A Man sat in a dark corner of a massive hall, listening to his fellow elders bicker. He folded his hands and placed them on his chin, feeling the week old beard that had formed since he arrived the meeting. Shadows cast by the blazing furnace in the middle of the great hall rippled across the walls. The arguing of the elders continued until it was unbearable. Seizing his chance, the man stood from the shadows and spoke. “Azraell has grown stale. Fires burn, waves toss, wars spread like a disease. Few are the places where one can find peace. I advise you, brothers, like I have for many years, seek council from the Vralell. Perhaps they could give us passage to—”
“The Vralell have forgotten our pact Ron, son of Cor.” Interrupted a haggard old elder that stooped before an ancient looking map. He turned to face Ron, the fire execrated a crude scar that ran across his face from his left eyebrow down to his chin. A mocking smile twitched on the corner of his thin lips. “You should know that best of all.”
“Quit Steren!” demanded a deeper, more powerful voice that came from a younger man that had been pacing up and down the hall before. “We do not need your bitter speech. If you want to delude this council with foul language then get out!” the young man pointed a gloved finger towards two massive, iron-bound doors. “You can preach to the people of Therum.” The Steren growled and rolled up the sun-parched map. As he walked past the younger man, he looked him in the eye.
“You are nothing like your father.” Spat the old man. The younger seemed not to notice.
“Steren, we will need that map.” Even as the calm elder spoke, Steren was opening the twin doors. But there was no need. A torrent of wind ripped the doors off their ancient, iron hinges. Steren was thrown across the whole hall, and smacked against the far wall, to fall to the ground lifeless. An earth shattering roar split the air, causing every man to fall the ground clutching his ears.
“Wind wyvern!” One of the elders shouted in horror. All but one groveled on the ground. The young man, battling the sever wind, shouted out to his fellow elders.
“Up! Up! We must fight!” Most of the young man’s voice was lost in the wind.
“No use!” shouted Ron, shoving himself to his feet. “Eight men can’t take on a full grown wyvern!! A colossal black tale smashed through the roof of the massive stone hall. Giant stone slabs crashed all around the hall, like huge hail stones. Two elders were smashed and tree more badly injured. Ron and the young man took refuge in a cave like formation, made by the smashed roof. Screams from elders, added two the sound of crumbling cobblestone sounded in dreadful harmony with the roars of the gale dragon. “My king, may I advise you to flee.” The young man studied Ron with grave understanding, his brow wrinkling with worry.
“You know the price of nightwalking.”
“Yes, but it must be done. You have to survive…no matter the cost.” Ron seamed pained as he spoke, but continued on strong. “Do you know the words?” the one called king shook his head in an affirmative. “Place your right palm on my forehead.”
“Ron, I’m not sure if—”
“Just do it!” Ordered Ron. The younger man did as he was told, then looked for a sign to proceed. Ron nodded.
“IKKA A’NADA!” shouted the king. Shadows burst out of Ron and circled around the younger man. Whipping his hair and cloths into a hurricane. The shadows grew thicker and thicker, then finally they lifted, reviling that the man was gone. Ron, seeing that all was done, closed his weary eyes for the last time.
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Eldersons
FantasyCorron Copperfield. A young boy, who knows nothing of riches, magic, or his heritage. He is brutally thrust into the life of a wanderer by the death of his parents, but has no idea what that means. Learning to survive is difficult in Azraell: kings...
