TRA: A Scarlett Tale

Chapter 1: White

Grodak

Grodak woke with a start that quickly caused him to clutch his wounds in pain. It had been a week since Grall had wounded him. A week of Grodak sliding in and out of consciousness . A week since... Grall's death.

Grodak grimaced as the memories returned. His eyes scanned the room unseeing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus his eyes on anything. Bits and pieces slowly came into focus as Grodak forced himself to calm down.

His armor that lay on the floor was just thrown without care. His weapons leaned against the wall as if they were more important. For a moment, Grodak mused at how many weapons he had. He was a blacksmith and had crafted most of them, save for three.

These three he had managed to come by with the help of others, Grall being the one who helped with two of them. Milindar's sword, the Firnist was one. The second was the spear of DarkWater, a kingdom that resembles Whitewater, which had appeared from the aether. The spear had no real name and Grodak had taken to calling it Harstinor, after Talengar's mighty sword.

Then, sitting in front of the rest of the weapons, rested his new weapon. The green sword with a thousand minds. The sword he had used to slay Grall.

Grodak had no memories of what happened afterwards and had hoped he had only sent him back to the Shadow World, a dimension that is meant to house the souls of the fallen orc warriors. Grodak thought back to when he had first awoke in this bed, calling out for Grall. Grall never showed and all his screams did was bring Xierma and others running.

Xierma, his wife, married in secret for fear of how the council would use it. As Grodak's mind wondered to Xierma he heard a quiet sob and looked down to find her asleep at the foot of his bed.

Grodak sighed, he had wished she was in his arms right now, but it would take another couple of days for his wounds to become bearable enough to stand. The healers had done all they could to ease his pain, some even said he wouldn't make it through the first night. They had done all they could and that left Grodak with one choice to be healed, magic. Magic had caused the wound to linger, where normally he would've healed in a matter of hours. Magic seemed to possibly be the only thing that would heal the wound.

Grodak felt sleep coming to take him and lifted his arm to the side. He had once been able to pull Grall from wherever he was through the Shadow World, but he now found his hand empty. Grall wasn't in the Shadow World, nor was he on Xeno-Movia. Grall was finally dead and Grodak found himself wanting his little brother back.

Drillohiem

Drillohiem stood on the outskirts of Whitewater, his boots caked in snow. It had been a week in the material realm since his father, Grall, had passed away, but for Drillohiem, it had been a year.

The night Grall had been killed by Grodak, now refered to as the Night of Green Amber, a green light shined in the spirit realm, bright and magnificent, or so he had been told. Drillohiem had not been given the chance to see the light. This was not due to any outside interventions or the fact the light did not show itself to him. It was because Drillohiem was the source of the light.

None of the elder elves, not even the bohemians, a race that had mastered the inner workings of the aether, could tell him how it had happened. The best any could come up with was that Grall, as he took his last breath, made a mental connection with Drillohiem. This theory came about after Drillohiem realized, he had all of Grall's memories, even those Grall didn't know he had.

He knew, the moment he gained Grall's memories, he needed to leave the spirit realm and take his rightful place in the material realm. This involved a long year of traveling through the upper layers of the spirit realm to find a portal that lead to the material realm. During this travel, he had lost his weapon, his elven armor was destroyed, and he was forced to wear the clothing of men.