Chapter 1: (Part 4) Rise of the Fallen

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Out to the far reaches they headed, and as they continued their travels west, they approached the small town of Riversedge. Standing at the edge of a well-known river.

Zoran took a long sigh.

"What must we do?" He asked, slouching his back, looking to the river side. "Derek doesn't need us. We stand alone like the shadow of a single being."

They looked into the waters, giving away their reflection. You see, neither would be recognized as brothers for their appearance varied greatly. Theodren was always known for having broad features, long dirty blonde wavy hair resting upon his shoulders in a messy heap like a lion's mane, with thick muscular arms able to crush a warrior's skull in a single bash! On the battlefield, his valor was always devoted to his strength. Zoran was considered lower than him. Despite being a few years past the earliest age one would be accepted to fight, he looked like a juvenile, a young and soft face. No woman would look to him for protection solely by his looks, unlike his brother. He had short dark brown, straight, and combed hair. His hair was clean, clear as untouched skin. With a height just below the average man, it's likely many were surprised to know he was of such a high rank in the King's court prior to their abrupt leave. Well...besides the fact of how shocked they would've been to find out they're brothers. His very shape was fragile and innocent. Small bangs hung like vines over his face; a few gently shading his ebony brown eyes.

They continued looking at the river, its flow of peace the only joy to be found then.

Then came a screech. It frightened them immensely. They brought their heads up, quickly alert and looking in both directions.

It sounded like the voice of a donkey that traveled a thousand miles in a desert as though it was covered in sweat from the inside out, but they didn't know where it came from.

Soon, the appearance grew more clear..... An old man? Surely it must be some exhausted animal! Oh the sounds he made.... Though surprisingly, despite all that nonsense; the man managed to be beside three others: a young elf girl, a scout, and a knight.

"Zoran! Theodren!" The man said with haste and a dry throat. He was pale, elder, with dark grey hair, long and silky smooth despite the dirt and sweat stains on it. Despite his age, he was no cripple. His heart seemed to be bound by honor, heroism, and courage. His armor was cloaked in abundance to what seemed like the skin and scales of dragons, a bone coloration from the top of his shoulders to the bottom of his feet.

"Many terrible things had happened." The man was slow to mention, falling on his knees, his dry throat making him begin to sound incoherent.

"What is it, Carrion? Please, tell us." Zoran said eagerly. The man's head was held down at that moment. In the brothers perspective it looked more like they were observing a child than a mentor, just by how depleted of energy he was.

"Ashfield has been demolished!" He nearly collapsed in front of them.

The two stood shocked. The members behind him stood motionless, seeming as concerned as he was.

"A few others and I were the only ones to survive it."

"What?" Theodren asked, as he stood with a puzzled facial expression. "Who would do such a-" He was cut off.

"Almar," Carrion replied as he began to cough. "The ancient legend we were told as children."

"What?" Zoran stood shocked.

"I don't believe it. A man can't come back from the dead. He's been long gone for centuries." Theodren crossed his arms. "Has it been this long that you decide to play games at our next meeting? Surely you've grown past that by now."

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