stayed there, slowly levitating
in front of him. Then, another shape materialized, then slowly hovered to the
tip of the pyramid. It was a sphere. The two together, he began his job. He
began to push the sphere deeper and deeper into the tip of the pyramid, causing
the sphere to slowly melt. The excess liquid of the sphere began to fill in the
creases in the pyramid, making the surface now completely smooth. Now was the
more difficult part. A mistake here would cause the spell to simply evaporate,
and he’d have to wait a full month to re-cast it. Full moon spells were quite
tricky. He slowly pushed down on the bottom of the pyramid, waiting until it
gave away. He removed the bottom, and
then, in one swift, fluid motion, plucked the orb off the tip of the pyramid,
swung it around, and plunged it into the pyramid, which now had a hollow
inside. Then, the man turned the device upside down, and the liquid slowly
began to pour out of the now-penetrated tip of the pyramid. The dripping liquid
stopped in mid air, and, almost as if it was falling into a plate, began to
take form. When the dripping stopped, then man quickly plunged the pyramid into
the liquid, where it sunk, and would stay there until he would have to
re-perform this act. Over-kill, he knew, but, if, by some way, torture or
otherwise, someone got this spell out of him, the results of someone actually
activating this spell besides him would be pure hell. The liquid took the form
of a bowl, and inside, was faces became to flash in rapid succession in front
of the man’s eyes. He counted them, as he did routinely. When it was down, a
sudden wave of anger flashed inside him, and he took the liquid in his hands
and flung it in the first direction he chose. The liquid clung to where it had
stuck, then slowly dissolved into the item it had hit. One missing. He knew
that. He just had to check. It was something he did every full moon, something
he couldn’t stop. He made his way to Dreadnar once again. On his way there, he
dismissed the hawk. Stupid creation of his was useless. He did not notice,
however, the speck in the sky circling above him right before he had done that.





Sandarus slowly walked around his
new office, something he just plain loved
doing. After hearing what had happened, the king declared Sandarus Elite
Guard Captain, knocking down Falcun to just another useless captain! He loved
it. What was more, his brother-in-law was nowhere to be found! If he continues at this rate, he thought
to himself, Falcun will be completely
booted off the team for his sloppiness! The day just couldn’t get better.
He slowly plucked one of the grapes from the fruit basket laid down on his
desk, and plopped it into his mouth. He slowly smoothed out non-existent
creases in his new, dark blue cloak. Custom made just for him. He straightened
his hat that was already on perfectly. He licked lips that weren’t dry. He
repositioned his badge that was already in the right place. Then, almost as if
he was kind of the capital, (in due time,
he told himself) he strolled out of his office. He began telling people
what to do for no apparent reason, patting people on the back for doing barely
anything at all, and yelling at the crying prisoners when they weren’t doing
anything wrong. He smiled. It was good to be elite captain. He decided to go
check on the prisoner. He was, after
all, the reason of his good fortune. Or, rather, his lack of common sense was the reason of San’s good fortune. He
slowly walked up the stairs, feeling his leather gloves run up the old, metal
bar. He should get used to the feeling. When he arrived at the prisoner’s door,
he frowned. He expected the prisoner to be in his usual, silent,
get-out-and-just-let-me-die kind of mood, but that was nowhere near how he was
acting now.The man was sitting
there, quietly enough, but crying silently, almost as if he had no idea what
the hell he had done, and the world was unfair. Yeh, right. It’s not your fault at all
that you killed that prince. Dirty swine. Never know the consequences of their
actions, then they think they’re obviously right, thought Sandarus to
himself.“You, there, prisoner.”
Sandarus paused. His name was Zuthius..Zutus..Zuthis! That was it! He would
have to remember it when he published his amazing deed.“You have caused all of
us a lot of trouble. And..” “What the hell do you want?” yelled the prisoner
suddenly. The guards sprung into action, swords at his throat. “ I DON’T CARE
ANY MORE!” ,yelled the prisoner, completely ignoring the guards. “I haven’t
done a god damn thing, and I’m trapped in this cell for the rest of my life.
Tell me, man, if you would like to spend the rest of your life here for no
reason. I didn’t do anything. IT WAS YOUR FILTHY PRINCE THAT DID THIS, YOU
IDIOTS! HE casted the first spell. HE TRIED TO KILL MY ALLY!”Yelled the
prisoner “ALL I COULD DO WAS DEFEND HIM!”, then the prisoner paused, and said
something in a softer tone, “Oh, I’m sorry captain. I know what I should have
done. I should have let the man kill my ally right? Just stand there, not doing
anything, my companion for life dropping dead, knowing that I could have done
something while I didn’t, because HIS MAJESTY WOULD’NT APPROVE!”The prisoner
yelled bitterly the last few words. “Let me tell you one thing captain. My ally
knew that I could have saved him, and, if I wouldn’t have, he would have died
knowing I could have saved him WHEN I DIDN’T. After I said my protection spell,
your prince started chanting another
spell. Oh, once again, Captain, I’m sure I should have let the prince kill me after that right? Then kill my ally,
which I died trying to protect, and walk out of there, his royal immunity
protecting him. I” The prisoner paused, “I had no intention of killing him,
captain. The final spell I casted was a binding spell. Nothing deadly.” The
next few words were like a dream for Sandarus, “The prince killed himself captain. He decided to spend all his energy
on one sole purpose: killing me. We tried to save him from a brawl, then he
tries to kill me. I was defending myself, captain.” The prisoner calmed
down once again. Sandarus was about to speak, but he was once again cut off; “Now,
please, captain, tell me what I could have done there. Oh, never mind, there
really is no point is there, but just so you know;” The next sentence haunted
Sandarus for the rest of his life. “I am
no killer, captain. Your prince is.” With that, the prisoner suddenly stood
up, catching the guards completely off guard. He grabbed a sword out of one of
the man’s hands, and walked up to Sandarus. The guards were too stunned to act.
Sandarus wasn’t. But the prisoner had no intention to attack Sandarus. When he
reached him, he slowly lifted up his sword, and brought it down, successfully
penetrating several vital organs. Today
couldn’t get much better, said Sandarus to himself, but it sure as hell could get a lot damn worse. The prisoner
collasped, dead, on the floor.

Chapter 6





Hazul was a rather short
fellow, reaching most people at their shoulders. His home land was the
continent of Draknius, a continent directly west of Dreadnar, overseas. Most
people often mistake him for a dwarf, which earns them a very powerful left
hook. Hazul was very sensitive about his size, and he didn’t take to insults or
jokes easily. Everyone who knew Hazul went out of their way to not joke about
his size, but you had to pity the poor man who had never known him before.
Hazul slowly walked home, shaking his head. That was the fifth man he had sent
to the healers today. People just
never stopped coming up with short jokes. Another common misconception of his
height was that he was a child. The people who had said that barely even
survived their trip to the local
mages. You could hardly blame them, however. Hazul had a body resembling a
child’s, and a face that didn’t help prove that statement wrong. If it wasn’t
for his large moustache on his face, and his fiery temper and curse words, many
people would never be able to tell
how old he was. On his way home, he gave a thief a rather nice little whole in
between his two front teeth. When he got to his home, he dropped down his
pouch, and sat down on his table. “Draknius just isn’t the way it used to be…”
he said to himself, sighing, “Thieves, pick-pockets, men with no honor, it has
become a common place for the worthless and filthy.” He sighed again. No one
took care of these lands any more. They have been discarded. Drak used to be a
bustling town, full of trade and wealth. The reason was because of the full
mines of gold and silver and other precious gems embedded in the mountain side,
near their town. A few years ago, the city reached is fullest potential, being
the most famous and fruitful city ever made, almost rivaling Dreadnar. That was
the exact time the mines ran out. No one could explain why. Just one day, there
simple was no more anything. The
V.I.P’s of Draknius tried their best to keep this secret, and they successfully
did, but one thing still suffered. Their economy. It was just plain downhill after that fateful
day. At first, it was so subtle; the people shrugged it off as coincidence.
Small shops closing, lighter funding for all the schools, etc. Then, it hit.
And when it hit, it hit damn hard. Suddenly, a school was closed down, then
another, and another, in one day. Shops
closed down everywhere, the most successful shops on the brink of destruction.
Then, it just stopped. People were left on the brink of destruction, but it
stopped. All of a sudden, funding came back, as strong as ever. Rumor had it,
that their mayor was involved with the king of this continent, in something
rather illegal and deadly. Either, people were happy, like survivors of a
hurricane. But, suddenly, their hopes were dashed. The funding was back, all
the shops were open again. But, Draknius would never recover. The economy drop
was a wound too deep to repair. No one ever came back to Drak, only the rare
traveler or merchant, and even they left as soon as they could. Now, Draknius
stays as it is, on the brink of ruin, hardly rivaling a small town. “These are
dark days for Drak” muttered Hazul to himself, “And I doubt they will be over
any time soon…”





Sandarus was just plain screwed. He
started out the day, glorious as ever, being the elite guard captain, his
brother nowhere to be found, hopefully soon to be fired. Now, as we have just
said, he was just plain screwed. He had the death of a prisoner on his hands,
and, no one was there to prove him wrong! The guards all claimed that they
weren’t there, and the prisoners refused to even speak. On top of that, his
brother-in-law was missing! Not gone, but missing!
Missing as in, down in a gutter, dead, or otherwise, missing! He couldn’t
take it in all at once. He sat in his chair, and rubbed his temples. He slammed
his fist down on the counter, causing his name on the desk to fall. He was just
about to bend down to pick it up, then he suddenly brought his heel down on
it, shattering it into several golden pieces. You IDIOT! He thought to himself, you’ve been charged with the murder of a prisoner, your brother is
missing, likely dead, and all you care about is your god damn self and your
useless reputation! Suddenly, he had the urge to cry, but he fought it. He
wasn’t going to be beaten like this. He was the great Sandarus, and god damn
him if he won’t find a solution to this. God
better Damn me real hard then, he thought to himself, as he walked out of
his office.





Hogar dropped dead. He heard the
news in the bar. Zuthis was….no… and he
did…no… he thought to himself. It cannot be! Hogar never trusted gossip…but
he just had a feeling that it was true… Hog couldn’t stand it. He slowly made
his way to the mercenary camp. When he got there, he opened the doors for what
he thought was the last time. He slowly made his way to his room, and removed a
small vial of black-red liquid from his drawer. Ground dragon teeth mixed with
nymph blood… A fatal combination. Instant death. He slowly poured it into his
traditional golden glass, and stared into the liquid. He slowly brought it to
his lips. “No!” suddenly heard
himself saying, and he hurled the glass at the wall. The glass instantly
shattered, and the liquid seeped into the white carpet, making an un-removable
stain. What am I doing, Hogar
suddenly thought, Zuthis wouldn’t have
wanted this to happen! I can’t be this weak. I’m going to continue the business,
and, I swear by Zuth I will not give up! He paced the room, now with a much
more determined stance. He’s going to travel elsewhere, he decided, and find a
fellow mercenary camp to aide! “That’s what Zuth would have wanted,” he murmured
to himself. He would leave as soon as possible. He would sell this place for
enough money to travel, and then head off. Hog knew many people, being an
explorer before he settled down with Zuth here as a mercenary. That leaved many
open places for him, all of which were great opportunities. He began to pack,
taking everything that could help him. The
world is beautiful, but it goes out of the way so you aren’t, said Hogar to
himself. He didn’t know where his travels would take him. Perhaps, if he did,
he wouldn’t have even set off.





It took barely a day to sell the
mercenary mansion. A home in Dreadnar was a home in Dreadnar, and especially
considering the high-class of the house. The top price of it almost knocked the
breath out of Hog. He kept insisting that they forgot to move the decimal, or
that they added a few extra zeroes. But, it was the right price. I could have bribed the king to let Zuth out
with this money, he thought grimly to himself. Hog took one trip to the
Puffering Platapurrien one more time. All the good times he had spent here. All
the bad ones. He’d very likely never see this place again. He sat down, and
ordered his final glass of Dragon’s Blood. Being an honest man, Hogar paid off
all the money he owed the bar, knowing that he wouldn’t have another chance to.
Sighing, he watched as everyone around him was happy, singing, cheering. He
sighed again. If he chooses to leave now, his life would never be the same
again. Then again, if he stayed, the same thing could happen. Hog smiled weakly
when he was reminded of an old saying he had heard once from Zuthis. ‘An arrow in your head, or a dagger in your
heart. Pick your poison.’ Zuth had said that many times, but Hog just now
fully comprehended it. He got up, and walked out of the Platapurrien, pushing
those perfectly-oiled doors for the last time. Then, he gathered his
belongings, and set off. He was lucky it was dark outside, because no one could
see how much he was crying.





The man in the red cloak rose from
his trance, and smiled. His performance was rather convincing. That man would
have to be rather smart to dig himself out of this trench. Walking on the out
skirts of Dreadnar, he looked around. This city. He always loved it. Now he
would have to leave. He had nothing. He had no one. He flung off his red cloak,
reveling another one, a extremely dark-blue one, the color of a night sky.
Then, almost his boots burnt holes in the ground, he took off, into the night.
He had no one. He had nothing. He had himself.

Chapter 7





The man in the black cloak suddenly
felt something. He couldn’t describe what it was He just knew something had
happened. Frowning, he stopped and gazed at the tall buildings in Dreadnar. The
stars were trying to tell him something too. Shaking his head, he continued to
walk the streets. As he passed a mansion’s courtyard on a rather deserted
street, he noticed something. The lock had been shot off. “Interesting…” He murmured
to himself. Taking out his bone dagger, he drew a formation in the air. The shape slowly hovered over the whole in
the lock, and then stopped, lingering there. Then, all of a sudden, the form
jumped to life, and started to turn wildly in the air. He smiled. The lock had
been blown off by magic. That tool had always been handy. He looked up at the
sky. Dawn was approaching. He’d have to refrain from searching this house. He
decided he’d put it off until tomorrow night. “It’s too dangerous now…” he mulled
to himself. As he continued his walk, he stopped. A rather questionable thought
had popped into his head. The spell he had just cast… was it traceable? Could someone
try to trace his tracer? It was possible…he decided. He’d better fix that. The
thought of a terrible tyrant taking the time to trace his tracer was
unbearable. “Then again…” he said, “If the terrible tyrant tries to trace my
tracer, couldn’t I try to trace his try to trace my tr-ACK!” Enough foolishness, he thought. He
continued on his way. Suddenly, he was airborne. Not for long, unfortunately.
He fell with a massive bang, cracking quite a few bones in the process. Swearing
continuously, he healed his bones with a spell, and turned to see what caused
him to trip. The pavement was flawless. Nothing was there. Maybe it was a
mistake? “Impossible!” he argued with himself, “I flew at least 3 feet! It’s
impossible…” He looked down. Nothing was there..Except… There was something wrong. He couldn’t say what, but… the
look of the pavement…it was just…There! He saw a flicker. There was something
there. He was sure of it. He tried a disarm spell. A bright light erupted,
searing his hands in a great amount of pain. Fighting back the urge to lose his
patience, he tried a more advance spell. Something flickered into view. He
couldn’t tell what..But… “A person?” He
blurted out, before he could stop himself. A person indeed it was. This must
have been what he had felt. To keep a person invisible, while not even be there
to maintain the spell, was an amazing feet, something that he himself had
barely time to master. Some one here was a powerful mage. There was absolutely
no use of even examining this one. He wasn’t who he was looking for. No need to
kill him. Suddenly, he heard distant foot steps. You’ve got to be kidding me! He
exclaimed in his head. I barely said two words, and you think I’m a killer!
Well, I am, but you don’t know that! He suddenly got up, and ran towards the on-coming footsteps.





Sandarus didn’t care that he was
about to lose his job. He didn’t care that he hadn’t slept in about five days. He
cared that his brother-in-law was gone. He was announced officially dead this
morning. As much as he hated him, Falcun, dead, it was just too much. He
refused to believe it. He had flown out his office at an amazing pace, determined
to prove the damn world wrong. He had been running down every alley, checking,
looking, asking everyone. He had given up, after a few hours, just weekly
walking down the streets, half-heartedly searching a few alleys. He’s gone, he concluded finally. Gone.
Then, as he was heading back to the fortress, he heard a man cry out something.
A person. He had taken what god had given him, and had broke out into a
full-speed run. Suddenly, he was approached by a man. Rather pale, he had a
dark cloak on, but had the hood off, almost as if he wasn’t trying to look
harmful. “Offic-“ “Captain” Corrected Sandarus. “Captain…” Said the man, obviously
annoyed about the rude outburst, “There is a man over there! I was just walking
down the streets, and I saw him. You should go check it out…” All the breath
was knocked out of Sandarus. “O-of course, citizen. I’ll go look at it right
away.” But the man was already walking away, mumbling something about a
terrible tyrant tracing his tracer.





Sandarus ran at full speed until he
reached the spot. When he got there, he dropped to his knees. There, on the
floor, was Falcun, his brother-in-law. He began to cry. He didn’t know if they
were tears of joy or tears or sadness, but he was crying. Then suddenly, he was
extremely angry. Why did this idiot go out on himself? What the hell happened?
The idiot! He began to slap Falcun on
the cheek furiously. When questioned about it later, he insisted that it was to
wake him up, but we have our doubts… It was no use. He just wouldn’t wake up.
Then suddenly, the truth his Sandarus like a train. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping… “NO!’ He yelled. No… He picked Falcun up (with
great effort) and began running, running to the fortress, running to the
healers, running to hope.





Hazul packed his things as quickly
as possible. It was time to go. He just knew it. It was a feeling. Or, maybe,
common sense. Rumor had it that their ruler, Regius, had gotten into a slight
dispute with the king. In other words, their town was dead. The funding for
everything would soon die out. The only reason Hazul knew this, was that he had
managed to eavesdrop on a conversation held by the royal guards. He smiled to
himself. Another advantage to his mini stature. Being the only citizen to know
this, Hazul knew that he had to get out right away. As soon as anyone found
out, this place would become chaos incarnate. No way out. He’d probably get
trampled. That’s why it was important to let no one know; to leave as discreetly
as possible. As he stepped out of his house for the final time, he suddenly
felt a sadness and longing grow inside him, one that he had never felt for this
house before. He had grown up in this house. Well, he thought to himself, at
least until my damn parents abandoned me. I was left all alone. I was barely
ten years old. Then again, who could blame them? The day the economy crashed
was a day that every one rued. A tear slowly making its way to his
moustache, he turned his back on the house. He couldn’t look at it any longer,
or he might have decided to stay. Shifting his sac to a more comfortable
position, he made his way down the winding roads of Draknius for what might
surely be that last time. He remembered when this had been the most famous road
ever. It was so long, it beat even Dreadnar’s streets by far. Not only that,
there was everything you could think for sale there. Merchants from exotic
lands, retired adventures selling wisdom for a few coin; it was pure paradise.
Not anymore. As Hazul made his way down the endless road, he looked around.
Every building held a memory for him. The theatre, the leather-maker, all the
others. Most of those people were either dead or long gone by now, he knew. He
continued on his way, pointing out every building he had ever known. When he
arrived at the gate, he said goodbye to the person who had been the closest to
a friend he had ever had. Roit, being about Hazul’s age, was very tall, and
always had a large smile on his face. Hazul loved the times had spent together.
Never again would they happen. Sighing, he made his way up to the booth where
Roit was standing. “Hey! Hazul! How y’a doing? Where y’a going?” Hazul looked
into Roit’s eyes. He couldn’t handle lying to him. He couldn’t handle telling
him the truth either. “Hey, Roit. Just going down to the river. Be back in a
couple of hours. Have fun with your shift.” Smiling, Roit opened the gates, and
called out, “Psh! Like that could ever happen! Come back soon!” Hazul couldn’t
stand it anymore. He would never see Roit again, and the last words he had said
to him were pure lies. He could imagine Roit, standing there, after his shift
ended, wait for Hazul to return, smile still on his face, continuously checking
the time. Eventually, he would return home, wondering where Hazul had been. Hazul
couldn’t stand to think about it anymore. As he made his way down the stone
path, he turned around, and said goodbye one more time to once great city, a
shadow of its former self. Draknius was dead. He gave it a couple of weeks.
Then, everyone would start wondering why they didn’t have enough money to buy
bread, or why the theatre’s prices were suddenly so expensive. Hazul shook his
head, turned around, and concentrated on the path before him. He continued on
his way, regretting that his life would never be the same and hoping that it
would change.

Chapter 8





Sandarus
patiently paced his office, waiting for the report to come in. It had been a
good four hours since he had gave his brothers to the mages, and, even though
he knew nothing about the art of magic, he was sure it couldn’t take this long
without something going wrong. He collapsed in his chair, head in his hands. Could my life actually get any worse? thought
Sandarus, regretting everything he had said to Falcun. After another hour, his
door opened, and a young recruit jumped in. “Uh, sir! The sorcerers of the
fortress demand to speak with you, sir!” Message done, the man jumped out of
the room as quickly as he came in, and Sandarus was left alone to speculate why
they wanted to see him. He slowly got up, and walked towards the healing ward,
used for prisoners that were found injured, or disabled. He paused before he
opened the door, thinking that this may be the last time he enters this room
before he finds himself alone. He didn’t have time to open the door, however. A
thin, medium-heighted man opened the door before he could reach the handle, and
barred Sandarus’ way. “You’re Falcun’s brother-in-law, correct?” Sandarus
frowned at the man’s rudeness. Being technically not part of the prison, the
spell-casters refused to call any captain or officer ‘sir’, as they had no
respect for them, thinking they were nothing more than brutes. “Yes, I am. I
have been told to come here. Why?” The man finally came out of the room, and
shifted to a more comfortable position on the wall. “Well sure, he’s protected
by a rather strong spell. Nothing we do can stop it. H-““Is he alive?” blurted
out Sandarus, before he could stop himself. Now it was the man’s turn to frown
at his rudeness, “Yes,” Seeing Sandarus’ face light up, the man once again
frowned, then added, “Problem is, it’ll be no use if we can’t get him to move. He could still be alive, but live
the rest of his life in a trance-like sleep. So, like I said, unless we can
break the spell, he might as well be dead. I am sorry.” said the man, with
almost no compassion whatsoever. Turning around, the man returned to the room,
leaving Sandarus once again alone. Then, suddenly, the door burst open (almost
earning Sandarus a broken nose) and the man in white returned. “Your brother!
He just woke up! We can’t explain it b-“ Sandarus pushed passed the guard
before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. His brother was lying in a
make-shift bed, packed with rough straw. “Sandarus…” said Falcun weekly, “I’v-I’ve
got to tell you something. The rat who did this to me…He grabbed my shoulder.
Then, I fell. D-damn m-mages,” Falcun started to drift off again. “NO!” screamed
Sandarus, looking at Falcun, “Tell me something else! Who was he, what
happened? By the name of god, I’ll find that worm and I’ll make sure he wished he would suffer Spectamus Suffurum! I swear to it
Falcun.I sw-swear...,” Sandarus looked at Falcun. He was smiling weekly. “Yeh,
sure. Always taking all the glory, eh San? Oh well, I guess I’ll give you this
one…just know, I’ll catch up someday…I’ll c-catch up.” While he was saying that
sentence, Falcun slowly closed his eyes, and slumped down. Sandarus found
himself started to scream, yell and cry all at the same time. The rest was all
in slow motion. He was taken in strong arms, pushed outside of the office.
Still screaming. They had to hold him down, restrain him. Still screaming.
Locked in his own office, a guard patrolling the outside. Still screaming.
Somebody coming in, saying soothing words, saying that he was only in a trauma
again, he wasn’t dead. Still screaming. Then, a bed, blackness, darkness,
peace. No screaming.





Sandarus
woke up early in the morning, asleep in the bed in his office. “What the hell?”
he said to himself, quickly getting up, then finding himself in his
undergarments. Then, he remembered everything. He had the urge to cry again,
but restrained it. It would only make things worse. He dressed himself slowly,
as if the world itself was suddenly crawling at a snail’s pace. When he was
fully clothed, he tried to open his door. Not locked. Before him, then grand
interior of the prison opened before him. He used to love this view. Now he
purely hated it, wanted to pushed it away, make it stop. Then, he remembered what
Falcun had said about the man who had attacked him. Hand on the shoulder, feeling
drowsy… “No…It c-can’t be.” Sandarus was there when he saw the man die. Hell,
people thought he was the one who killed him!
If anyone was sure that Zuthis was dead, it was him! He recalled a friend of
the prisoner, the man they had met the night they arrested the man for the
death of the prince. Hugnar, Hugh the Hand, Hig, Hog, Hog, Hogar? Was that it?
Hogar? He would find him. He would demand
to know what had happened that night. He knew damn well that a friend of
the prisoner was probably as dangerous as the prisoner himself. He’d leave as
soon as possible. Maybe say a prayer next to Falcun’s bed. When Falcun awakes,
he’ll find out what his brother-in-law has done, and probably regret everything,
even though it wasn’t his fault. Then again, he could take this opportunity to
become his rightful place as Elite Guard Captain again… It doesn’t matter, Sandarus found himself thinking, Even if I’m not doing this for Falcun, I’m
doing it because it’s my damn job, because I am a guard of Dreadnar, and I
swore by oath that I would do everything in my power to stop someone like that
man. Packing his things, he thought of how bloody hard it would be to find
the man. Dreadnar was massive, and what the hell even made him think he was
still in Dreadnar? He called for a
young man, and demanded that he searched the city’s records, checking all the
actions by a man named Hogar, particularly leaving the city. The man rolled his
eyes at the long, boring, and seemingly useless job, but went off to do it
without further complaint. Sandarus finished packing, then emerged from his
office. He walked around the grand fortress for what might surely be the last
time, and waited for the young man to finish his job. He knew that he had
several hours to kill before the job was actually done, so he began inspecting
the cells, helping men do their job, and sitting down to eat his final lunch in
the place. He never actually liked sandwiches. They just…repulsed him. He
plainly refused to eat them. He hated tomatoes, for one thing, and lettuce just
wasn’t his green. On top of that, the mayonnaise on the sandwich made him gag.
He had to applaud some of the men, who ate one every day, and still managed to
hold their fitness well. Finishing his lunch, he sat in the lounge made for the
employees who were less fortunate and didn’t have a private office, and thought
about what his search of the man would be like. He imagined traveling over
mountains, doing heroic deeds, and slaying many beasts. Then again, the man may
have barely crossed the forest if he had left after Zuthis was captured. Hell, he could still be in this damn city! said
Sandarus in his head. After a few hours, as Sandarus had predicted, the young
man returned, a rather long scroll in his hand. He handed it to him without a
word, and scurried off, mumbling something about losing his break. Sandarus
slowly moved through the scroll, then stopped. He arched an eyebrow. Sold an
establishment? He continued on the list. Only a few lines after that, was what
he was looking for. Citizen left city of
Dreadnar. Sandarus smiled. An eye and an ear everywhere was good. An eye
and an ear on everyone was perfect.
He got up, and got ready to leave. While he was examining the prison that he
used to love for the last time, he was approached by a man. The man said
something, and Sandarus nodded. It couldn’t be helped. He continued on his way,
and emerged from the prison, breathing in the dawn air. He walked slowly down
the streets, looking at the city. It only occurred to him now this may also be
the last time he saw the city of Dreadnar in quite a while. He would have to
get moving, though, the man was probably a good day or two ahead of him. Now,
being outside, with the tranquility of dawn, the pang of what the man said now
hit him. An amazing man, probably one of the greatest this city had ever had
was dead. A truthful, honest, and humble man was dead. A funny, caring, and
smart man was dead. More importantly, his brother-in-law was dead. Falcun was
dead. Sanadrus found himself crying. Falcun would never catch up on all the
glory now. Or maybe he already had.

Chapter 9








Hogar
scanned the horizon, breathing in the fresh dawn air. It was a new day, and
that meant a whole new day of traveling. He packed up his small camp, and went
on his way again. He decided to head to a city named Rilos, one that he had
worked at for quite a while a long time ago. It was a fairly popular city, not
that far from the fame of Dreadnar. Rilos was famous for its unrivaled
over-seas trade. Being right next to the Sancrenor Ocean, it had one thing that
Dreadnar did not have, and would never have. Water. This opened a whole new
line of trade for this city, making it an extremely popular place. Any traveler
from overseas would try to head for this city, hoping that it could sell its
goods there. It also had a very special transportation unit. Every few weeks or
so, a ship would arrive at the dock, and, for a large fee, carried all the
passengers to the city of Draknius, which was on the continent of Draknius.
Many people joked that these people were too lazy to come up with another name
for the city, but the habitants just ignored it. After the ship arrived at the
dock on the other side of the ocean, it would do the exact same thing.
Passengers would pay, come on, and get taken to Rilos. A lot of profit, and,
they made an extra buck for every merchant that came here to trade, because everyone
took this form of transportation. All this gave the city a lot of the trade
that Dreadnar missed. Rumor had it that Rilos would one day surpass Dreadnar
in popularity. Everyone agreed that it was possible, and, that they should get
a place there before the prices became too expensive for the average person. The
king did nothing to discourage this rumor because, hell, if it gave him more business,
let there be lies! Because of that and many other reasons, including its fish
trade with many other countries, Rilos was a very rewarding place to visit, especially
if you’re looking for business or trade. Hog didn’t see a reason not to try
there first, so that was where he was headed. The only disadvantage was that,
because Dreadnar was located in the middle of the continent (and that was where
he had taken off from) he had a least a ten day journey ahead of him. He
continued to walk, yawning lazily and looking at the beautiful landscape unfold
before him. Regretting that he hadn’t bought his horse with the massive amount
of money he had made, he sighed and shook his head. The problem with
adventuring was complicated. If you didn’t know where you wanted to go, it was
wonderful, everything a surprise. If you did,
then, well, it was boring as hell. Thinking of all this stuff, Hog’s mind
eventually wandered to what exactly he would look for in Rilos. A mercenary
job, probably, but where would he find one? Would
he find one? Frowning at this thought, he shifted his pack that was digging
into his back, and began to quicken his pace. The sooner I get there, he thought, the sooner this endless boredom will stop. He always thought
adventuring was so fun. Most people do. But, all those people told about their
action-packed, life-death experience. What about getting there? Did they fly there? Hell, no. Hog’s thought were
interrupted by a blinding pain in his temples. He quickly whipped one hand to
his sword, another one to where the pain had struck. He brought his hand back. Blood? He saw what had caused that. A
large rock was lying on the floor, smeared with something red, not too far from
where he had been. He turned around, pushing his cloak over his shirt. Always choose underestimation then
overestimation against an enemy you don’t know, he said silently, reciting
an old mercenary saying. Three men in black cloaks were approaching him in separate
directions, each face hidden completely; their cloaks falling down to their
shins, in a futile attempt to conceal their weapons. Oh, please, thought Hogar, like
I’ve never seen one of you idiots before. The men approached him slowly,
probably thinking their rock had stunned him. Hog then chose the moment to act.
Perhaps a little late for a pro, but these men were obviously amateurs. He dropped
to the floor, in a perfect mimic as if he had been knocked out. He heard one of
the men chuckle. They approached him, one of them a little too eager to rob him
of his belongings. Now was the time to act. Hog whipped around his sword in a
tornado slash, in an attempt to knock them all out at once. The two ones
farther away barely dodged it. The closer one wasn’t so lucky. He clenched his
stomach, then fell to the floor. Now the men knew he wasn’t knocked out. They
drew their weapons, and began to circle him, in the goal to set him off
balance. Hog made a "pssting" sound with his mouth. Yeh, right, he thought. One of the men attacked earlier then the
other one expected. A fatal mistake. Hog parried his attack, and whipped the
sword around in his hand, disarming him and cutting off his left arm. The man
fell to the floor with a piercing cry. The final one was obviously more skilled,
and much more cautious then the other ones. He kept moving back and forth in
front of Hog. Hog had seen this maneuver before. It wasn’t an attack movement…it
was designed to keep the target busy whi-Hog jumped, and did a triple flip in
mid-air, while an arrow flew straight under him, inches from his stomach, hitting the man
in front of him squarely in the chest, probably puncturing a lung. Hogar barely
glanced at the dead man. He whipped around, to see the leader, standing a few
yards away, another arrow knocked in his bow. “Fagnis,” (Fagnis is taken from
the word of the ancient language Fanus
ith, meaning filthy slime. It has been corrupted over the ages into the
word Fagnis, a curse word used commonly in this land.) said the man, looking at
his dead allies, “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today. Three men dead.
Really annoying, aren’t you. Don’t move and maybe I’ll kill you faster.” Hog
almost laughed out loud. He thought he could kill him? Hog knew that he did have to be careful, though. A mistake
could be fatal. Now was the time to act. Hog did a swift movement, causing the
man to think that he was about to attack, and making him let loose his arrow.
Wrong move. Now it was his turn for a distraction. Hog easily
dodged it, and, in one swift, fluid motion, threw his helmet at the man, then
twisted to pick up the three swords of the fallen men. The helmet soared
harmlessly over the man’s head, but it had done its job. The man had taken a
split-second to look at it. His final mistake. Hog fanned out the four swords,
and threw them, like throwing knives, at the man. With a speed that was un-natural
to anyone, especially one of Hog’s size, he sped up to the man, caught one of his own swords he had
thrown, did a twist in mid-air, and plunged it into the man’s back. The other
swords then hit him, one in his neck, one in his stomach, and one missing its
target. The man collapsed, dead. Hog got up, searched the bodies for anything
helpful, and continued on his way, barely panting. Nothing like a good old
fight to clear up boredom. He brushed some dust off his shoulder and continued
on his way.





The man in the red cape continued
his swift pace, barely glancing at anything except the path ahead of him. He
had traveled much slower than he had planned, so he moved without furthermore
distraction, and refused to let his body rest until he had reached a certain
point. When it got dark, he muttered the spell, and a globe of light
materialized in his hand. He discarded it carelessly. The globe hovered, then
approached him again, this time staying at his shoulder. He observed his surroundings,
this time making sure that he didn’t stop moving while doing it. He was in a
rather deserted part of the forest, even wild life was scare. The Sparia Trees
were beginning to make their bitter-sweet fruit, and the man plucked one from
the tree. He put it in his mouth, wincing at the extremely bitter taste of the
un-ripened fruit. He began to walk even faster, wanting to leave this annoying
forest. He didn’t know where he was headed, exactly, but somewhere far enough.
His body cried out for him to stop, but he still had not reached his desired
destination. As he kept walking, dawn started to come. After a while, it was
fully lighted outside, everything was light, shining. Everything except the
shadowed face under the cloak.