In the shadowy grotto, Lisa and Hilda stood before the Darklings still entangled in Mirranda's delicate webs. Their glowing gazes flickered red with unease.
Samson's urgency was palpable. He demanded, "Where are our belongings? My prized scimitar and the Glenoid's swords?" His words echoed the escalating tension.
The Darkling nodded, guiding Samson's attention to an unremarkable box against the rugged stone wall. Samson approached, rough hands prying open the lid to reveal the gleaming metal of his warrior's blade. To him, it was more than a weapon; it was an intricate piece of himself, a work of art brimming with complex engravings and dented edges from battles past. As he traced the carvings with his fingers, a wave of pride enveloped him, his purpose and destiny in the weight of the scimitar. Despite the grotto's darkness, he felt comfort and light in the weight of his blade. He wanted to protect, he wanted to fight. His desires weren't complicated, only truthful and raw.
With a swagger, Tallik moved forward, exuding confidence and authority. "Listen up, Darklings. There's only one way out of this," he said, a cunning grin on his face. "I have a proposition for you."
Hilda and Lisa exchanged confused glances. What game was Tallik playing?
The captive beings squirmed in their bindings, their faces contorted with palpable frustration. Exchanging covert glances, they kept silent, waiting for Tallik's next move.
"Join us," Tallik demanded, his command cutting through the gloom like a flash of silver. "Stand with us against Cardamon when the moment arises, and we will free you from Mirranda's webs."
"Freedom?" one of the captured Darklings hissed, skepticism dripping from its voice. "What would Westerians, elves, Glenoids, and Spiderlings know about our struggle? The daylight chains us here. We can't fight out in the bleeding day!"
Mirranda retorted, suspended from the grotto's dripping ceiling, her black eyes locked on them. "Would you not prefer to meet your end in battle under the sun rather than rotting in a wet cave? Would you not choose to be warriors rather than insects caught in my web?"
Hilda's fingertips brushed against the cool metal of her necklace, a Vidian artifact of love. "You know, there are fates far worse than being turned to ash by the blazing sun," she said.
In response, Lisa clutched her own Vidian cross, its energy pulsing with a forceful ray that left blistering marks on their skin, a stark reminder of the silver within it.
"Please stop!" their desperate pleas echoed.
Lisa spoke with a calming and silky tone, moving the Vidian under her tunic. It glittered dangerously as she concealed it from the Darkling's gaze. "All of us, even you bandits, are threatened by Cardamon," she stated. "In these challenging times, we all require powerful allies."
"Your odds of enduring an onslaught improve in our company, compared to your current defenseless state, wrapped in webbing should they invade," Hilda supplemented.
The Darklings exchanged another uncertain look, acknowledging the dangers they'd face upon aligning themselves, and the grim alternative: a drawn-out demise by Vidian or confinement in a silken jail.
"Very well," one of them finally agreed, their voice shaky. "We'll join you. But remember, our loyalty isn't free."
"What's your price?" Lisa asked.
"Shelter from daylight," answered the Darkling, its gaze fixed on Lisa. "We need to escape the harsh sun if we're to fight alongside you."
Lisa considered their request as Tallik stepped forward, cloak absorbing the cave's shadows. "Don't worry," he promised, voice echoing in the cave. "I can provide sunlight-resistant cloaks for the battle."
"Agreed," one Darkling spoke up. "We accept, Tallik. We'll face Cardamon together." The cave brimmed with anticipation as Mirranda descended from the ceiling and undid her webbing on each of the Darklings. Lisa and Hilda readied their Vidians, a precautionary measure.
"By chance, does anyone know where we might find an elder elven master named Eddipus?" Tallik asked.
The Darklings shrugged and with their path decided, Lisa, Hilda, Mmuz, Syperion, Tallik, Mirranda, Timothy, and Samson readied to leave the shadowy depths of the grotto. The perilous path now seemed to lose its grip on darkness. The chilling blackness gave way to the blinding brilliance of sunlight.
They climbed a cliff until they reached a sandy beachhead. Crossing the sandy coast, they finally arrived at Seaside Alchov. They maneuvered past bustling dockyard workers, breathing in the aroma of freshly grilled fish near the docks.
The sound of lutes being strummed guided them to a troupe of minstrels displaying their talent. Mmuz addressed the foremost musician, his voice bearing traces of exhaustion. "Pardon me," he pleaded, "Have you chanced upon another like myself? A Glenoid named Low?"
The bard grinned, acknowledging, "Yes, the Chestme knight who swore fealty to Governor Veileen. They departed many weeks ago, accompanied by the Governor's wife, their son, a few loyal retainers, and an elven boy named Eddipus. They embarked on a journey for aid." Tallek scrutinized the bard skeptically, his pulse quickening as he tried to process the information.
"Thank you," Hilda said, her voice constricting under the weight of her growing unease. 'An elven boy?' she thought.
"It seems we are bound to Alchov until their return," Tallek acknowledged, his thoughts swirling with plans and possibilities. He was determined that they would uncover the answers they sought so fervently.
"Any chance we could find a place to stay?" Tallek asked, his gaze following the bard's hand as it swept toward a cluster of buildings, weather-beaten and sturdy. They were perched over the dock's water on wooden beams.
"Yonder is the Twin Armaments," the bard said. "A decent inn. Not free of charge, mind you," he added with a smirk. "The fire-haired twins, Eli and Mia, their names whispered within Alchov, paint a picture, reflecting their fight alongside the Rapha Rebels." continued the bard, his eyes far away. "Against Galith's reign."
"Eli and Mia," he muttered under his breath. The ripples on the water seemed to mirror his uncertainty. "We'd better tread lightly then," Tallik mused aloud.
****
The tranquil skies above Chestme's tower city were interrupted by the silhouette of a red dragon. Its scales gleamed like molten rock, a fascinating sight as it lowered onto the edge of a balcony where Nimmod stood, looking over the open glen. Startled and awestruck, Nimmod's reptilian eyes could not comprehend the incredible creature.
His heart pounded fearfully in his chest as the beast lowered its head, revealing an alluring and familiar figure perched on its back. Ramses descended from the dragon as if she were some divine goddess. Her eyes held the enchanting, glowing blue of Valaria. Nimmod breathed, reaching for her delicate hand and helping her down to the balcony.
"I present Abbadoth," Valaria said through Ramses, her eyes glinting as she motioned to the dragon. The beast rumbled in its throat, deep like a storm, "Salutations."
Nimmod stuttered in awe, "Abbadoth? King of Death?"
Through Valaria, Ramses held his gaze steady, confirming, "The same. He's chosen to join us."
"Join me," Nimmod urged, his thoughts whirling with the consequences of possessing such a formidable ally. He pivoted, his gaze lingering momentarily on the dragon before he led the way down a corridor away from Abbadoth. "A strategic meeting with my military heads is about to commence. Your presence would be appreciated."
As they traversed the grand corridors of Chestme, Nimmod felt the hefty expectations of his people bearing down on him with each stride.
With the Prism under his control and the support of the Valaria spirit, as well as Abbadoth, once the dread king of death and now a mammoth beast of burden, Nimmod pondered, 'Can we truly be defeated?'
The threat of war was inevitable, and some would try to exploit it for personal gain. An alliance formed out of diverse forces - lizard, spirit, and monster was united by their common ambition for power. Regardless of whatever price, it was worth it.
Entering a torchlit war room, Ramses took her seat at a table with four Glenoid leaders. Behind her stood two Chestme knights, serving as protectors to Lord Nimmod, who positioned himself on a magnificent throne between them.
But Ramses had a secret that not even Nimmod knew - she was armed, what's more the room's inhabitants seemed drunk like wine by her presence, thrown off balance by her blend of elegance and beauty.
The moon, casting an eerie shadow, pierced the war room's round window, mingling its glow with the flickers of torchlight.
"Esteemed commanders," Nimmod addressed, drawing attention to the impending conflict with Cardamon. One of the generals, a yellow scaled Glenoid named Shazzar who was a highly regarded Glenoid tactician known for his massive size sat heavily decorated. The chief strategist's muscular frame strained against his uniform adorned with numerous medals. He appeared displeased, about to burst a blood vessel even.
"We gather today to discuss our strategy for the upcoming battle against Cardamon and how best to use the prism weapon," Nimmod continued.
Ramses maintained a casual appearance even as the room buzzed with tension.
Shazzar stood, voicing his opposing view, scales shimmering in the dimly lit room. "Your Grace," he said, "Surely we must not rely on such a volatile and catastrophic force?"
It wasn't long before Azariah, the lead armaments designer, countered his argument. "Shazzar, your concerns are valid. However, we face an enemy that threatens to destroy us all, and our Lord Nimmod has never steered us wrong nor has his attaché. The prism weapon, though dangerous, may be the key to victory."
Nimmod observed their exchange silently, pondering their differing opinions while watching Shazzar. 'Does he not see the necessity of wielding such power?' he thought.
Anxiety grew heavier with each passing moment, until Shazzar broke the silence. "Your Grace, I understand the threat we face," he pressed on, his voice rising in defiance. "But this weapon is unpredictable and against nature. Are we to risk everything on this power instead of the might of our knights?"
"So," Ramses interjected, "we're supposed to trust the fate of Chestme on mere mortals on the battlefield? Might as well send them out blindfolded and unarmed like headless Merfolk."
"The prism weapon will be deployed, and we shall emerge victorious," Nimmod bellowed, silencing any further opposition.
Ramses felt the weight of the hidden knife against her thigh; her gaze shifted intently to Shazzar. Her heart pounded with anticipation. Her loyal devotion to Nimmod was unwavering; she would prove it if needed. 'I shall stand by him.' she vowed silently. Valaria quietly awoke, fighting against her beautiful violet eyes.
Shazzar sneered at the others in the room, his expression of disbelief evident. "Do you all agree with this madness?" he scoffed, sinking back into his chair. His face turned pale as he caught a glimpse of Ramses' cold, glowing blue eyes fixed on him.
"What is the battlefield?" she spoke. It was Valaria. "But a canvas of suffering. The prism can be its brush." She smirked. "Besides, Abbadoth's hunger is insatiable, and Cardamom could be the feast."
"Surely you don't mean to involve Chestme in the dark arts!" Shazzar protested, a look of horror crossing his face.
Ramses' lips unfurled into a soft smile, her body stretching as she stood, looking as if she'd awakened from a long nap. In some way, she truly had since Valaria now took full control once more.
In a swift motion, she vaulted onto the table, her fit curves casting an imposing shadow in the flickering torchlight. Her hand darted under her tight gown, fingers closing around the hilt of the dagger. As Nimmod and his knight's surprised gasps reverberated through the room, she lunged at Shazzar before he could fully register what was happening. Valaria's crazed decision was to strike relying on surprise and speed over Shazzar's brute strength. The blade found its mark in the Glenoid's throat. With an eerie silence, the moment felt suspended. As Ramses withdrew the knife - blood followed in an arc of crimson droplets that spattered across the room like morbid rain. Chaos erupted like a freefalling fireball. The two Glenoid knights stood at attention, holding fast to their pikes while watching in disbelief.
From her elevated position on the table, she dropped down and casually sauntered back to her seat.
The remaining Glenoids in the room collectively voiced their vehement disapproval, their emotions a palpable mix of terror and speechlessness.
"Silence!" Nimmod commanded, immobilizing the dismayed lizard-folk. He stood and approached Shazzar's body, silently lamenting the turn of events. The smell of blood hung heavy, a stark reminder of the price of an opinion. 'Is this what my rule had come to?' he thought. Then he looked into her unwavering gaze, seeing Valaria's desire for power and Ramses' staunch loyalty wrapped into one.
Nimmod recognized Ramses's blade – the wood handle, the curve. It was his own. He remembered forgetting it in her chambers.
"This is a lesson," Nimmod declared, expertly concealing his emotions and attempting to twist the circumstances to his advantage. "Cardamon will stop at nothing to destroy us. We must be equally ruthless." He paused to survey the faces of those gathered. "I repeat, we will not be defeated!" He returned to his opulent seat, trying to regain his composure. Valaria moved Ramses across the room with ordinary ease. As she approached him, she subtly tilted toward Nimmod, faint moonlight streaming through the window highlighting the exposed curves of her chest. Her whisper was nothing more than a gentle, seductive breath in his ear.
"Are you well, my lord?" She repositioned the blade beneath her gown, nestling it in the emerald band secured around her freckled thigh.
"We need to talk after they leave," Nimmod replied.
As the other Glenoids shuffled out of the room, their whispers and hurried footsteps echoed through the chamber. Nimmod couldn't help but stare at the blood pooling around Shazzar's corpse on the pristine stone floor. He clenched his fists, their sharp claws digging into his scaled palms.
"Ramses," he called, his voice cold. She approached, her blue eyes locked onto him with hypnotic intensity.
"Yes, my lord," Ramses cooed. Her voice was full of dalliance and aspiration. She playfully bowed, tilting her head, sending her long ruby tresses cascading over her shoulders. Valaria, knowing how to manipulate the situation to her advantage, planned to use Ramses at every opportune moment.
"Why did you do it?" Nimmod asked, his gaze unflinching. "Ramses... Or should I call you by your possessor, Valaria?" He motioned to the body. "Why did you publicly murder Shazzar?"
"Isn't it what you desired?" she retorted with a sly smirk adorning her features - Valaria's smirk. "Shazzar openly defied you, and as your devoted servant, I took it upon myself to handle him publicly. After all, we can't have any dissent."
As she turned to leave through the doors, Nimmod stopped her, leaning in closer. "One more thing," he murmured, tracing the outline of the hard, cold weapon concealed beneath her soft garments with his dark eyes. "You have my dagger hidden beneath your gown."
Ramses stayed quiet, Valaria shifting her gaze over her shoulder at him. She began to lift her skirt hem revealing a stunning, flawless leg peppered with freckles. A band secured the object nestled snug against her supple thigh - the dagger. A lump formed in her throat; however, Valaria spoke with a sultry voice that mingled with calculated calmness. "Do you wish for me to return it?" she taunted.
"Yes. I would like to have it back."
"Seems like it's in my favor to keep this," she remarked, a devilish smirk dancing on her lips, allowing her gown to slip lazily back over her bare thigh.
"Ah, but I made it as a child; it has no monetary value."
Ramses nodded. She understood; Valaria did not, nor did she want to. "Your Highness," she said with a bow, giving a wink before strutting out of the room with measured finesse.
As Nimmod settled back into his seat, left alone with his thoughts, contemplating the risks of his alliance with potentially dangerous forces, he convinced himself that his strategy would work. He saw the insatiable hunger of Valaria's ambitions yet still believed that their combined might with Abbadoth and the power of the prism would help them triumph over Cardamon. Still, he knew that war was inevitable, and some would try to exploit it for personal gain.