Awaken, my disciple.
"Wha...?" He groaned, rolling over in his cot as he released a puff, his muscles relaxing moments later.
The night calls, Champion of mine.
A whisper, cold as night, harder than steel, yet softer than the lightest feather, emanated into his mind, the voice of a being powerful enough to communicate with him telepathically.
Awaken!
Now, he stood straight up, an exclamation of shock slipping past his throat as he looked around, beads of sweat trickling down his brow.
Good.
Lord Master? He asked, rubbing his eyes, seeing nothing but dark everywhere. His eyes opened and closed, trying to adjust to this sudden change, from light to complete blackness. His head again darted around, trying to see anything of sorts, and came upon a dragon covered in the color of the skies, looking at him as he did with her.
"Seraith." He nodded, greeting her.
"Althalos." She reciprocated his actions, looking back into the fire she stared in, that only now Althalos realized was there. He stared at it for a second, watching the flames tear into the wood, a crackling sound heard over the silence the night had spawned.
The night calls, boy.
What? He asked, perplexed by his Lord Master's words. What do you mean by that, my Lord?
Your fate shall be complete by this night.
His mind summoned a faint inkling of his words, but it was only a fleeting thought, and it was soon replaced by the same confusion that had arisen with the Lord of Shadowy Death's words.
"Talking to your master, I'd wager?"
He snapped his concentration, turning to Seraith, who had spoken, and nodded his eyes, having no shame in revealing it to her.
"Yes, I am."
The blue dragon chose to stay silent, and in the joined mind of Althalos and Merec, they thought it was very smart move. A grunt was heard, and her snout was pointed to the fires once more.
The scroll, and the stone.
He smiled, looking at the discarded saddlebags.
Hidden.
Take them out.
He stood straight up, dusting himself off, and as he passed by numerous cots, he saw Fendrel's peaceful expression, the Nightwalkers' barely relaxed ones, and then the others who tossed and turned in their cots, as if not wanting to be drowning in their slumber.
He fetched the items Merec asked him too, hearing the tired sighs of the purple dragon.
"The stone? And the scroll?" Came the voice of Miasmador, the purple dragon, once his friend, now only a passing memory.
"Where is it?" He asked calmly, laying by his side. The smile still stuck to his lips, as if remembering something that set him in this euphoric state.
"Right here." He raised one of his forepaws, and his Lord's artifacts lay there, ripe for the taking. But curiosity burned in his mind, and he could not resist to ask the dragon.
"Why take them, then?"
"Questions to be answered." Was the only answer of the dragon, who looked at him with piercing red eyes.
To think, Althalos too possessed the same color of irises in the past, when only now his orbs had undertaken their final transformation, from the amethyst and ruby of Merec, to the pure blood red, and now the black shadows that were the paragon for his power.
"Fire away, my friend," Althalos replied, waving an arm around nonchalantly.
Seraith watched the proceedings from where she lay by the fire, interest sparkling in her iridescent eyes.
"What do you need these for?"
Althalos looked at him, challenging the dragon by the way of a staring contest between them, a serpentine pair of reddish orbs fighting against demonically black ones. The smile grew bigger, and he chortled slightly, looking away as his shoulders shook.
Such gaiety. Why? Even the demon lord himself expressed confusion over his sudden happiness, even at such a topic like this.
The world itself would bow before you soon enough, and I find it amusing that a lowly farm boy managed it all.
Amusing, isn't it? The Lord of Shadowy Death that can only be Merec agreed with him, a light chuckle that echoed his drifting into his mind.
It is, my Lord Master. It is.
"Althalos!" He again turned his head, staring back into Miasmador, hearing the low grumble in his throat, and the wisps of smoke winding out of his nostrils. "Would you care to answer my question?"
"Sorry," He apologized, though quite frankly, he did not mean it in the least. "Well, the scroll and stone is to do my Lord's will."
His blunt and swift reply sent Miasmador plummeting down into more holes of curious-inducing beasts, and his curiosity only increased when in fact it would've decreased, as is obvious to anyone else.
"Really? Just that, my friend?" Miasmador's response was filled to the brim with the all-too obvious sarcasm that befits one of his attitude, and even his scaled eyebrow was a clear point of his doubt.
"You are hardly so demanding, Miasmador. What triggered this lust?" Althalos asked now.
"I want answers, boy, and you are the Champion of Merec, the harbinger of his coming."
"What?"
"You, boy, and you alone, have the power to summon Merec from his prison into this world, to Magnus," Seraith explained to him in a low tone, looking away from them and observing the night skies, admiring the stars above, whispering so low that not even Althalos could hear her.
"So it shall be."
'What are you saying, Althalos?" Miasmador questioned him, now trapping him in one of his claws, bringing it down upon the young Shadow champion with the brown hair.
"When the Shadows speak, the faithful shall follow," He told him, his shoulders shaking as tears gleamed in his black orbs, and a laugh sprung out of his throat. He shook his head, in spite of the thorns grazing Miasmador's talons, his laughters intensifying as tears flowed down his temples, landing on the ground in a silent drip.
"Why are you laughing?" Seraith's tone was calmer, and showed less emotion, but was still as curious as Miasmador's, and as angry as his. "This is not a matter to be discussed lightly, especially considering your stance."
"You are all so funny!" He turned his head, and Althalos swore to himself that he saw something fling by, as if a passing shadow, but he shook his head, his laughters continuing.
Have you gone insane, my Champion? Came the voice of Merec, very much amused, light chuckles interrupting every word spoken by the timeless god of Shadowy Death.
What is the difference, my Lord Master? He playfully retorted to the demon lord, though still adding the respectful tones to his voice. We're all slightly insane in the head, Lord Master. We all do the same things in life, and we always expect things to make themselves unique, even if just a little bit.
Perhaps. Your words speak true, and are wise. My lessons have proved very effective.
They have, my Lord.
So, if we are all so insane, then what do you call yourself?
The smile grew ever deeper than before, the tips reaching to the tips of his eyes, unnerving the two dragons still watching him. One who accepted fate like never before, and fell through the black abyss.
And is it better?
It seemed as if Merec was a parent talking to his child about the child's dreams and fantasies, and that child was none other than Althalos himself, his disciple, and his Champion.
A way for escape, my Lord. From the pain that assaults mundane people like me, and the threat of everything... It all disappeared when I dived in. Everything is more interesting, it's not the same repetitive things that bore me half to death.
He sounded like a little kid telling his father all about his adventures in his dreams, and his voice was as light-hearted and full of excitement as any other child.
A way for true power, my Champion, but at the cost of sanity. He reminded his disciple, as mentor-like as his voice can get.
If it is the price I have to pay to serve you with the true power that I can unlock inside me, then so be it.
Obedience. You will truly serve me well, my Champion.
Always, my Lord.
"Can you refrain from speaking with your precious lord until you answer all my questions?"
The voice of Miasmador again tore him out of his conversation with the demon lord, and he heard a withering bellow of laughter as he turned looked at Miasmador's eyes once more, travelling towards Seraith's own, then to his imprisoned state, a grin that could unnerve even the hardiest warrior still on his face.
"Why is that?"
Seraith spoke in place of Miasmador, who looked just about ready to tear the Shadow Master---Champion---into pieces. "You always get lost in a trance whenever you speak to him. It is everything but discreet, my friend."
"And the problem?"
"You are speaking to two dragons right now, Althalos, and this one's ready to eat you because you keep drifting off into stars know where." With her snout, she pointed to Miasmador, and Althalos looked at his ruby eyes once more, boring holes into his head.
"Your questions?
"The scroll. The stone. What do they have to do in your... tasks?" Miasmador possibly learnt of it when he began to let it known, or he might have known of it beforehand, Althalos thought.
Nevertheless, it doesn't matter to him. He has no say in it.
Say these to your lovely snakes.
Of course.
Inscribed upon this scroll is the foretold prophecy of the fate of Merec's destined disciple, and the summoning words. Emblazoned on this stone is the font of power that shall set everything in motion.
Is the map still with you?
No.
Good, they have exhausted their usefulness now.
He lapsed onto silence soon afterwards.
Once Althalos relayed the god's own words to the two dragons, or to the "lovely snakes" as Merec put it, they can only stare at him wordlessly, mouths or maws open in shock, eyes widened into gigantic globes.
"Insanity has cursed you."
Althalos looked at them with that same gleam tainting his eyes, the same wide smile, and the same words.
"When the Shadows speak, the faithful shall follow."
Author's Note:
Split into two parts it is, then. =P
Bye for now. ^_^