Blancslieth: Prologue to The Demise of Mourndream

Epilogue

Several hours later, when he had emerged from the Ebony Sea and the black cloud that stretched partway over it, Durven had dismounted Tempest in the grasses of the northern tundra. He had begun by picking out the pebbles that had been shot into his skin, reviewing what he had heard while stalking the compromised Maffe. These thoughts had led to others, and soon Durven collapsed to the ground and wept. Though he insisted later to himself that it was because of the grimness of the future, he knew it to be primarily the fault of Maffe's death. Several years had gone into adventures shared with the dwarf, and his absence would be missed terribly. Who else, then, would be his loyal friend and bodyguard in the years to come? A few moments of consideration determined the more realistic approach to the matter: Who else, then, would be there to reminisce about the adventuring days?

The minutes passed, and Durven's sobs subsided. Tempest had clopped nonchalantly away, grazing on the colorful weeds that spilled between the rocks, and Durven watched him numbly. Something Sallmunik had said flickered in his mind: "There are limits, love, to even the mightiest of empires, but I rejoice to inform you that this day is not one that we must fear. No mortal horse can outrun Jovandur's wolves..." Durven had not witnessed these wolves in his great escape, but he was incredulous of the suggestion that the crimson demon had been mistaken. Jovandur apparently harbored wolves in its black tunnels, and if Durven's presence was known of, they would have been made to hunt him down.

And yet the black valley before him was devoid of any life. The Ebony Sea lay motionless at the foot of the tumultuous Mountains of Dusk, unsuspecting and unexciting. Durven's eyes roamed across it, falling on the roiling shadows in the distance. If he strained, he could just hear the rising and falling groans of Mourndream through the whisper of the breeze in the grass and the gentle caress of birdsong. Or perhaps he was imagining it, and it would haunt him for the rest of his days. Either way, the fact remained that he saw no wolves, and this made him uneasy. Surely a population directed by one who could raise the dead would be able to sense his presence? When could he expect a retaliation?

Durven breathed deeply and stood. The sun was falling in the sky, and his supplies were almost nonexistent. He had to get back to Ordrobis before he was incapable of explaining his findings. The grass murmured softly as he trudged over to Tempest and mounted him, stretching his legs experimentally. As he edged his horse forward, Durven thought, Perhaps the Centaurs will be of assistance.

Behind him, in the heart of the Ebony Sea, there sounded a nearly inaudible howl.

If you liked this chapter, I would love it if you commented and explained why! Likewise, if you despised it entirely, I would love it if you commented and explained why! Also, thanks for reading. Again, it means a lot to me that someone would acknowledge my existence, however indirectly.