The Durink Chronicles

A Settling of Spirits

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the orange light of dusk across the frozen valley. Over the snowy mounds, a paved road trailed along. A lone traveler, sitting astride a black steed, trotted along. The traveler was adorned in furs, and on his back was a great sword, long and lethal. He wore a black beard on his jaw, and on his head was hair of the same color. It was shaved on the sides, revealing intricate blue tattoos. These marked him of noble birth and in a long forgotten language told his lineage.

The traveler was Brin Durink of the Durink Clan, reigning lords and ladies of the Eastern Isles. They were renowned for their strength, intelligence, and quick wit. Brin was the eldest of nine Durink children, and rivaled by only a few in talent or skill. He had ventured out on his own long ago and roamed the land of his own accord. his exploits often found him in many strange situations he often didn't desire to be found in. Brin contemplated this and hoped that this would not occur now.

Almost as if by divine intervention from the Jester God, a voice cried out: "Help!"

Brin cast his glance to the source of the cry. Bursting out from the forest was a young man, clad in leathers too short for his long body. He ran, his arms and feet pumping in desperation to escape from his unseen assailant.

"Somebody help me! Anyone!" he cried again.

Brin, with a sigh of exasperation, swung his leg over his horse and dismounted from his horse. The young man ran into Brin's arms and embraced him in a long gratuitous hug.

"Thank the gods! A person! Please, we must go now! I'm being chased!"

"I can see that," replied Brin, "but I can't see by who."

"Does it matter?" cried the gangly young man, "If we don't move now, then we're sure to both be dead!"

Brin looked at the young man sideways. He looked to be in his teenage years, hints of a beard, ill-shaven, growing along his jaw. He was tall; taller than Brin, but his posture suggested that he was not aware of it.

"Come on! Don't just stand there!" the gangly youg man said.

"I'm sure whatever it is, it'll be easily handled." Brin tried to assure him.

Suddenly the sky turned dark. Brin glanced at the sun and found that it's rays where now beinng suffocated by black clouds. The air grw colder, and the wind began to blow a harsh breath across his face. A screech pierced the silence. Brin snapped his attention to where it originated: the forest. From beyond the trees oozed an undulating green light.

Gliding across the earth came wraiths, brandishing spectral swords and rattling translucent chains. They moaned in eternal agony, tormented by sins of the past. They turned their attention toward Brin immediately and let out another shrill shriek.

Brin glanced back at the young man, who was already attempting to hoist himself up on Brin's horse. Brin, pushed him up the rest of the way, pulling himself up on the the horse. With a cry of urgency, a slapping of the reins, and two heels dug into the horses side, they were off down the road, a host of wraiths following quickly behind them.

The horse galloped hard against the wind. Brin did his best to keep the young man from falling off, while still trying to mainatain balance and a steady pace. The wraiths behind them howled their ravenous cry.

"Hurry! They're gaining on us!" the young man shouted.

Brin shook head frustratingly in reply.

A wraith, faster than the others, flew by them . It halted in front of their path and waved it's etheral sword in the air. In quick reaction, Brin drew his great sword. Even in the darkened sky, it glistened. He whipped it in an arc in front of him, swiping through the wraith. It exploded in a burst of ectoplasmic ash.