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

Near Anvil, on the map, there is a small island seperated from the landmass. It's the island that you can see on the map! IF YOU CANT SEE IT ON THE WORLD MAP, ITS NOT RIGHT. Anyway, get there, and then face the vastness of the ocean. Along the bottom of the see, right next to the island, there is a small skeleton with the helm of Fin Gleam. Amazing for starters, heck , I still use it and Im level 14, which is very high in this game. It may take you a while, I suggest you get a water-breathing potion, I did it without but, hell, was it hard! Anyawy, get that right away, or until you can get a potion. Again, not a necesitty, but alot easier

Chapter 14








There is a darker
side to the city of Dreadnar. King Regius walked slowly down the un-lit
hallway, glad that the darkness covered the un-easiness on his face from the
guards that followed him. A rather loud crash and a string of curse words made
Regius smile slightly. Thirty-four, he continued, counting how many
times his followers would trip before they got to their destination. At the end
of the hallway, a massive iron door blocked their passage. Regius stepped back,
and let the guards do their work. They knocked on the door in a long and rather
annoying fashion. For a moment, nothing happened. Regius could hear the nervous
breathing of the guards. Then, suddenly, he heard a click, and a small opening
appeared. At first, nothing was there. Hurry up, thought the king
impatiently, the sooner I get out of this damned place the better. Then,
suddenly, something glinted through the hole. It was the eye of a man. “Be at
peace, men, no harm shall come to those who enter this place,” said the man.
One of the guards near the king stepped up, and said, “Brother, we are no fools.
Peace is a slow poison, worse than the venom of a Gurnit Snake.” The eye then
retreated into darkness, closed the hatch, and the small party was alone once
more. A small click, followed by many creaks and groans from rusted and old
metal filled the ears of the men. Then, once again, Regius felt silence slowly constricting
him. One of the men in the group removed
a small box from his sack. Ripping off the key that was around his neck, (Regius
groaned at the trouble of this. He simply did not understand why the man could
not simply take it off his neck, without ripping the precious string. How hard
was that?) he stuck it into the box. Then, he gave the key to a man clothed in
aqua robes, who muttered a spell, dropped it to the ground, and watched it melt
into a puddle of liquid metal. Opening the chest, he removed another key, this
one much more strange, with intricate designs and holes. Then, the man walked
up to the door, and, rather then searching for a key whole, jabbed the key straight
into the metal of the door. The whole door rippled from the spot where the
key had entered, then, with a final shudder, it opened. Regius muffled a laugh
at the irony of the password. ‘No harm shall come’. Psh, yeh, right, thought
Regius, who knew that the moment that the eye appeared through the door, there
was at least three arrows aimed at them. Many of the guards privileged enough
to enter this place thought that the precautions to enter this place were
overkill, but the king had to disagree. If anyone entered this place…He
shuddered at the thought. Mass rebellion. Kill the king rebellion.
Rip-him-apart-and-sell-his-body-parts rebellion. The door guard sat there, reading The
History of Animals: Their Likes, Food, Habits, and Predators. King Regius
shook his head slightly, honoring the man who must be driven fairly close to
insanity because of boredom. A rough breathing sound shook him out of his
thought. They were here. As he approached the cell, he froze for a moment. It
was empty. The king leaned in the get a closer look. Sharped, curved hands
suddenly grabbed his face, scratching, tearing his flesh. Paralyzed by shock
and pain, Regius could not move. The guards quickly rushed to his aid, beating
down the hands. They let go, and suddenly two blue-white eyes appeared in the
darkness. “You have been unwise to visit me,” rumbled a deep voice. Regius,
recovering from his shock, touching his cheek where the claws had been. It was
painfully cold. A figure appeared from the darkness. “How dare you touch
me! YOU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD, gfhice ( Gu-fice )!” screamed Regius,
anger suddenly getting hold of him. The gfhice laughed bitterly. “Oh, and if I
don’t. Oh wait! Let me guess!” he said, almost laughing, “His majesty will
throw me in his deepest, darkest dungeon, under lock and key, constantly
watched. Oh wait! THAT’S WHERE I AM, SFICKUS!” His voice grew so loud that the
guards drew their blades at the last sentence, and Regius did nothing to halt
their action. “You’re glad I’m keeping you alive,” said Regius angrily. “Oh, I’m
not worrying,” responded the gfhice nonchalantly, “we both know that you have
started a war, Regius. Kidnapping me was the last mistake you and your filthy
cities will ever make. The king will die, burn his body! The peasants, the
beggars, cut off their heads! The merchants, the mercha-” “SILENCE!” yelled Regius,
but the man kept singing even louder. “THE MERCHANTS, THE MERCHANTS, HOLD THEM
FOR RANSOM AND TAKE ALL THEIR GOLD! THE HORSES THE HORS-” “I…SAID…SILENCE!”
Regius’ voice echoed through the hall, and many guards looked nervously around,
hoping that no one in the castle had heard this outburst. A higher ranking
officer gestured to one of the guards to check the entrance. Protesting
silently, wanting to watch the show, the guards started arguing silently with
head and hand gestures. At one particular rude gesture, the king turned around.
One of the guards caught him on time, luckily being clever enough to form his
gesture into yawn and arms-outstretched act of boredom. The other luckily also
saw it coming, and he quickly whipped one arm behind his neck, scratching, and
the other scratching the one that was scratching his neck. The king barely
noticed them. Take a bow and an arrow from one of them, he quickly knocked it
and shot it at the singer. An echoing cry filled the room, and the man looked
down in horror at the arrow penetrating his toe. “Obey the king,” Regius said,
almost in a whisper, doing his best to conceal his anger. He knew that if the
man saw it, it would only give him satisfaction. The king made a gesture with
his hand, and the group walked off. The man in the cell started yelling many
things, from curses to exclamations that Regius did not understand. As Regius
walked down the hall, he heard the man singing again. Cracking his neck on both
sides, and put out a hand trembling in anger towards a guard. Understanding,
the man handed him his bow and arrow once more, and the king stalked off
towards the prisoner once more. Another piercing cry was heard, and some
dialogue that the two guards were unable to hear. Then, the king returned,
barely glancing back at the two followers. They hurried on, and the duo both
looked at each other, trying to suppress their laughter in vain.








He emerged
onto the main path, being sure to check it any other person or creature was
there before he did. Suddenly, he felt a ripple throughout his body. The
presence of powerful magic was near. Quickening his pace to a run, he almost
missed the massive hole in the floor. And would have, if not for the rather
large bruise it had caused him. Getting up and brushing gravel off his knees
and red cloak, he looked down into the whole. He twisted his face in confusion,
and positioned himself to get a better look. “A dagger?” he muttered to
himself. “What in the world…?” He reached into the hole, only to quickly withdraw
his hand. A stunning amount of heat was coming out of the dagger, now a good
two or three feet into the ground. “I’m damn sure that’s not a regular
dagger,” he murmured to himself. He began to cast a fairly weak cancel-magick
spell. Suddenly, a large gust of wind erupted from the dagger, knocking him
about ten feet back. Lying there, he muttered a healing spell, and closed his
eyes as he heard cracked bones repairing themselves. Getting up and testing his
arms, and returned to the dagger. “Whatever this thing is, it won’t be easy to
transport it, if I can even touch it,” he decided. He began casting numerous spells,
all of them resulting in him getting blowing back exactly ten feet, him healing
himself, doing it again, and getting blown back exactly ten feet again.
Eventually collapsing from exhaustion, he thought of leaving the damned thing
there. It would save him a lot of trouble and energy. But the problem was, he had
to, just had know what the thing was! In the name of Dread it’s
driving me insane! he yelled in his head. He suddenly heard a noise, and
then two voices. Rolling his eyes, knowing that they arrived at what probably
was the worst possible moment, he made his way as fast as he could into the
jungle, diving dramatically into the bushes.





Hazul fell
to the ground with a thud, his sword skidding out of his reach. The chimera
roared in a massive voice, then began to charge towards him for the final blow.
Hazul quickly scanned his surroundings for an option. There weren’t any. He
closed his eyes and waited for death. He wasn’t afraid. He was…disappointed, he
decided. Disappointed that his life was already over, he hadn’t done anything
that he wanted to. Well, at least no one will miss me, he thought
grimly. The suddenly, he heard a massive thud, a rush of air and…silence? Hazul
quickly got up and opened his eyes. The chimera was on the ground, only a few
feet away from him, trying frantically to get up. “What the hell?” he said,
looking around for his sword. Seeing a glint of metal, he dived for it, and
turned around. The chimera was already up again, its heads flailing wildly.
Then, all three of them stopped, and turned towards Hazul. Groaning, he got
ready for another charge. The problem wasn’t hitting the chimera. The problem
was taking it down. He counted at least fifty powerful slashes on the beast’s
body, and none of them seemed to affect it at all. A rumbling interrupted his
thought. The beast was charging again. He rolled to the side, and one of the
beast’s head slammed into a tree. It cried out in pain. That gave Hazul an
idea. The heads… Taking aim as the beast got ready to ram into him, he heroically
threw his sword at the beasts. It sailed harmlessly over one of its heads. “Oh,
COME ON!” Hazul yelled at the sky, “Do you want me to get killed?”
Another cry from the beast was his answer. Hazul looked at the beast once more,
and then his draw dropped. The chimera had his sword in its mouth! It was holding
it. Looking incredulously at the monster, it charged again. Suddenly, Hazul
had another idea. Quickly picking up a rock from the ground, he dodged the
beast once more. When the beast got ready to charge again, he threw the rock with
all his might at the head with the sword in its mouth. This time, his strike
was true. The rock hit the head firmly, causing the beast to cry out in pain,
which, of course, also caused it to inhale the sword. Satisfied, Hazul
waited for the beast to drop dead. It didn’t. “For crying out loud…,” he said
while rolling his eyes. Then, the beast began to choke. Oh…Great!, he
thought, You gave the damned thing a hairball! You’ve got him now! Maybe
it just needed a little…push. Now it was Hazul’s turn to charge. He began to
run at full speed, then, when he reached the beast, gave it a full-body tackle.
The beast yelled in pain, then, suddenly, collapsed, a sword peeking out of its
belly. Hazul was suddenly stunned that he was actually able to kill the beast.
Few men double his size (or triple) could withstand a chimera. Smiling, a
thought suddenly came to him. Why wasn’t he dead? The chimera, when it knocked
the sword out of his hand…it tripped. Why didn’t it kill him? Chimeras don’t trip.
He then saw the reason he was alive. Smiling, he picked it up and began to
make it way down the path once more. He wanted action, he got it, maybe not the
way he wanted, but he still got it. The outpost was coming up, and he would set
sail to a new life. Clutching the life saving Scurtle that he had tripped on
several times before, he made his way down the long, path towards hope, a new
sense of triumph, courage and hope filling him up, and lending him strength.

Chapter 15





He gave up his fifth attempt to
break the bonds. “The damned things are magic resistant!” he mumbled to
himself. He wasn’t exactly a master of brute force himself, so there really
wasn’t a way to get out. His captors have made a mistake, however. They had
used a simple cloth, not enchanted whatsoever, to blind him. Child’s play for someone
like him. “Ethurijum Fabrioum,” he whispered under his breath, cautious not to
draw the attention of his captors. What he saw startled him. He barely suppressed
a gasp. Close one, he thought, with
an ironic smile dancing on his lips. He had remembered two men taking him down
(to his great shame and annoyance). What he saw was hardly that many. There
were at least thirty. All clad in black cloaks, the color of midnight, the same
as him. What the hell? he thought,
trying to keep the look of confusion off his face. Too late. One of the men
walked up and exclaimed, in a rather drunk and delirious voice, “What’s wrong,
**Bleep**? Are your bonds on too tight? Wait let me help,” the walked around to
the back of whatever he was tied to, and he felt a rough pull, almost drawing
blood from his wrists. “There,” he said, laughing at his own joke “Is that
better?” As he walked away, he held his breath and bit his lip so hard that he
left a white imprint of his teeth. Not
now, he warned himself, getting yourself
killed won’t get them killed. He
continued to examine the place he was being held in. It was, to his surprise,
not a forest camp, as he thought, but a walled in cave made of concrete. Where in the world am I? he thought to
himself. Looking around, he saw, to his surprise, that the place was rather
well furnished. There was sleeping mats, tables full of mead and ale, there
were even some waiters (if you could call
them that) fluttering around, giving food to the men in black capes, and the
men in black capes giving them a tip (literally). The waiters didn’t seem to
mind getting pushed over, got back up, and repeated the process. He would have
guessed that this place was a banquet if not for the ugly, concrete walls made
by Terra Magius, also known as earth magi,
and how disgusting the people looked and smelled. The man who had talked to him
previously almost made him throw up, but he did not, to his eternal thanks.
That would NOT have been pretty, for
him or the man. Suddenly, the music stopped, and a man made his way to what he
thought was a stage. The man wasn’t very tall, but he almost was wider then he
was tall. He muscles literally bulged out of their sockets, making the man look
like a sack of goods stacked beyond their intended capacity. He began to speak,
in a rather light and fluffy voice that he could not stop from laughing at. Fortunately,
the others were obviously absorbed in what the walking rock said, so they did
not notice his chuckle. He frowned. He did not understand anything that the man
was saying. This disturbed him, as he had been studying language for almost a
decade, and could speak every single one fluently. Apparently not, eh?, he thought to himself. The man continuously
paused for cheers from the crowd, and, about an hour later, he finished speaking,
granting him the largest cheer yet. Then, the crowd dispersed, and most of them
started walking towards him. For the love
of…, he began to think. One man picked up something that was indistinguishable
from his distance, and -to the incredulous look on his face- threw it at him. A sharp jab penetrated his
light armor. He looked down, and almost rolled his eyes and yelled 'OH, COME
ONE!’ What he saw, to his great annoyance,
was a dart. He looked to his left,
and saw a table full of them. They weren’t
poisoned, he could tell, but those damned pointy things hurt like hell. To his
great relief, the muscle-head man walked up, positioning himself between him
and the dart-thrower. “Remember, men. We’re here to enjoy outselves” (A great
cheer from the group) “But, still, we aren’t going to kill this man” (disappointed murmurs and a few awww’s) “Not yet, at any rate” (eye winks and and laughs from the
crowd) The man saluted the crew, they saluted back, and, just before he left,
turned and said, “Remember, no face shots, got it?” He walked off, then mumbled
just loud enough for the group to hear, “He’s ugly enough already, poor fellow.”
They all had a good laugh. He was confused why they suddenly were talking in a
language they could understand, while before they weren’t. Maybe they wanted him to hear this stuff? Another
sharp pain interrupted his thoughts. Smiling lightly to himself he thought a
spell. Thinking spells is a rather difficult process only the more experienced
mages know, and it took much more energy then any normal spell. For example,
the spell he was about to cast was a simple shield spell, and it took much more
effort and fatigue then most of his more powerful spells. Although, it was
worth it, usually, like in this instant, to get the advantage that the person
does not know you were casting a spell. Many mages had to be careful, though, because casting powerful spells
mentally could back-fire in two ways. First of all, it could take such a
tremendous effort and stamina, that the user drops unconscious, or, more likely,
dead. Second, the spell could not be concentrated on hard enough, because of
the target suddenly disappearing, too much disturbance, or many other reasons,
and the spell could actually go off inside
the caster’s head. Not a pretty site. He had seen it once before, and he’d
rather not recall the incident. The next dart came, and the next, and the next.
Eventually, one hit in a rather unpleasant area, and the hitter exclaimed that
he had won five hundred points.





“I’m telling you. The damned dagger is there!” exclaimed Sandarus,
flustered and frustrated. Hogar was still in a fairly good mood because of the
great laugh he had had early, but this was ridiculous. “A dagger penetrating the floor like acid?” Hog said, annoyed, “Ok,
let’s go see, then maybe we can investigate a moving rock with four wheels.” Laughing, Hog continued to head parallel of
the path, Sandarus pulling out his hair. “Just LOOK! Please! Why the hell would
I lie to you? “Why, why?! Because, WELL BECAUSE…” Hog’s voice trailed off and
he scratched his bald head in confusion.
“Fine,” he finally said, as if he was mad that he lost the battle, “I’ll
come, but I swear to Dread, if you’re lying, I’ll stick that dagger in your-”
But Sandarus was already off, heading towards their destination. Shaking his
head and looking down, Hog wondered what he would except to see. He made a Psshhtt sound with his mouth and continued
onwards, trying to keep up with the excited man.





When they got to the road, Hog
looked around for Sandarus. The man was in the middle of the road, looking
around, baffled. As he got closer, he heard him saying something; “Oh, by God!
It was here last time, oh that man is going to kill me i-” his thoughts were interrupted
when he heard a sound similar to a cracking tree falling down. He turned around,
and saw Hogar trying to get up, cursing after each movement. Walking towards
him, somewhat worried that the dagger had disappeared, he offered him a hand.
Refusing, he made a motion with his hand to come closer. Sandarus did, putting
his ear next to Hog’s face. Hog, laughing, put his hand on Sand’s shoulder, and
pushed his full weight on him. The result was: Hogar getting up, laughing so
hard that his face was read, once again, and Sandarus being propelled into the
gravel by Hog’s massive girth. Expecting
the man to be mad, Hog got ready to defend himself. Sand got up and Hogar said,
“It was only a joke I-” “Look! Look! Over here! The thing you tripped on! It’s a giant hole! And guess what’s in
the hole? A dagger! Ahaha! A dagger!” Still not believing that the dagger actually
existed, Hogar walked up and peered into the hole. He drew back, stunned by the
heat. What the hell, he thought. “Told
you it was there,” said Sandarus, suddenly regaining his serious face. “Wow, amazing discovery,” said Hog, his
face that of annoyance, “Now let’s go.” “WHAT?”
blurted Sandarus, “You’re just going to LEAVE it here? We- well, I can’t do that! We have to move it or
something!” Hog looked at Sandarus, and for the first time he saw how Hog
looked with an almost angry face. “Well, that’s damn beyond my ability! Look,”
he said, “I’m a mercenary. Get it? Five syllables. Mer-ce-nar-y” “That’s fo-” “I
DON’T CARE. I really, truly don’t care. Look,” he said, walking up to Sandarus,
“I want to do one thing in my life. You damned royals ruined my old one, so I’m
starting it new. I want to go to Rilos, set sail, and get the HELL out of the
place. Understand? I don’t care about a stupid dagger! From what I’ve heard
about you, you aren’t even involved with the guards any more. You’re just a
peasant. So why don’t you leave me alone. What are you going to do? Arrest me?”
Hog laughed bitterly and turned around to leave. He heard the sound of an
arrow getting knocked in a bow and froze. “No,” said a voice behind him in a dangererous, quiet tone, “I’m
going to kill you.”

*war*

Chapter 17








“The ocean is in sight, my king”
said the messenger, obviously pleased to have been selected to report this to
the king. “Very well, thank you. You are dismissed,” said the gfhice king,
Volkern. He sighed and began to rub his temples. This voyage would be a long
one, and he wasn’t even considering the travel over land. The mere thought of
being on open seas, vulnerable to any creature in the deep, thieves or
otherwise, secretly frightened him. He estimated the voyage to the continent of
Draknius would take at least a month, and, considering the number of strange
boats sailing the seas, was not something he enjoyed. Never the less, he had no
choice but to go to Dreadnar. There was absolutely no other option. There was
no need to stop at the now petty city of Drakar. It was no longer worth even a
second glance. Its loot couldn’t help his people at all. Getting up with rather
a lot of difficulty, he began to slowly pace the moving room. A sudden noise
caused him to whip around. Despite his age, he was quite quick and on the ball,
as they say. A gfhice was running towards him, claws attached to his knuckles,
ready to strike. Volkern lowered his stance, positioned his wrists, and waited
for the correct moment. The first mistake
he made was striking with both claws at once. That left him open. Volkern
lifted his golden wrist-guards, deflecting the attack, then followed up with
two quick jabs to a pressure point on the assassin’s body. The man fell to the
floor, groaning in pain. The king rolled his eyes. Another damn attempt. This is getting annoying, he
thought. Volkern looked around, amused to find that the guards had barely
reached him before he had taken care of the poor fellow. Needless to say, he
knew why there had been so many tries to 'off' him, as they say. Going to this
new continent was a great risk, not knowing what to expect. He was confident
that nothing would go wrong, but, then, who was he to judge? Some of the
population obviously didn’t agree with him, he thought, with a sly smile at the
man being picked up and imprisoned by the guards. It was time to give his
people a small speech. The last thing he needed was going on a boat, knowing
that there were people planning ways to rebel, preferably involving injuring
him. He had easily reflected this attempt at an attack, but he might not be so
lucky the next time. People seem to be
getting better and better at this stuff, he thought to himself. Sighing, he
dropped back into his chair, making sure to keep an eye on the room. The
disadvantage that his people had was a rather large one. They were probably
much more powerful than humans in regular combat, but, for some reason even
ancient historians do not know, their race is unable to cast magic. Except for,
of course, the Oracium Hhiihh, known
in English as the High Oracle. This gfhice was born every hundred years or so, and
was revered in the highest fashion. Next to the king himself, this magician was
treated like a god. It was that man (as it is always a male) alone that could
cast spells, and powerful spells it could cast indeed. The spell caster was not
risked in battles, unless it was the most important ones, where there was
little hope of victory. Yes, he
thought, a High Oracle would be pretty
damn good at a time like this. But, there is not one due for at least another
two years, and who knows what could happen during that time. Hell, it could all
be over by then! But Volkern was wrong. The High Oracle was not due in two
years. It was due now. In a few month’s time, in fact. But Volkern would not
know this, for he would not be on the same boat during their trip to Draknius.
He would be on his own vessel, sail cutting through the wind, not knowing that
the only hope of triumph was about to be thrown overboard, for no infants were
allowed on the path to war.








The shield spell had worn off a long
time ago, and he knew that casting another one was no use. He also knew that
soon he would faint from the massive amount of blood loss from the arrow wound
in his thigh, and all the damn little darts penetrating his chest, stomach,
and a few more uncomfortable places. There was only one way out. One. He knew
that fighting would be, basically, suicide, and, either way, his bonds were
magically enchanted to resist spells. But there was still a way out. It would
be a rather difficult spell, followed by an even more difficult escape, but
that was nothing compared to this. He had to leave. The biggest problem (among
many) was that the spell he wanted to cast, basically, did not exist, or, at
least to his knowledge (although being a very skilled wizard, the man in the
black cape was skilled mostly in dark and stealth magic, and the desired spell
was called Ahltureation Ilouzinus, also
known as Alteration, which is a field he is not skilled in) so he would have
to, pretty much, make the spell up. Making a spell wasn’t long or did not take
much energy, but, then again, it did take quite a bit of concentration,
something that was fairly hard to grasp when you are getting poked continuously
by tiny needles. He considered casting a time-stop spell, which would halt time
for everyone except him, but that had several problems itself. Firstly, he
would have to do it mentally, which could either make time stop for himself
alone, as a backfire, cause him to faint with fatigue, or a few other things. Secondly, even if the spell
was done correctly, he then would have to cast his other spell, which would
probably be impossible, even though it wasn’t done mentally, because of the
power needed to cast the other one. And, finally, he didn’t know how long the
spell would actually last, (which was something he was slightly embarrassed at…)
therefore, he could be in the middle of casting the spell and a barrage of
darts could rain down from heaven (in this case, a party of drunk men with a
grudge) and interrupt his casting, which could have fairly disastrous results. Suddenly,
as he was contemplating all this, he saw the man with huge muscles walk up to
the front of the room, and boomed out for everyone to be silent. One more dart
was fired at his chin, causing him to cry out in pain before he could stop
himself. A laugh began to spread around the room, but a look from their
supposed leader silenced it immediately. Now it was time. He could hardly think
of the possibility of this happening, yet it did. A perfect distraction.
Rolling the words around in his mind, he began to make the spell and making
sure to add something a little extra he would leave for his ‘friends’.





The spell was finished just as the
speech was. He knew it was time to cast it before those assassains start throwing
darts again. Concentrating with all his might, he said the words in his head.
He suddenly felt as if he was lifted up, up, up, out, out of his body, out over
the men in the room. He wanted to smile at the success of the spell, but he
couldn’t because he didn’t have a face. Looking around, even though he didn’t
have eyes, he saw a suitable person, for now. Diving down even though he couldn’t
fly, he plunged into the body. Suddenly, the world went black, and then opened
again in the eyes of someone else. “A suitable host for now,” he mumbled under
his breath, noticing he had a calm, dangerous voice that suited him. He had to
get something before he left, though. Pretending to pick up a dart, he moved
towards the hostage. Picking up a dart, he threw it, and suddenly realized how
fun it was. Chuckling slightly, he threw a few more rounds, then realized he
had to go. Casually walking up to the man in the black cape, as many of the men
did to say a comment of torture him mentally, he crouched down and quickly
ripped off something. He suddenly hopped that no one noticed. Then, quickly
stuffing the item in the folds of his shirt, he made his way to what seemed to
be the exit of the cement prison. As he made his way out, he avoided several
men that appeared to want to talk to him. Oh
well, he thought to himself, it’ll have
to wait…Forever, he added, with another chuckle. After about a fifteen
minute walk in what appeared to be a sewer, he thought it was a suitable time
to execute his plan for revenge. Snapping his fingers and casting a quick
amplify-sound spell, he waited. As planned, he began to hear laughs, then,
suddenly, screams. Satisfied at what happened, he continued his walk, and threw
on the item he had taken from the body. It was his midnight cloak. Emerging
into the crisp night air, he imagined how those bandits must now look with a
full head of long, blond, curly hair.





Nothing much could be said of what
Regius was doing at this current time. He continued his speeches, attended his
son’s funeral, (to be honest, he was sure that young man was planning to
assassain Regius anyway, so maybe his death wasn’t such a bad thing. A note
found by Regius himself in the prince’s room later confirmed his suspicion.
Although expecting this, it deeply hurt Regius to find out what his son had
wanted to do) and gave a few more good left hooks to any more doctors that
knocked on his door. The routine went on for rather along time, and, he was
rather surprised that, although then someone ‘accidentally’ leaked rumor of war spread
through Dreadnar, no one actually wanted to leave. They were all confident in
him and his abilities as a king, he knew. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if he
was confident in himself. By now, though, all the royalty, including dukes,
barons and the like, knew of the gfhice and their coming, and they began to
puff themselves up like a bird trying to defend something to say ‘I told you
so!’. Regius trying not to laugh at them, he truly did, but the way they
looked, he honestly couldn’t help picturing them next to a peacock and trying
to ‘spot five differences’. The speeches were boring, the funerals disturbing,
and the meetings pure torture. He actually hoped, in his sub-conscious, that
news of the war would begin anew he would have something to do. He quickly
vanished the thought. Nobody would blame him, though. He actually sometimes
envied the man behind the secret, giant iron door, eternally reading that book,
doing nothing. He sighed, though, and knew that the worst was yet to come. As if all this wasn’t enough, he
thought, some of those idiots were actually
suggesting surrendering. Hah! Surrendering to the Gfhii! Yeh, that’ll be the
day! What’s next? Birds in the royal council room discussing war and the king
in a mental institute? Wait…

Chapter 18











Hazul had always thought that he
wasn’t sea sick. Now, though, looking at the boat lurch back and forth, up and
down, from the dock, he wasn’t so sure. Walking unsurely towards the dock, he
began to glance around, as if suddenly a giant dragon would drop down from the
sky and carry him over the ocean. Giving an angry glance at a man who had
brushed past him rather roughly, he took out his money to pay. The only problem
was, he just noticed, as he pushed his way through the bag, looking, was that
he had no money. “Wah? That…That
sfickus!” he screamed, and began to take off, tackling any one in his way. The damned man could be anywhere by now, thought
Hazul, looking around angrily at the crowd. But he couldn’t just let the thief
go. Without his money, he was dead. Better yet, he was stranded. He tried to recall the man that had moved past him, but
it was so fast, all he saw was a blur. A sound of someone hitting the ground
and an angry call snapped him out of his thinking. The man had made one
mistake. He acted like he had stole
someone; running, pushing past the crowd. He began to take off again, and so
did Hazul. He would catch that brigang, by Drake, if he had to run through this
whole damn city. Hazul could tell that he was catching up, and with a smile of
triumph he began to increase the speed of his run. A big mistake, he soon
realized. The thief had stopped thinking that he was following him, and had
stopped running, trying to blend into the crowd, probably why Hazul was
catching up. Now, running at full speed, he had alerted the thief once again,
and the man took off. Swearing into his beard, he continued to run. His stubby
legs really didn’t help at times like this. By now, most of the crowd had
noticed the chase, and people were following them in anticipation, yelling
encouragements, some trying to interfere -those were rewarded by a nice right
hook by Hazul- and others just trying to keep up. This really didn’t help his
situation, however, as he preferred not to be trampled when he had a choice. Angry
and tired now, Hazul tried his best to quicken his pace to his best ability,
but his stout body did have limits. He was, however, gaining on the thief, who
seemed to be less determined to escape then Hazul was to get his coin back. Finally,
tired as hell, Hazul gave a determined leap, sailing right into the runner. He
frantically grabbed, trying to ensnare the man in his grasp, but, for a split
second, Hazul thought that he had missed him, grasped air. But, it was not so.
He had got the man’s cape. “The only damn problem is that there isn’t a man
here!” he said to himself, flustered. When he had grabbed the man, he was sure
he had got him. There was no doubt. Either way, what did the man do? Throw off
his cape to disorient him? “Impossible,” he argued with himself, “If so, why
didn’t I see him run off? No, either way, he either disappeared or I’m a lot
damn older then I thought I was. ” Looking at the cape, he noticed a rather
large, golden seal on it. He discarded is carelessly. He cares? That idiot
probably got it at some shop. Either way, he had no idea what it could mean.
His thoughts were discontinued, however, when he spotted a familiar sack on the
floor, next to the cape. “He he,” he muttered, making a gesture to make the
gathering crowd leave. He picked up his bag of money, counted it, and thought
of how strange that chase had just been. Looking around, he noticed that his
jog hadn’t taken him that far from the dock. However, a sound made him groan
and role his eyes. He wasn’t robbed for the gold, he knew. There was a
different reason. Looking up hopelessly at the boat slowly departing from the
dock, Hazul knew he had to stay another night at this place, and he thought
that this time it wouldn’t be so tranquil.











Swearing under his breath, the man
moved through the crowd near the dock, alarmed at how fast the stupid man could
run. Hell, he had stolen his cape! He had to get it back. He had accomplished
his job, however. The ship had set sail, and now he had a whole night to carry
on with his plans. He found this satisfying, though he knew that he would have
to visit that man again. He hoped that the next damn encounter wouldn’t be as
close as this one. For crying out loud, if he hadn’t of casted the spell, he
would have caught him! And, although it’s a small risk, he had brought
attention to himself. Pondering these things, he frowned and began to look for
a rather trampled, dirty and ripped piece of cloth with a golden seal on it.











Killing
him once wasn’t enough; you had to kill him twice, yelled Sandarus at
himself in his head, groaning and cursing freely aloud. He stood there very
still, almost as if he could disappear if he did so long enough. What scared
him the most was Hogar’s face. The expression was not what made him shiver. It
was the lack of any at all. The giant
stood there, looking at his friend on the floor. For a moment, Sandarus thought
he was inactive. Then, looking closer, he noticed a small trail of blood. He
followed it to the man’s knuckles, which were beyond the shade of white. He
couldn’t stand this. The man wasn’t dead yet, he knew, by the rough breathing
coming from the figure on the ground. However, this wasn’t convincing, as the
arrow shaft in his stomach did not help at all. “LOOK!” shouted Sandarus,
louder and more desperate then he intended, “It wasn’t my fault! H-he jumped in
front of the damn arrow!” Suddenly, Hog looked up, and spoke in a tone that
made Sandarus wish that he would have yelled at him. “He jumped in front of the
arrow,” said Hog, and Sandarus noted no anger in his voice, although, that didn’t
mean anything, he was sure, “Because you were going to shoot it at ME!” “You don’t understand,” responded
Sandarus, suddenly angry, “You’ll never understand. All the pain. Falcun. Look,”
said Sandarus, “we can cut each other’s heads off later, all right? He’s still
alive” he continued, noticing they both glanced down at the figure, “And I’m
damn sure he isn’t getting any healthier by us standing here and slapping each
other.” Hogar seemed to hesitate, then nodded. “We’ll go to Rilos. A suitable
healer shouldn’t be far. But when all this is over, when Zuthis is healed, you
have a god damn lot of explaining to do…” Hog’s voice trailed off and he looked
down at the figure, “And so does he. I’m no master in magic, but I’m sure some
kind of spell of his should buy us some time, at least until we get to Rilos.”
Only when he said it the second time did it really impact Sandarus. “RILOS? Are
you insane? That’s still a day’s travel from here! We’ll never get there in
time!” “Correction, actually,” said Hog, lifting up Zuthis delicately with the
greatest of ease, “you won’t get
there in time. I, on the other hand, will be there in an about an hour.” “About
a ho-ARE YOU INSANE!?” cried Sandarus? But a tornado of dust followed by a
coughing fist cut him off. He looked at his side to continue his sentence, but
Hog, as well as half-dead man was gone. Looking around, flustered, a tornado of
dust on the horizon answered his question. Scurrying off as fast as he could,
he wondered how long it would take him to get to Rilos, compared to Hogar.
Discarding his cape in the nearby grass, now barely suited to be called a cape
any more, he continued trying his best to match the giant’s speed. He couldn’t
come close. The behemoth was still so far ahead that he could barely see him. A
stunning fact suddenly hit Sandarus as he increased his speed to his best
ability once more. Finishing his calculations, Sandarus was amazed. Despite the
fact that the man would probably kill him
after (or if, he added grimly)
Zuthis recovered, he smiled, and even laughed out loud. According to his recent
discovery, to reach Rilos in a few hours, like the man said, he would have to
go roughly 200 decmilus, roughly
translating into over 50 miles per hour.

A sport that
wizards love, well, I must say,



It’s an
obvious one; they play it all day!



They summon
Diricrawl, and Griffins, and Graphorns, and sprites,



These brawls
go on for long, long nights.



The thing
most people do not understand, they are unaware;



When they
hear it, their mouths droop down and they stare,



“Ignorant
muggles!” Most wizards would say,



But when
they heard the news, they too would sway,



The secret
I’m trying to tell you, here it is, with no further stall,



These fierce
animals they fight with are no more than half a foot tall.