Out of the Hallow book one: REVISED

Chapter 7: Same became mighty which were of old

"Take off your boots, Warrior Eddipus. You're moving on my holy realm." Onaveve spoke, her words wrapping in a soft, mesmeric rhythm around Eddipus' consciousness, taking hold, refusing to release. His heart hammered as he wrestled against her control, driven by an urgent, primal need. With each attempt at resistance however, he found himself sinking deeper, giving into her charm.

"Yes, Goddess Onaveeve." The muscular elven warrior with broad-shoulders found himself unlacing his boots, feeling the chill of the forest trail under his bare feet.

His gaze was drawn to the black-stained stonework walls looming ahead.

The unease crept around him. He yearned desperately for peace, to break away, yet every step he took seemed to strengthen her hold. The subtle interwoven fear wrapped itself around him like a palpable, warm blanket.

"By taking them off, you're leaving behind your identity, a little bit of yourself. When approaching the divine, you don't need boots or tools. You sense the dimension you're in'" She paused, smiling at him with a sinful sneer. "...and be with your Goddess." She lingered on the phrase.

Eddipus stood at the edge of a glen in the North, where the leaves had turned sickly white, and the bark of trees were petrified pale with death.

Her form was seductive, a false Goddess garbed in the guise of a Dryad.

"Come..." She beckoned, her voice laced with honeyed venom.

Eddipus had never felt the temptation or deception of pure evil incarnate, not like this. Or so he had thought. There was that whole incident at the Hallow, where he heard the dreaded words. "Endur Samuel." Ringing in his ears, causing him to forget... What? He wasn't sure. Whatever it was, was then. This was the here and now and his soul was in danger, caught in an uneasy, deadly, and sexual snare.

The air seemed to pulse with a raw energy, the kind that could sway the hearts of lesser beings. Eddipus had become a mere pawn to be played in the false deity's deception. The trials she set before him would be grueling both mentally and physically.

"Welcome to my lair'" She placed a hand on his arm. "Land of the dead, my home eternal in the North." He saw the upturned crenels on the dark, small tower, like an inverted spider fighting for its life.

His thoughts drifted to the Spiderling race Val warned about. 'If only I had listened.' Edddipus thought to himself, chastising his foolhardiness.

"If you are a true warrior of the Red, climb my tall tower walls." Eddipus had become tired. His and Val's journey thus far had been a weary one, but he was under her sway, now. Onaveeve was goading him, using his feats of strength for entertainment. He felt fatigued but couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.

He began to navigate the wall, clutching to each pathway, line, crack, cranny, and crease. Each grasp and pull became more exhausting than the last. Vision started blurring, sweat dripping, and legs bowing and straining against his might. The fabric of his very identity unraveled more thread by thread, leaving him bare against the cold tower of darkened stone. Yet, amidst the tempest of exertion, Hilda's image remained, faded but ever present, pushing the warrior on.

By the time Eddipus reached the top of the spire, he was more than exasperated. He turned and leaped to the roof only to see Onaveeve looking at him with a smile.

'How did she make it up here so quick?' Eddipus thought. Then she took him by his rough hands.

"Your heart betrays you, warrior," Onaveeve taunted, her words slithering like serpents.

Sweat pearled on Eddipus' brow, muscles tensing beneath his practical roughspun tunic.

"The elve awaiting your heart doesn't matter. I could do so much more." The allure of her words clawed at him, seeking to pry open the chambers of his loyalty, yet it was her face, Hilda's face that fortified his will.