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

Chapter 19








The man in the black cape was
suddenly bawled over by what appeared to be a man carrying something on his
shoulder. Swearing while brushing off dust from his shoulder, he began to yell
out a sharp remark to the man. He then noticed that the person was rather tall,
and thought better about it. He was yelling out something about a healer.
Rolling his eyes and making a gesture with his hand, he walked away. Suddenly,
he froze, and a smile crossed his lips. He had just had an idea. About damn time, he said to himself
sarcastically. Turning on the spot, he began to walk up to the man, but was
suddenly approached by someone else. “You,” the man said, sticking his finger a
little too close to his face, “come with us.” Too confused about what had just
happened, he allowed himself to be taken by the two men, the second one
apparently coming out of nowhere. Composing himself, he began thinking about
what the hell was happening. Despite his newfound strength because of the spell
earlier, he could not struggle out of the grasp of the two men. He was suddenly
blind folded, which caused him to groan. Not
again!, he thought in anger. The blindfold was thankfully cheaply made,
allowing him to have a vague idea of where he was. Sensing the world suddenly
darken around him, he deduced that he as either in an alley, or, worse, a
structure. What in the name of Dread is
going on!?, he yelled in his head. Then, suddenly, someone removed his
blindfold (a little more roughly then needed). He groaned again. He was in a
rather dark alley, much out of sight of the main streets, surrounded by several
men, one of them fairly taller than the others. That was the man that stepped forward.
He walked up to him, and coiled his fist, as if he were about to punch him.
He had several spells at his lips in less than a second. The man brought down
the fist, but rather then punching him, he put his hand on his shoulder and
started laughing. The others started laughing too. Confused and flustered, he
also started laughing uneasily. Then, then man spoke, and instantaneously, the
alley fell silent. It seemed even the rodents and Spider-mantis obeyed the
leader. “Tell your boss,” he boomed, “that the job is almost done. Almost,” he emphasized that word,
“because that short sfickus managed to escape our grasp once. He won’t do it
again.” Trying to get his bearings, he calculated that it was best to just
agree, or disagree, where ever it seemed necessary. “We want our payment in
coin,” he continued, “And did your boss say anything about a bonus?” He gulped
nervously. They had asked him a direct question. He would have to speak, and do
it well, for that matter. Pretending to cough, he tried to think of a response.
Then he responded, “I don’t think so. I remember him saying, ‘A good target is
a dead target, by knife, arrow or alcohol poisoning’ or something along those
lines. Just finish the job and you’ll receive your…err…payment.” He held his
breath to see if he was convincing. He was. “Very well,” said the man, almost
seeming disappointed, “We shall contact you soon. I’ll take care of this target
personally, after the fail of my henchman,” he said, looking accusingly at one
man, who shrunk inside himself, “This man had the nerve to break into a castle,
eavesdrop on a conversation of a king, then escape? Horrible. No one else can
do this except me.” “W-well,” he said finally, “as long as you take out the
fellow as fast as possibl-““Speed, then, eh? So there is a bonus,” he said, eyeing the man in the black cape
suspiciously. “I-I guess so, I’m so sorry I forgot I-” “It doesn’t matter,”
said the man, laughing, and slapping him on the back, which caused him to
almost topple over. “Though, speed is a
difficult one. Mistakes cost money in these. You,” he barked, pointing at the
man he had looked at before, “you have
one more chance. Fail to complete the contract, and you’re out, got it?” Not
even speaking, the man nodded and flew off into a direction. “You may leave
now, thank you for your…time,” he
said, chuckling slightly. He bowed, and began to take off, but was blocked.
“One more thing. About the blindfold…err, sorry about that,” added the leader,
scratching the back of his neck, “Our area is king of…Not known by others. If
you saw the area, it would be unacceptable,” he finished. The man in the black
cape had had enough. He ran a good distance away from the group before they had
time to notice, and yelled, “Etheralium
Completius!” A blinding light enveloped the otherwise dark alley, and then,
the man was gone. Frustrated, the man knew either way that he had to complete
the job. He WOULD get paid. They searched throughout their whole area, but
could not find the man. Though, some men, who he thought were going insane,
heard murmuring coming from nowhere about a particular place where he’d give
him the money.


The culture of gfhii has a few more
interesting facts that have not so far been mentioned. One of their most
powerful weapons, actually, is not a weapon at all. When a child is born,
something interesting happens. Not at first, but in long term. The baby grows
much faster than any species to date, therefore, before one snowfall of a
human, a baby gfhice may be fully grown, equal to about eighteen human snowfalls. Therefore, in about four to five months,
a baby is already ready to fight in a war battle. Unfortunately, until the base
camp for war was settled, no children were allowed to be born. When they
arrived there, the men (humans still find it extremely difficult to tell the
difference between the male and female, though they do notice there is a
slightly different color to their rags, and the males have a much colder touch)
set up the tents, and get ready for the battle, while the women flutter around,
sharpening weapons, repairing armor, making nourishment, and, of course, taking
care of a baby, if needed. Having children is actually encouraged after they
arrive, as it gives new and powerful arms for the battle. All this did not
matter for the newly born baby, Rushak, however. The group was still on their
sail to Drakar, and this baby, although unknown to all, was going to be killed.
The High Oracle’s powers were not revealed until the child grew, so therefore
there was no way of knowing any of this at all. It may be cruel to kill the
newly born children on the voyage, but there is a strict rule, and if broken,
there was no other way. A baby was too much of a burden on this harsh trek. The
parents were crying loudly on the floor as the baby was ripped out of their
hands and held over the sea. Doing this particular job was considering a
punishment, given to anyone who disobeyed fairly important rules (the more
serious ones involved you getting thrown over yourself…). Ghfii cannot swim,
you see, their heavy cloths dragging them down. There was a spell hum of loss,
then the baby was rose even higher by the grim gfhice, then dropped into the
darkness of the Arbin Sea. For a split second, the baby was on the surface, it’s
happy eyes and smile looking up at them all. Then it sunk under the waves. All
was not lost, however. For, the baby had not instantly been thrown overboard.
The mother had forced a trial for the baby’s suvival. She had lost, of course.
But it had given her child time. Just enough time. Just enough time for a
certain organ to click inside the baby’s body, giving him the unintentional but
powerful ability to cast one particular spell. Teleportation.





Dreadnar was fully prepared for war
now, and most people were so confident that they city would win, that they
continued their daily routine, passing around the catapults and large patrols
of soldiers as if they weren’t there. Regius had to admit, the war had given
him time to rest and gather all his thoughts. It had stopped the torturing
trials, at least temporarily, and it had knocked the barons and dukes off their
high horse, making them shut up, finally, which Regius was grateful for. Also,
probably the most appreciated by him, everyone was too busy to care about a
small twitch the king had, therefore no more mental institutes. Which, gladly,
earned to less bruises on his knuckles. He had given up on the prisoner. He
hadn’t killed him, of course, but there was simply no reason to visit him any
longer. He was sure he’d see a lot more soon enough. He had chosen a new Elite
Guard Captain, which obviously had not been easy. His name was Ghulin or
something like that. Strong, fast man, but sometimes leaps before he looks. Ah well, he thought, in his usual place
on his throne with a glass of wine, that’s
life, eh? I better enjoy the calm before the storm before I get struck by
lightning. As he was basking in
the sunlight that was flooding
through the bright windows, a man in a white suit approached him. He didn’t
even let the man start. He picked up the glass of wine, and ‘spilt’ it all over the poor man, then slammed it
into his face. The man ran off, dropping a card in his wake. Rolling his eyes,
he read the card. ‘Your most revered
majesty! There has been a secret vote you have not been aware of, and your
approval rating is one-hundred percent! Congratulations! They really love you!
Please accept this supply of the finest wine in-‘ “Oh, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”
Regius yelled, and ran after the man at full speed.

Chapter 20





Hogar paced the small room
impatiently as his best friend was in the hand of some unknown man. He had been
approached by him while he had been asking (rather loudly) for a healer, and,
seeing as he had no other choice, accepted the stranger’s help. There was one
thing that bothered him, however. The mage did not mention payment. They always mention payment. That made him
very uncomfortable. That, and the fact that the healer who approached him was
wearing an extremely black cloak, while most (if not all) wore white. He
continued to pace, continuously forgetting to duck where the ceiling declined.
The result was a rather large brown bump on his head. Hog did not notice,
however. He was just too jittery, full of questions. The man had shut him out
of the other room, because he would not keep quiet, but that didn’t discourage
him whatsoever. He needed to know so many answers to so many questions! Was
Zuthis alive? Was he ok? Did he get there fast enough? The latter was the one
that hurt him the most. Even though he was not the one that killed Zuthis…He
could not get over the fact that he may die (again) because he didn’t get there
fast enough. He may have let him down a second time, and he may die because of
that, the second time. This brought up another flurry of questions, which temporarily
distracted him from the grief. What the hell was Zuthis doing here? How’d he
come out of nowhere and save Hogar’s life? More importantly, why isn’t he dead? He had confirmed it
with Sandarus. His best friend, a powerful Shadow Chaneller, died in the
prison, apparently killed himself from madness, right in front of Sandarus.
Anger boiled inside him. That sfickis! He killed Zuthis once, and now he kills
him again! Once again, however, another blizzard of questions cemented over his
feelings. Where was Sandarus now? What caused him to let go of the arrow? Why
did he come here to look for Hog in the first place? By now, the growing lump
on his head was getting painful, so he decided to sit down. From past
experiences, Hogar made sure to sit on the floor
this time, not a chair. He put his head in his hands and almost cried. He
barely handled the last time, he recalled grimly, picturing the deadly stain on
his carpet. He just couldn’t handle it again. He knocked slowly on the door,
and the man looked out, obviously annoyed. Hog stated that he was going out for
a while, and the man nodded in what almost seemed to be relief.





Strolling around town, Hog picked a
suitable place to sit down. He pictured Zuthis, his face now deathly white, and
how he would react to how Hog was acting. He would not accept it. He just
wouldn’t. As Hog forced Zuthis into bars, Zuthis forced Hog to take a happy
spin on life, the grim things making you stronger. Yeh, said Hogar ironically, and
look how that turned out for you. Dead, and previously imprisoned for something
that was hardly your fault. Nevertheless, Hog refused to be weak. As he
walked into the bar, he suddenly started laughing so hard that some people near
him recoiled in alarm. Wiping a tear from his eye, he looked again at what made
him laugh, and started laughing again. For all that was there, was the name of
the bar. Nothing funny about it, at least to no one who had been to Dreadnar
before. Still laughing, he made his way inside, and started chatting with
people. Suddenly, he remembered why he had came to Rilos originally. It had
been to look for a job. Talking with some old friends he noticed, he looked up
at the sign and mentioned it to them. They shrugged. Hogar said it was an
inside joke and they wouldn’t understand. Then someone muttered about being
amazed that Hogar understood anything, and everyone, even Hogar burst out into
a laughing fit. He started talking about his ever-so-distant life in Dreadnar,
with Zuthis, as an extremely successful mercenary gang, and what had happened
that fateful night. When he had paused to catch his breath at the part where he
had sold his establishment, he noticed that every eye in the bar was on him,
interested, wanting more. He then continued, and they laughed and clapped when
he told them his battle with the thieves. They shook in anticipation when he
talked about how he had been in captivity, and how one man had acted like a
group of forest rangers, firing arrows in rapid succession, and the two
escaping into the night. They then fell silent when he told about Sandarus
drawing his arrow and the twinge of madness in his voice, and some people
actually wept when he told of Zuthis’ heroic deed of safety. Finishing up,
people laughed in amazement when they heard how far and fast he had traveled to
save his friend, and then he basically said this is where he ended up. When he
finished, everyone was silent, then someone called out, “Hey! I thought you said
that bloke, Zuthis died, but then he saves ‘ou! What’s up wit’ that?” Hogar was
expecting this question, but still didn’t have an answer. He tried to choose
his words carefully. “Aye, that’s what I’m trying to find out myself, isn’t it?
As soon as my friend heals, he has quite a bit to answer to.” By now, it was
far past closing time, and the owner, who he himself had been subdued by the
story, snapped up and yelled that the show was over and to clear out. His
friends patted him on the back and said they’d be here tomorrow, and a few
people shook his hand in congratulations. Ah,
he thought, a smile cracking his face in two, Now this is what Zuthis meant. The happiness, it just…It just feels
so…Great! I won’t, I swear to Dread, I won’t give up Zuthis, and you won’t
either! Looking back one more time, he started laughing furiously again. For
the name of the inn was something that we have heard before, or similar to it
at least. The name of the inn was the Platapurrien
Puffer.





Hazul was awoken by a rather
unpleasant sensation. It was not the annoying chime of a bird, or the loud
slamming of a door. Nor was it the loud thump of feet on stairs, nor a
loudmouth announcing something noisily. It was a knife at his throat. He was
instantly awake, but common sense told him not to move or open his eyes. He
waited, just until the knife slackened somewhat… “NOW!” He yelled, to throw off
his attacker. He brought both his legs up, successfully hitting the man in the
stomach. He then opened his eyes, and looked at the man on the floor. He had no
time to examine him thoroughly, however, because the man quickly recovered, not
leaping on his feet, but knocking Hazul off his own. He swept the ground with
his feet, bringing Hazul on the floor. Before he could counter, the man had pinned
him to the ground effectively, preventing Hazul to move at all. From this
close, Hazul once again saw the gold emblem on the inside of the man’s (now
trampled) cape, and wondered what it was. The man’s arrogant voice cut him out
of his thoughts. “The last time, I almost got away with your money, eh?” He
said, taking out his knife once more. “But now, when I kill you, I’ll have
something a lot more valuable.” He bent down, and brought the knife once more
next to his throat. Hazul could smell ale. “Satisfaction,” he breathed. Using
his one free foot, he slammed his heel against the leg of the table, successfully
knocking it down, and he cautiously reached out with one hand. Reaching it, for
a split second, Hazul was free, then he was almost knocked out by the force of
a table crashing down on him. He then realized what the attacker had done. He
was on the table itself, now on him, leaving him out of breath, weak, and no
hope of escaping. He was finished. Hazul rolled through his options, and noted
grimly that there weren't any. “W…Why?” was all that he could manage. The man
barked a laugh. “You know too much, sfickus. You shouldn’t be in places you
aren’t supposed to be…Especially,” No…It
can’t be…., thought Hazul suddenly, all the answers rushing in. “The
PALACE!” yelled the man, once again slamming down the table with doubled force,
knocking what little breath that was in Hazul out of him. “You see, I’m not
from around here…” continued to assassin, obviously content on having the
stage, “I had to travel quite far, actually. Fortunately, a magician is much
more…Compatible then you brutes. Traveling past the sea was an ease.” The sea?! Who is this guy!, Hazul
though. “I almost lost my job because of you,” added the man, obviously wanting
to end his speech with something dramatic, “but now I’ll make up for it, you
don’t mind, do you? Buh Bye!” He knew it was over, and he was saddened by it.
All the things he was planning to do in the new lands, all the adventures, he
had never even thought about marriage…It would never even come close. The man
then removed another blade, apparently hidden in his sleeve, twisted them
around in his hand, and slashed them across Hazul’s neck, delivering a fatal
and absolute blow.

Chapter 21








` You may have forgotten about old
Sandarus, but yet the man is still there. Unfortunately, he still had not
arrived in Rilos by the time that Hogar had given Zuthis to the healer, so he
was in a rather grumpy mood. He had given up running, now just walking and
trying to think of something to do, rarely resting, and even more rarely
setting up camp. Then again, he wasn’t sure if he himself even wanted to get to
Rilos. That man was going to kill him when he got there. But it wasn’t his
fault. The arrow…He did not intend to release it. He did admit that he had lost
his temper, but still, he was not going to kill Hogar over it. The thing that
had caused him to release the arrow…it was not intentional. It was because of
the figure that he now believed was Zuthis. But…The face had not been that man’s
face at first. It had been another’s. It had been Falcun’s. How and why were
beyond him, and he curse himself, fully believing that he was facing the first
steps to insanity. Hog could not kill him, he reasoned, because he saved his
life, and either way, he would explain to him why he had released the arrow.
But then again, he continued, this entirely depended on Zuthis’ survival or
not. He was fully prepared to return to Dreadnar before he even met Hog if he
heard of the man’s death beforehand. As he was thinking about all this, another
thing popped into his mind. The cloak that the man had been wearing. It was the
exact same color as Falcun’s. Then, something else came into mind too. The
cloak of the man he had assaulted to save Hog was identical as well. Then,
something hit him. He remembered now. Why, a few days ago, he had been paralyzed
when he saw the thief and Hogar had to pick him up and save his life in turn.
That face had also been Falcun’s. He clutched his head and stopped walking,
collapsing to the ground. How could he be going insane? Was it the grief of his
brother’s death? Or…the guilt? He almost started to cry, and didn’t know what
to do. How could he continue if he was insane? He was damn sure he was, because
dead people don’t reappear a few times after they die. He remembered vaguely of
how he had first found Falcun deathly injured on the street, a pale man in a
black cloak running towards him and calling out. Did that man do it to him? Was
it his fault? “Who knows,” he said bitterly to himself, getting up and
continuing to walk, “the damned man could be on the other side of the continent
by now. I’ll never find him.” Sandarus was wrong, as you probably know. The man
in the black cape was far from where Sandarus said, and he was also wrong about
probably never finding him again. Because it just so happens there’s a healer
in Rilos with a black cape identical to the one mentioned previously.








As Regius collapsed into his chair
once again after a rather long marathon job after the prize-giver, he was
determined to let people speak from now on. The man had fortunately forgiven
Regius, and had understood the stress he was under and how many healers had
approached him in recent times. Although the man had ‘forgotten’ to give him
the wine, he was not greatly disappointed. Suddenly, a crash interrupted his
thoughts. A man had just collapsed on a table near him. However, the man had
not been in the room a few seconds ago. Nor did it look like he had. His clothes
were ripped, and it looked like he had not seen nourishment for days. Regius
walked up to him hastily, ordered food and drink for the man, and waited. When
the man was ready to discuss what had happened, the king accepted it with grim acknowledgement.
He gave the man enough coin to let him live out the rest of his life wealthily
(but, who knows how long that will be, Regius added under his breath). The news
was not good, however. It was actually very bad. Sighing, he brought up a
servant and her to set up a meeting with the royals in the area. Might as well
be ready for one, reasoned Regius. When the meeting started several hours later,
Regius made sure to close all the windows first.








The rows of guard and captains lined
up to honor the dead man. They all wore, instead of black, the bright red color
of Falcun’s cloak. Sandarus was among them, and wearing his dark blue cape, he
felt uneasy. The ceremony began, and, after the grim music, one by one, they
approached the body and said a prayer of respect or a message to the one who
passed away. Sandarus was last, because funerals made him uncomfortable. When
he approached the body, he recoiled in horror to discover that the dead man was
actually his brother, Falcun. But looking closer, he realized it was not
Falcun, but Zuthis, his face deathly pale, an arrow and a sword protruding his
body. Stepping back in horror and disgust, he looked around to discover that
the other people had deathly white skin as well. They all began to walk towards
him in a hypnotic fashion. They then stopped a few feet away, and suddenly,
Hogar appeared. He was followed by Zuthis and Falcun. Falcun had his eyes shut
the way Sandarus had last seen him, and, to his horror, Zuthis no longer had
the arrow or the sword in his body, but now there was just two, great, gaping holes.
He reached out and moved his arm through it in amazement, but suddenly, the
wounds healed and Sandarus’ arm was trapped in Zuthis’ body. He tried to pull
is out in horror, and suddenly, it came out, but looking at it, he realized
that his arm was now dead, as was Zuthis and Falcun. They began moving towards
him again, and, looking closer, he saw the king as well. They were all dead.
Killed by his sword and arrow. He ran in terror, but when he reached the gate,
he acknowledged that it was shut. Then, looking again, it was not shut, it actually
was not there at all, but a huge, massive chasm. Looking down through it, he
saw dimly at the bottom a bone dagger. He tried to reach it, but his arm was
too short. He turned around, and was gazing into the eyes of Falcun. Only,
there weren’t any eyes. Just empty sockets. Them the rest of them approached.
They had no eyes as well. Only he had eyes, but then, his too fell out, rolling
on the floor into the abyss. Then, the lifeless corpses raised one hand,
pointed at him, and began to laugh. It was a cold, terrifying laugh. An insane
laugh. Sandarus looked around, trying to escape. Then, he began to scream.
Only, it wasn’t a scream, it was an insane, horrifying laugh like the rest. He
tried to shut his mouth, but Falcun walked up and ripped his mouth open, so he
could not stop. He clutched his head, begging it to stop. He began to pull out
his hair, only one clump wouldn’t come out. He pulled and pulled, and finally
it gave away, but he noticed in terror that he had also pulled out his own
head. Then, Hogar walked up and took the head away. He could still see,
however. He saw them all standing there, his head in Hogar’s hands, laughing.
His head was laughing as well, even without a mouth. He then looked back down at the dead hand
that was attached to his arm. It had begun to rot. It suddenly came to life and
grabbed a sword from out of the king’s body, and gutted Sandarus with it.
Sandarus collapsed, dead, but then rose again, among the ranks of the bodies,
and began to laugh.





He woke up screaming and in a cold
sweat. Clutching his head in his hands (gently), he cursed himself for these
horrific dreams that had began to plague him the past day or so. No matter what
he did, they always came back. And, as if this was not enough, the dreams were
always new, and each more terrifying then the last. He put his head in his
hands, but suddenly he felt something drop into them. Looking down in his
hands, he saw two eyes. He began to scream again, as white bodies began to
appear around him. They all started laughing. Determined to endure this dream,
he stuck his hand in the fire, to prove himself wrong. He withdrew it in a yell
of pain that was actually laughter. His hand did not become burnt, however. It
had become deathly white, and the whiteness started to spread from his hand to
his whole body. Cursing the flame, he was stunned to see that it was not actually
the color of fire, but a deathly white with a blue-ish hue. Sandarus realized in horror something that he
had feared from the moment he had woken up. It had not been a dream. It was
real.