D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
The next chapter will be coming soon with more interesting stuff on the way. Just be patient and there will be more to come.
The next chapter will be coming soon with more interesting stuff on the way. Just be patient and there will be more to come.
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
And here we are at the seventh chapter. Just check in every once and awhile to see some new progress. Hopefully after this, things will get a bit exciting! Behold, Chapter 7:
Chapter 7~ The Beginning of Something
It was the hour of departure, and yet Veros could still not believe what he was doing. How had he gotten himself tangled up in this bizarre turn of events? He pondered for a brief moment what Melissa might think of him standing here today, ready to depart on a journey to the Northern Wastes with no true guarantee of success. This thought left his mind, quickly replaced by the sudden realization that the rest of the odd crew were ready to leave. Coming along with the six were three crewmen from a Bowerstone fishing ship, the only experienced seafarers other than Tom, who had recently revealed his prowess at sea to the other five.
The first of the three was Rolf Halmund, a burly boatswain with a scruffy beard and a weathered fishing cap placed askew atop his head at all times. The second was Kalon Smithson, a master at sail repair and a navigator. An odd monocle with a thoroughly rusted rim was balanced in front of his eye, and his face was curiously pale, dark circles under his stern gray eyes. Last but certainly not least was Rufus Almonder, a young, sturdy ex-admiral of the old Bowerstone fighting fleet that protected the sea during the times of the pirate clan uprising. He wore a military coat adorned with various pendants and medals. A look of confidence seemed always on his tanned face with sharp features and deep brown combed hair making him rather noticeable.
Armed with the knowledge provided by the three sailors and Tom, the company felt rather prepared for the trials ahead, but that could not mask the fear that each of them felt, even the sailors becoming a bit apprehensive. What amazed Veros the most about the moment, standing at the tip of the boat as it was ready to head off as he looked at Tom, was that he alone out of them all seemed so certain and heroic in the face of total danger. Veros almost envied him, standing steady without fear, but he could not bring himself to mirror his sudden boldness. Suddenly, a creak, loud and long sounded from the boat as it was pushed off from the dock. And so they were separated from their very last hope of ever turning back and giving up the journey. They were on their way.
Veros sat atop a heavy crate and the bow of the boat, watching as Rolf held his hands steadily on the ship’s wheel, turning it occasionally. It was barely after noon and the dot that was Witchwood could hardly be seen in the distance. Veros was surprised at how fast the boat had traveled, though he had always heard of how impressive Oakvale boat craftsmanship was. The Sea Wolf was no exception, and was a beautiful sight to behold, by any standards. It was made of a fine type of well-built wood that was a rich burgundy hue with supports made of strong steel and ebony. On the white, new sails unfurled from the mainmast was the insignia of all Oakvale traveling ships- a golden oak tree with a bronze shield backing it. As he looked up at it, he noticed something off in the distance at the horizon.
“Hey Tom,” Veros said, shifting to a standing position from the crate.
“Yes, my friend?”
“What would that be far over there, the shimmering and whatnot?” Veros pointed to the distant horizon.
Tom met him at the oaken rail of the ship, gazing out to where Veros’ finger pointed, “Ah, that’d be the Albion Aurora. It is known as the Northern Flare, the Sky Glimmer and my favorite, the Northbound Glow. It’s a natural event that occurs around the autumn to late spring in the Northlands. The beauty of it can all be seen by the port at Hook Coast, and if time permits, perhaps we’ll be able to see it.” A brief shining in Tom’s deep eyes suggested he was thinking about a long lost time… “But,” he said, suddenly coming back to the present, “for now we need to turn that way facing the Northbound Glow. Now we’re drifting too far east and we need to spin around to dock on the west shore of Hook Coast. Let’s go shift the rudder and send us northwards before it gets dark on us now.”
A half hour had passed since they had spun the rudder, and they were heading at a steady pace north, occasionally changing the course to head west, accommodating the fact that they were to dock on the west shores. The Northbound Glow was increasingly becoming greater as they drifted in its direction and stars began slowly filling the dark sky. Veros sat in the captain’s quarters of the ship with Badris, sipping some foreign brew that he was unaccustomed to. Rufus Almonder had made it out of a few onboard ingredients and called it Bluegin, a curious mixture that had been famous as a Bowerstone military drink while at sea, as it was cheap and easy to make.
“How’s the brew there, mates?” asked Rufus as he sat lazily at a rickety chair and propped his boots up on a table carelessly. Veros stared into the bizarre mixture, seemingly bubbling with a curious turquoise color. Veros reluctantly took a sip, realizing he had taken far too much for his liking. The mixture burned his throat and tasted more like saltwater than any drink he’d ever tasted. He swallowed the putrid beer, trying not to show his unpleasant expression to Rufus, who seemed more concentrated on Badris, who rather seemed to enjoy the concoction. Veros guessed that being a bartender, his knowledge of drinks was extremely wide, having tasted each. The reason for Badris’ enjoyment also had to do with the fact that Veros was quite the teetotaler and was unfamiliar with alcohol other than Knothole Ale.
“’S a good spot o’ brewin’ you done there, Rufus my man. Mayhaps you should consider becomin’ a helper at my tavern,” Badris said, taking a long draught of the Bluegin from his large mug.
“’Fraid I wouldn’t be able to do that my friend. I can’t stay in one place for too long or else I get a little homesick. My true home is on the sea. Hold on there- blimey, Veros. You don’t look too well… perhaps me Bluegin’s a might to powerful. C’mon, maybe a good night’s rest would do you good.” It was true, though Veros did not notice until he gazed into a dirty wall mirror and saw that he in fact did not look well. He looked pale and sick, and heeded Rufus’ word, venturing below deck to his assigned room. He walked down a flight of stairs to the lower deck, turning to find a long corridor with several doors on each side, a few scattered barrels around the area.
Durig stepped out from behind an open door, looking at Veros almost with surprise as he said, “Well hello there Veros. Tom was down here a while ago. He told me to tell anyone who comes down here whose rooms are whose. You and I will be sharing a room on the very end of the ship over there. Finrar and I already moved your bags down here if you don’t mind.” Veros silently stepped past Durig, too tired to say anything, especially not to Durig.
He stepped inside his assigned room and shut the door with an audible bang, though he did not exactly intend to. As he rested his back against the wooden door, he heard Durig’s soft voice say, “Night Veros.”
Veros thought for a brief second before opening the door and replying, “Good night Durig. And… thanks,” before he retreated back into his room, Durig’s footsteps perceptible as he ascended the steps at the end of the hall. The room was surprisingly larger than Veros had expected, two identical hammocks layered on top of eachother in the right corner, a table and two chairs in the other corner as well as Durig and Veros’s items placed in the center of the floorboards. Veros adjourned to his bed, too fatigued to unpack his items and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep, thinking about the day before his thoughts slipped away in the night.
Not all was peaceful that night, for Jack of Blades does not forget… Another Twilight Prophecy had dawned upon Veros in the darkness of the night at sea. His mind seemed in a blurry stupor as his dream vision came into focus. He found himself in what looked like a dimly lit, ancient chapel, its grand ceiling arcing in various complicated patterns high above, some large gaps of stone missing, through which blinding lights shone through. The light seemed to concentrate on the very center of the shadowed chapel, where a sword was thrust through the middle of a white stone circle. The blade glowed with an aura of impressiveness, with intricate designs of dragon images running up its magnificent hilt. The blade was an astounding blue, seemingly glowing with reflective sapphire gems adorning its long blade made of ancient rune stone ore. Veros suddenly felt the urge to grasp its hilt and stepped forward, before it happened. A shadow, darker than all shadows passed in front of him, appering out of nothing and sweeping in to block Veros’ path. Then, two blood red orbs materialized amidst the shadow and the foulest of all voices hissed, “Come to play the game of life, Veros? You will lose.” Jack of Blades hood and crimson cloak instantly emerged from the gloom and the two orbs became his eyes, veiled and evil as only the darkest of souls could have them.
“Get away from me, demon!” Veros snarled, planting his feet defiantly on the cold stone floor of the chapel and facing the one that he knew only in his dreams, the lord of despair. A deep, throaty laugh ensued Veros’s comment, Jack drawing his blade and pointing it at him menacingly.
“My power grows every day, and every day you fail the world. How does it make you feel, Veros, knowing that you can do nothing to stop me from destroying you and Albion?” Jack sneered.
The raw fury shone in Veros’ eyes as he shouted, “You know nothing, demon!”
“Of course I don’t.” he retorted mockingly, “and what would you know? You cannot save the world. You cannot even save yourself.”
“Never! You can’t stop me, no matter how hard you try. I will send your soul back to the dark pit it came from, just as my great-grandfather did!”
Jack’s voice dropped to an almost irritated tone as he said, “So sure of yourself, are you? You are no hero, Veros. You couldn’t save Melissa, now could you?” Veros’s heart stopped, his expression changing from absolute rage to utmost shock. Was it his fault that Melissa had died those many long years ago?
His expression reverted to a fury even greater than before as he yelled, “Melissa was killed by balverines in the forest. There was nothing I could do! You would never know.”
“It is you who would never know, Veros. All those long years ago I had began my plot to destroy the last of the Bantains. It was no beast that killed Melissa. I It was I.”
Veros let his fury loose on Jack, leaping upon him, kicking him and beating him around the head with his fists as hard as he could. Jack thrust his hands around Veros’s neck, throwing him off of him against the stone wall of the chapel. His chest suddenly emptied of air and he collapsed on the floor. He felt his body being dragged upward by the scruff of his neck and flung into the center of the chapel. His back throbbed with pain, but he managed to stumble to his feet. Veros then realized it: the magnificent blade was thrust in the floor right beside him.
Jack thrust his blade back, ready to attack as he stepped closer with a bloodthirsty look in his eyes. Veros clasped his hands around the hilt of the weapon and pulled it out of the floor, taking a step backwards as Jack lunged forward and missed by a hair. With the glorious saber in his hands, Veros somehow felt confident with the impressive sword in his grasp and decided it was time to act. Jack spun around, recovering from the missed blow and fixing Veros with his evil gaze, from the eyes that Veros hated more than any other. Then Jack spoke, “You really think you are worthy of wielding that weapon? The Dawn Breaker is not yours to claim and you will die with it in your grasp, fool!” The Dawn Breaker? This was the fabled sword that had defeated Jack long ago, and Veros knew it could strike him down once more. Veros steadied his hands on the hilt and swung with all his might at Jack’s armored chest. In that moment, as the blade struck, Veros felt glory and vigor all in one emotion. The blade slashed viciously at his body, forcing him back. Veros stepped forward, swinging the blade backwards and slicing a large gash in the side of Jack’s mask. He roared in agony and swung his katana blindly, missing Veros slightly. With one final blow, Veros hefted the blade high over his head and brought it down to destroy Jack. Suddenly, in that victorious moment, his vision blurred and the chapel appeared to spin before he woke to hear a particular sound.
He heard shouting above deck and snapped up out of his hammock, stepping slowly to the door to avoid waking Durig. Opening the door bit by bit, he was surprised by a sudden sharp creak which woke Durig barely. “Veros?” he could hear him saying, muffled by his thick pillow.
“Yes?” Veros whispered, standing silently by the open door.
Veros saw the glow of his eyes vaguely in the dark room before Durig said, “Nothing,” and fell back into the grasp of a deep sleep. Veros stepped quietly out into the hall, contemplating whether Durig actually had to say something or if he was just lethargic in his sleep. This thought was dashed out of his head as the sound of the shouting above stirred him. Something was going on and he wanted to know what. Suddenly he realized something. The ship had veered from its course.
And here we are at the seventh chapter. Just check in every once and awhile to see some new progress. Hopefully after this, things will get a bit exciting! Behold, Chapter 7:
Chapter 7~ The Beginning of Something
It was the hour of departure, and yet Veros could still not believe what he was doing. How had he gotten himself tangled up in this bizarre turn of events? He pondered for a brief moment what Melissa might think of him standing here today, ready to depart on a journey to the Northern Wastes with no true guarantee of success. This thought left his mind, quickly replaced by the sudden realization that the rest of the odd crew were ready to leave. Coming along with the six were three crewmen from a Bowerstone fishing ship, the only experienced seafarers other than Tom, who had recently revealed his prowess at sea to the other five.
The first of the three was Rolf Halmund, a burly boatswain with a scruffy beard and a weathered fishing cap placed askew atop his head at all times. The second was Kalon Smithson, a master at sail repair and a navigator. An odd monocle with a thoroughly rusted rim was balanced in front of his eye, and his face was curiously pale, dark circles under his stern gray eyes. Last but certainly not least was Rufus Almonder, a young, sturdy ex-admiral of the old Bowerstone fighting fleet that protected the sea during the times of the pirate clan uprising. He wore a military coat adorned with various pendants and medals. A look of confidence seemed always on his tanned face with sharp features and deep brown combed hair making him rather noticeable.
Armed with the knowledge provided by the three sailors and Tom, the company felt rather prepared for the trials ahead, but that could not mask the fear that each of them felt, even the sailors becoming a bit apprehensive. What amazed Veros the most about the moment, standing at the tip of the boat as it was ready to head off as he looked at Tom, was that he alone out of them all seemed so certain and heroic in the face of total danger. Veros almost envied him, standing steady without fear, but he could not bring himself to mirror his sudden boldness. Suddenly, a creak, loud and long sounded from the boat as it was pushed off from the dock. And so they were separated from their very last hope of ever turning back and giving up the journey. They were on their way.
Veros sat atop a heavy crate and the bow of the boat, watching as Rolf held his hands steadily on the ship’s wheel, turning it occasionally. It was barely after noon and the dot that was Witchwood could hardly be seen in the distance. Veros was surprised at how fast the boat had traveled, though he had always heard of how impressive Oakvale boat craftsmanship was. The Sea Wolf was no exception, and was a beautiful sight to behold, by any standards. It was made of a fine type of well-built wood that was a rich burgundy hue with supports made of strong steel and ebony. On the white, new sails unfurled from the mainmast was the insignia of all Oakvale traveling ships- a golden oak tree with a bronze shield backing it. As he looked up at it, he noticed something off in the distance at the horizon.
“Hey Tom,” Veros said, shifting to a standing position from the crate.
“Yes, my friend?”
“What would that be far over there, the shimmering and whatnot?” Veros pointed to the distant horizon.
Tom met him at the oaken rail of the ship, gazing out to where Veros’ finger pointed, “Ah, that’d be the Albion Aurora. It is known as the Northern Flare, the Sky Glimmer and my favorite, the Northbound Glow. It’s a natural event that occurs around the autumn to late spring in the Northlands. The beauty of it can all be seen by the port at Hook Coast, and if time permits, perhaps we’ll be able to see it.” A brief shining in Tom’s deep eyes suggested he was thinking about a long lost time… “But,” he said, suddenly coming back to the present, “for now we need to turn that way facing the Northbound Glow. Now we’re drifting too far east and we need to spin around to dock on the west shore of Hook Coast. Let’s go shift the rudder and send us northwards before it gets dark on us now.”
A half hour had passed since they had spun the rudder, and they were heading at a steady pace north, occasionally changing the course to head west, accommodating the fact that they were to dock on the west shores. The Northbound Glow was increasingly becoming greater as they drifted in its direction and stars began slowly filling the dark sky. Veros sat in the captain’s quarters of the ship with Badris, sipping some foreign brew that he was unaccustomed to. Rufus Almonder had made it out of a few onboard ingredients and called it Bluegin, a curious mixture that had been famous as a Bowerstone military drink while at sea, as it was cheap and easy to make.
“How’s the brew there, mates?” asked Rufus as he sat lazily at a rickety chair and propped his boots up on a table carelessly. Veros stared into the bizarre mixture, seemingly bubbling with a curious turquoise color. Veros reluctantly took a sip, realizing he had taken far too much for his liking. The mixture burned his throat and tasted more like saltwater than any drink he’d ever tasted. He swallowed the putrid beer, trying not to show his unpleasant expression to Rufus, who seemed more concentrated on Badris, who rather seemed to enjoy the concoction. Veros guessed that being a bartender, his knowledge of drinks was extremely wide, having tasted each. The reason for Badris’ enjoyment also had to do with the fact that Veros was quite the teetotaler and was unfamiliar with alcohol other than Knothole Ale.
“’S a good spot o’ brewin’ you done there, Rufus my man. Mayhaps you should consider becomin’ a helper at my tavern,” Badris said, taking a long draught of the Bluegin from his large mug.
“’Fraid I wouldn’t be able to do that my friend. I can’t stay in one place for too long or else I get a little homesick. My true home is on the sea. Hold on there- blimey, Veros. You don’t look too well… perhaps me Bluegin’s a might to powerful. C’mon, maybe a good night’s rest would do you good.” It was true, though Veros did not notice until he gazed into a dirty wall mirror and saw that he in fact did not look well. He looked pale and sick, and heeded Rufus’ word, venturing below deck to his assigned room. He walked down a flight of stairs to the lower deck, turning to find a long corridor with several doors on each side, a few scattered barrels around the area.
Durig stepped out from behind an open door, looking at Veros almost with surprise as he said, “Well hello there Veros. Tom was down here a while ago. He told me to tell anyone who comes down here whose rooms are whose. You and I will be sharing a room on the very end of the ship over there. Finrar and I already moved your bags down here if you don’t mind.” Veros silently stepped past Durig, too tired to say anything, especially not to Durig.
He stepped inside his assigned room and shut the door with an audible bang, though he did not exactly intend to. As he rested his back against the wooden door, he heard Durig’s soft voice say, “Night Veros.”
Veros thought for a brief second before opening the door and replying, “Good night Durig. And… thanks,” before he retreated back into his room, Durig’s footsteps perceptible as he ascended the steps at the end of the hall. The room was surprisingly larger than Veros had expected, two identical hammocks layered on top of eachother in the right corner, a table and two chairs in the other corner as well as Durig and Veros’s items placed in the center of the floorboards. Veros adjourned to his bed, too fatigued to unpack his items and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep, thinking about the day before his thoughts slipped away in the night.
Not all was peaceful that night, for Jack of Blades does not forget… Another Twilight Prophecy had dawned upon Veros in the darkness of the night at sea. His mind seemed in a blurry stupor as his dream vision came into focus. He found himself in what looked like a dimly lit, ancient chapel, its grand ceiling arcing in various complicated patterns high above, some large gaps of stone missing, through which blinding lights shone through. The light seemed to concentrate on the very center of the shadowed chapel, where a sword was thrust through the middle of a white stone circle. The blade glowed with an aura of impressiveness, with intricate designs of dragon images running up its magnificent hilt. The blade was an astounding blue, seemingly glowing with reflective sapphire gems adorning its long blade made of ancient rune stone ore. Veros suddenly felt the urge to grasp its hilt and stepped forward, before it happened. A shadow, darker than all shadows passed in front of him, appering out of nothing and sweeping in to block Veros’ path. Then, two blood red orbs materialized amidst the shadow and the foulest of all voices hissed, “Come to play the game of life, Veros? You will lose.” Jack of Blades hood and crimson cloak instantly emerged from the gloom and the two orbs became his eyes, veiled and evil as only the darkest of souls could have them.
“Get away from me, demon!” Veros snarled, planting his feet defiantly on the cold stone floor of the chapel and facing the one that he knew only in his dreams, the lord of despair. A deep, throaty laugh ensued Veros’s comment, Jack drawing his blade and pointing it at him menacingly.
“My power grows every day, and every day you fail the world. How does it make you feel, Veros, knowing that you can do nothing to stop me from destroying you and Albion?” Jack sneered.
The raw fury shone in Veros’ eyes as he shouted, “You know nothing, demon!”
“Of course I don’t.” he retorted mockingly, “and what would you know? You cannot save the world. You cannot even save yourself.”
“Never! You can’t stop me, no matter how hard you try. I will send your soul back to the dark pit it came from, just as my great-grandfather did!”
Jack’s voice dropped to an almost irritated tone as he said, “So sure of yourself, are you? You are no hero, Veros. You couldn’t save Melissa, now could you?” Veros’s heart stopped, his expression changing from absolute rage to utmost shock. Was it his fault that Melissa had died those many long years ago?
His expression reverted to a fury even greater than before as he yelled, “Melissa was killed by balverines in the forest. There was nothing I could do! You would never know.”
“It is you who would never know, Veros. All those long years ago I had began my plot to destroy the last of the Bantains. It was no beast that killed Melissa. I It was I.”
Veros let his fury loose on Jack, leaping upon him, kicking him and beating him around the head with his fists as hard as he could. Jack thrust his hands around Veros’s neck, throwing him off of him against the stone wall of the chapel. His chest suddenly emptied of air and he collapsed on the floor. He felt his body being dragged upward by the scruff of his neck and flung into the center of the chapel. His back throbbed with pain, but he managed to stumble to his feet. Veros then realized it: the magnificent blade was thrust in the floor right beside him.
Jack thrust his blade back, ready to attack as he stepped closer with a bloodthirsty look in his eyes. Veros clasped his hands around the hilt of the weapon and pulled it out of the floor, taking a step backwards as Jack lunged forward and missed by a hair. With the glorious saber in his hands, Veros somehow felt confident with the impressive sword in his grasp and decided it was time to act. Jack spun around, recovering from the missed blow and fixing Veros with his evil gaze, from the eyes that Veros hated more than any other. Then Jack spoke, “You really think you are worthy of wielding that weapon? The Dawn Breaker is not yours to claim and you will die with it in your grasp, fool!” The Dawn Breaker? This was the fabled sword that had defeated Jack long ago, and Veros knew it could strike him down once more. Veros steadied his hands on the hilt and swung with all his might at Jack’s armored chest. In that moment, as the blade struck, Veros felt glory and vigor all in one emotion. The blade slashed viciously at his body, forcing him back. Veros stepped forward, swinging the blade backwards and slicing a large gash in the side of Jack’s mask. He roared in agony and swung his katana blindly, missing Veros slightly. With one final blow, Veros hefted the blade high over his head and brought it down to destroy Jack. Suddenly, in that victorious moment, his vision blurred and the chapel appeared to spin before he woke to hear a particular sound.
He heard shouting above deck and snapped up out of his hammock, stepping slowly to the door to avoid waking Durig. Opening the door bit by bit, he was surprised by a sudden sharp creak which woke Durig barely. “Veros?” he could hear him saying, muffled by his thick pillow.
“Yes?” Veros whispered, standing silently by the open door.
Veros saw the glow of his eyes vaguely in the dark room before Durig said, “Nothing,” and fell back into the grasp of a deep sleep. Veros stepped quietly out into the hall, contemplating whether Durig actually had to say something or if he was just lethargic in his sleep. This thought was dashed out of his head as the sound of the shouting above stirred him. Something was going on and he wanted to know what. Suddenly he realized something. The ship had veered from its course.
V
Vegeta
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
WOW!!!!!!!!!! I haven't even read it yet but im giving you rep because it looks awesome
WOW!!!!!!!!!! I haven't even read it yet but im giving you rep because it looks awesome
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Thanks everyone! Surprisingly, Chapter 8 is already just about done as well. Expect more within at least two days.
Thanks everyone! Surprisingly, Chapter 8 is already just about done as well. Expect more within at least two days.
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
As promised, I give you Chapter 8 of The Eye of the Phoenix. Here, there is a bit of action to stimulate the plot, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
Chapter 8~ Jack’s Plot
Veros scrambled above deck, almost tripping on the stairs of the Wolf Queen’s lower deck. His mind was racing. Something was definitely wrong... His instincts screamed for him to turn back, but he ventured above deck. Veros’s eyes met those of Rolf Halmund, wide with fear filling them. They looked at eachother for a brief second as if realizing the unknown danger they were in before Rolf collapsed on the deck, his frame going limp. Veros looked up in horror to behold a rather shocking sight. Kalon Smithson, the navigator, held a thick wooden board in his hands that he had bashed Rolf in the back of the head with. There was a maddened look in his dark gray eyes and a bloody scar ran down the left side of his face.
Veros had not known the man long, but what he had heard from Tom was that, “I never really did trust the man, but seeing he willingly offered to help us on our journey, I suppose I cannot much say that about him.” As usual, Tom’s suspicions were correct. No one else of the crew was visible on deck, except for Rufus Almonder, slumped up against the mainmast with a bleeding shoulder and two black eyes. He shifted his body up for a moment and mouthed the word ‘run’ before he crashed back down in a heap.
Veros stepped forward on the deck, the bright moonlight shining on his face as he spoke, “Kalon? Why? What have you done?”
Kalon turned his attention to Veros, as if he had not discerned him at first, “You there! Veros, is it?” he said ignoring Veros’s question, “Here you finally are. That damned lot posed no threat to me, but when I tried to turn them against you, they challenged me, the fools. But I suppose I can take care of you myself.” In the midst of his insane ramblings, Veros began considering his options. There was a fight either way he chose to go... He could stand and fight the madman, or run below deck to be cornered... Another thought entered his head and he sprung into action before Kalon could say another word.
Veros concentrated his entire weight into one blow and rammed into Kalon to buy him some time, knocking him back on deck. It was then that he realized Kalon had another weapon besides the simple board. A black cutlass was thrust into his belt, previously concealed, but now visible beneath his dark coat. Veros spun on his heel and sprinted down the steps to the lower deck, realizing with regret that Kalon was much faster than he was. As he entered the quarters, he gripped the edge of the hard wooden door to the hall and slammed it in the navigator’s face, stalling him further. He pushed a chair beneath the door’s iron handle to block the door, though Kalon’s efforts could not be held back for long. Veros darted in his quarters, instantly rifling through his sack of objects he had taken from his home. Durig instantly woke up with all the commotion, but Veros had only one thought in his mind: stopping Kalon.
“Wha-” Durig started, but was cut off by Veros.
“Listen, Durig. There’s danger outside. Stay in here and don’t come out. Do you hear me?” Veros said hurriedly as he drew his steel katana out of his sack. His mind was suddenly taken back, all those many long years ago to when his father had given him it, on a beautiful summer evening in Knothole Glade. It was a weapon he had forged for him out of the finest steel the village had to offer and the hilt was made out of sturdy Balverine bones. He had never used it before, heeding his father’s words to use it only in cases of emergency and only for defense. And now he grasped its hand-carved hilt once more, being brought back to the present by Durig’s voice. Fear was in it.
“Veros?” he said, his voice wavering.
“What is it?” Veros hissed back.
He turned to face the doorframe, suddenly feeling a surge of pain rocket through his face and his knees crumple. Kalon had bashed into his skull with the blunt edge of his cutlass hilt and was standing in the room, a vicious grin on his pale face. Veros pulled himself to his feet and drew his weapon out, trying the best he could to have a defiant look on his face, even with a horrible sensation building in his stomach.
Kalon only laughed as he said, “You can’t fight me, whelp. I’ll run you throu-” before he could finish his sentence, Veros plunged into battle, throwing his body against Kalon’s and pushing him out into the hallway. While he did this, the maddened navigator slashed blindly, catching Veros in his upper shoulder and staggering him for a brief moment. A number of thin gashes were layered upon his shoulder which bled lightly, though he pressed on. He recovered from the blows and rushed forward, his blade extended out and ready to strike. Kalon leaped up from the dark wooden floor, kicking Veros viciously in his stomach before he could swing at him. Veros doubled over in pain, only to have his head snapped back by a blow from Kalon’s fist. Veros recovered, taking the upper hand, catching his unprotected side and slashing with bold long swipes. His vision was foggy and he was bleeding from his lip, but he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his cloak. He heard Kalon scream and continued to make strong blows. Kalon was bleeding from one side from a small wound, but wasted no time in retaliating. He thrust one open hand out, catching Veros by the neck and pushing him against the far wall. With his dark cutlass in hand, he chopped blindly at his adversary, missing and burying this tip of his blade in the wall. Veros used this slight setback to his advantage, pushing Kalon away from his useless blade. He banged Kalon against a weathered crate, holding his katana a short length from his neck.
“Don’t force me, Smithson.” Veros shouted as he held the blade level.
“You have no power over me. Never underestimate the strength of what you can’t comprehend, Bantain,” with these final, almost prophetic words, Kalon’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped down against the crate, unconscious... or so Veros hoped.
Durig came to Veros’s side, looking first at Kalon’s limp form and second at Veros, fear and awe in his eyes. Whatever had just taken place, Veros would never quite understand, though somehow he knew it was nothing to be taken lightly. “D-did you... kill him, Veros?” Durig seemed to have an unmistakable terror in his voice as he said this.
“I hope not,” Veros said, looking one last time at Kalon before he turned and heard the sound of someone hastily descending the stairs. Melinda Germain stumbled down the stairs, staggering as if she was wounded. She look towards Veros and a look of utter relief and hope filled her face.
“Veros! What happened? Are you- Oh my...” she said this as her eyes slowly fell upon Kalon’s body, “You stopped that monster? Amazing, son. Amazing.”
“What was going on?” Veros asked, a slight hint of confusion in his voice.
Melinda nodded to Durig as if acknowledging him before continuing, “That damned navigator was naught but a fraud. Kalon Smithson is none other than a pirate and a rogue. He was a servant of Jack himself.”
“You mean that he was plotting against us all along?”
“I’m afraid that would be correct, Veros. See here,” she lifted Smithson’s limp arm up and rolled down the sleeve of his dark coat, only to reveal a dark tattoo with the likeness of a blood red Phoenix engraved on his skin, “Ah, my suspicions were correct. He is a follower of Jack, as this is his sign. It would appear that through Kalon’s revelations he unwittingly told us, that Jack is amassing an army of mortals to assist him in his dark goals. An army of assassins.”
Veros had had experiences with assassins long ago, once when he faced a band of them as well as bandits with a caravan of experienced archers and knights. Assassins were sneaky, full of spite, ruthless and determined to reach their goals, no matter the cost. He remembered the commanding officer of the caravan, the swordsman Robert. He had fought valiantly, but while the rest of the company was fighting off a charge of vicious bandits, the assassin commander took on Robert. Veros remembered the dark shadows that were the other assassins’ cloaks swirling around Robert, surrounding him and the commander. Then he was overwhelmed and killed by the assassins, brutally and relentlessly. Assassins were doubtlessly witty and dangerous, but Veros hated them ever since that day.
He suddenly realized what Melinda had told him and responded, “To kill me? Why is Jack sending others to assassinate me?” Veros looked worried, “Why has he not shown his face, that coward?”
“Simple,” said Melinda, “Jack has not gained his full strength. He is weak from ages long passed of his defeat. The Dawn Breaker is a powerful weapon indeed, but it did not succeed totally in defeating Jack. It merely phased his power, as your great grandfather was not the true wielder of the chosen blade.”
“My great grandfather? I thought all Bantains were the rightful wielders of the blade.”
“Veros, I had not the time to tell you, as you were deep in your sleep by the time I had discovered this, but you are the chosen Bantain.”
“What are you talking about?” Veros retorted, rather baffled and annoyed that Melinda would not get to the point.
“You see, I brought along the journal of your great grandfather to study it further, and I discovered a rhyme inscribed on a battered note shoved within a compartment of the vast tome.”
“If I remember right, it said simply, ‘The blade which in blood and mind are tied, for which many have fought and died, but none may wield the sacred blade, nor the ones fate has forbade, for down the Bantain line, will come a light in darkness that shines, for when the struggle has reached its end, when the heart and soul is rend, one final Bantain will remain, and amidst the loss there is a gain, when all darkness seems to have won, is when the Bantain prophecy is done, at the discovery of destiny, is when the lock is fit with a key, the final Bantain’s fate is sealed, is when he can the Dawn Breaker wield.’”
There was a silence that seemed as an eternity before it was surprisingly broken by Durig with a rather humorous comment, “Umm… How did you remember all that?” On that note, Veros was left with a rather odd feeling of what every other person aboard the ship thought of what was occurring. Veros suddenly also felt a sudden foreboding that he was perhaps a burden. A weight that brought the rest of the crew down with the looming shadow of Jack’s minions over him. Melinda suddenly beamed, though it disappeared in a moment. He did not exactly know or guess its meaning, but somehow it left Veros with a certain confidence. A reassurance that they were with him, through whatever trials they might face... Together. What they would face after this would be full of desperation, darkness, but eventual triumph...
As promised, I give you Chapter 8 of The Eye of the Phoenix. Here, there is a bit of action to stimulate the plot, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
Chapter 8~ Jack’s Plot
Veros scrambled above deck, almost tripping on the stairs of the Wolf Queen’s lower deck. His mind was racing. Something was definitely wrong... His instincts screamed for him to turn back, but he ventured above deck. Veros’s eyes met those of Rolf Halmund, wide with fear filling them. They looked at eachother for a brief second as if realizing the unknown danger they were in before Rolf collapsed on the deck, his frame going limp. Veros looked up in horror to behold a rather shocking sight. Kalon Smithson, the navigator, held a thick wooden board in his hands that he had bashed Rolf in the back of the head with. There was a maddened look in his dark gray eyes and a bloody scar ran down the left side of his face.
Veros had not known the man long, but what he had heard from Tom was that, “I never really did trust the man, but seeing he willingly offered to help us on our journey, I suppose I cannot much say that about him.” As usual, Tom’s suspicions were correct. No one else of the crew was visible on deck, except for Rufus Almonder, slumped up against the mainmast with a bleeding shoulder and two black eyes. He shifted his body up for a moment and mouthed the word ‘run’ before he crashed back down in a heap.
Veros stepped forward on the deck, the bright moonlight shining on his face as he spoke, “Kalon? Why? What have you done?”
Kalon turned his attention to Veros, as if he had not discerned him at first, “You there! Veros, is it?” he said ignoring Veros’s question, “Here you finally are. That damned lot posed no threat to me, but when I tried to turn them against you, they challenged me, the fools. But I suppose I can take care of you myself.” In the midst of his insane ramblings, Veros began considering his options. There was a fight either way he chose to go... He could stand and fight the madman, or run below deck to be cornered... Another thought entered his head and he sprung into action before Kalon could say another word.
Veros concentrated his entire weight into one blow and rammed into Kalon to buy him some time, knocking him back on deck. It was then that he realized Kalon had another weapon besides the simple board. A black cutlass was thrust into his belt, previously concealed, but now visible beneath his dark coat. Veros spun on his heel and sprinted down the steps to the lower deck, realizing with regret that Kalon was much faster than he was. As he entered the quarters, he gripped the edge of the hard wooden door to the hall and slammed it in the navigator’s face, stalling him further. He pushed a chair beneath the door’s iron handle to block the door, though Kalon’s efforts could not be held back for long. Veros darted in his quarters, instantly rifling through his sack of objects he had taken from his home. Durig instantly woke up with all the commotion, but Veros had only one thought in his mind: stopping Kalon.
“Wha-” Durig started, but was cut off by Veros.
“Listen, Durig. There’s danger outside. Stay in here and don’t come out. Do you hear me?” Veros said hurriedly as he drew his steel katana out of his sack. His mind was suddenly taken back, all those many long years ago to when his father had given him it, on a beautiful summer evening in Knothole Glade. It was a weapon he had forged for him out of the finest steel the village had to offer and the hilt was made out of sturdy Balverine bones. He had never used it before, heeding his father’s words to use it only in cases of emergency and only for defense. And now he grasped its hand-carved hilt once more, being brought back to the present by Durig’s voice. Fear was in it.
“Veros?” he said, his voice wavering.
“What is it?” Veros hissed back.
He turned to face the doorframe, suddenly feeling a surge of pain rocket through his face and his knees crumple. Kalon had bashed into his skull with the blunt edge of his cutlass hilt and was standing in the room, a vicious grin on his pale face. Veros pulled himself to his feet and drew his weapon out, trying the best he could to have a defiant look on his face, even with a horrible sensation building in his stomach.
Kalon only laughed as he said, “You can’t fight me, whelp. I’ll run you throu-” before he could finish his sentence, Veros plunged into battle, throwing his body against Kalon’s and pushing him out into the hallway. While he did this, the maddened navigator slashed blindly, catching Veros in his upper shoulder and staggering him for a brief moment. A number of thin gashes were layered upon his shoulder which bled lightly, though he pressed on. He recovered from the blows and rushed forward, his blade extended out and ready to strike. Kalon leaped up from the dark wooden floor, kicking Veros viciously in his stomach before he could swing at him. Veros doubled over in pain, only to have his head snapped back by a blow from Kalon’s fist. Veros recovered, taking the upper hand, catching his unprotected side and slashing with bold long swipes. His vision was foggy and he was bleeding from his lip, but he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his cloak. He heard Kalon scream and continued to make strong blows. Kalon was bleeding from one side from a small wound, but wasted no time in retaliating. He thrust one open hand out, catching Veros by the neck and pushing him against the far wall. With his dark cutlass in hand, he chopped blindly at his adversary, missing and burying this tip of his blade in the wall. Veros used this slight setback to his advantage, pushing Kalon away from his useless blade. He banged Kalon against a weathered crate, holding his katana a short length from his neck.
“Don’t force me, Smithson.” Veros shouted as he held the blade level.
“You have no power over me. Never underestimate the strength of what you can’t comprehend, Bantain,” with these final, almost prophetic words, Kalon’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped down against the crate, unconscious... or so Veros hoped.
Durig came to Veros’s side, looking first at Kalon’s limp form and second at Veros, fear and awe in his eyes. Whatever had just taken place, Veros would never quite understand, though somehow he knew it was nothing to be taken lightly. “D-did you... kill him, Veros?” Durig seemed to have an unmistakable terror in his voice as he said this.
“I hope not,” Veros said, looking one last time at Kalon before he turned and heard the sound of someone hastily descending the stairs. Melinda Germain stumbled down the stairs, staggering as if she was wounded. She look towards Veros and a look of utter relief and hope filled her face.
“Veros! What happened? Are you- Oh my...” she said this as her eyes slowly fell upon Kalon’s body, “You stopped that monster? Amazing, son. Amazing.”
“What was going on?” Veros asked, a slight hint of confusion in his voice.
Melinda nodded to Durig as if acknowledging him before continuing, “That damned navigator was naught but a fraud. Kalon Smithson is none other than a pirate and a rogue. He was a servant of Jack himself.”
“You mean that he was plotting against us all along?”
“I’m afraid that would be correct, Veros. See here,” she lifted Smithson’s limp arm up and rolled down the sleeve of his dark coat, only to reveal a dark tattoo with the likeness of a blood red Phoenix engraved on his skin, “Ah, my suspicions were correct. He is a follower of Jack, as this is his sign. It would appear that through Kalon’s revelations he unwittingly told us, that Jack is amassing an army of mortals to assist him in his dark goals. An army of assassins.”
Veros had had experiences with assassins long ago, once when he faced a band of them as well as bandits with a caravan of experienced archers and knights. Assassins were sneaky, full of spite, ruthless and determined to reach their goals, no matter the cost. He remembered the commanding officer of the caravan, the swordsman Robert. He had fought valiantly, but while the rest of the company was fighting off a charge of vicious bandits, the assassin commander took on Robert. Veros remembered the dark shadows that were the other assassins’ cloaks swirling around Robert, surrounding him and the commander. Then he was overwhelmed and killed by the assassins, brutally and relentlessly. Assassins were doubtlessly witty and dangerous, but Veros hated them ever since that day.
He suddenly realized what Melinda had told him and responded, “To kill me? Why is Jack sending others to assassinate me?” Veros looked worried, “Why has he not shown his face, that coward?”
“Simple,” said Melinda, “Jack has not gained his full strength. He is weak from ages long passed of his defeat. The Dawn Breaker is a powerful weapon indeed, but it did not succeed totally in defeating Jack. It merely phased his power, as your great grandfather was not the true wielder of the chosen blade.”
“My great grandfather? I thought all Bantains were the rightful wielders of the blade.”
“Veros, I had not the time to tell you, as you were deep in your sleep by the time I had discovered this, but you are the chosen Bantain.”
“What are you talking about?” Veros retorted, rather baffled and annoyed that Melinda would not get to the point.
“You see, I brought along the journal of your great grandfather to study it further, and I discovered a rhyme inscribed on a battered note shoved within a compartment of the vast tome.”
“If I remember right, it said simply, ‘The blade which in blood and mind are tied, for which many have fought and died, but none may wield the sacred blade, nor the ones fate has forbade, for down the Bantain line, will come a light in darkness that shines, for when the struggle has reached its end, when the heart and soul is rend, one final Bantain will remain, and amidst the loss there is a gain, when all darkness seems to have won, is when the Bantain prophecy is done, at the discovery of destiny, is when the lock is fit with a key, the final Bantain’s fate is sealed, is when he can the Dawn Breaker wield.’”
There was a silence that seemed as an eternity before it was surprisingly broken by Durig with a rather humorous comment, “Umm… How did you remember all that?” On that note, Veros was left with a rather odd feeling of what every other person aboard the ship thought of what was occurring. Veros suddenly also felt a sudden foreboding that he was perhaps a burden. A weight that brought the rest of the crew down with the looming shadow of Jack’s minions over him. Melinda suddenly beamed, though it disappeared in a moment. He did not exactly know or guess its meaning, but somehow it left Veros with a certain confidence. A reassurance that they were with him, through whatever trials they might face... Together. What they would face after this would be full of desperation, darkness, but eventual triumph...
V
Vegeta
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
wow Nice +rep
wow Nice +rep
Sneaky reppage for you (check your user cp)
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Awesome! Thanks Angel for the sneaky reppage :ninja: and expect more in awhile.
Awesome! Thanks Angel for the sneaky reppage :ninja: and expect more in awhile.
Steve
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Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Wow! I can't believe that I hadn't stumbled upon your fan fiction earlier, Darg. Excellent work, my friend. I look forward to what you have cooking up next...
+rep
Wow! I can't believe that I hadn't stumbled upon your fan fiction earlier, Darg. Excellent work, my friend. I look forward to what you have cooking up next...
+rep
D
Darg
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Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Thanks Steve. I only hope the next chapter will be satisfying. Somewhere around this weekend a new chapter may be done.
Thanks Steve. I only hope the next chapter will be satisfying. Somewhere around this weekend a new chapter may be done.
D
Darg
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Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Sorry it took so long, but here we have Chapter 9, the entry into Hook Coast. Enjoy!
Chapter 9~ The Enemy of Hook Coast
“Hook Coast in sight off the port bow!” yelled Finrar Vodruke from the crow’s nest high above the deck of the ship. It was very early in the morning and a thick fog still hung above the water, swirling about in unusual patterns and eventually dissipating before it reappeared again without warning. Veros was resting against the mainmast with Rufus Almonder, watching over him as he sat with a rather cross expression on his bruised face. He had persevered through the worst, but suffered various wounds from Kalon’s attacks. The rest of the crew, as Veros had recently discovered, was okay as far as wounds, Melinda only receiving a few scratches and Badris sustaining only a bruise on his back. The night had left everyone aboard shaken, and sleep did not exactly come easily. As for Kalon, he had not died, though he was badly hurt. His unconscious body was put in the extra bed at the now locked empty room at the end of the lower deck hall. Even though he was an evil man and served Jack, Veros could not shake the image from his mind of his limp body, his blank eyes staring off into space and most of all, the inescapable feeling that he had almost killed someone. Perhaps he was no fighter, but he was stronger than he had thought. He only hoped he was stronger to face the challenges that were inevitably ahead.
“Hook Coast off the port bow!” Finrar repeated loudly from his position atop the crow’s nest. Veros looked up to see the strange, short man balancing on the edge of the platform. Recently, he seemingly took up residence above their heads, somehow enjoying the view from the crow’s nest. Veros personally thought he was quite the nutjob and was off his rocker, but couldn’t help but notice that his feeling of freedom and altogether happiness was refreshing in such dark times of uncertainty. Tom Meldrinas shifted his position from the front of the ship to come beside Veros, resting on an oaken walking stick he had crafted earlier.
He looked wistfully out to the horizon, where the fabled lighthouse of Hook Coast rose out of the early morning gloom and fog, before he spoke, “Look, Veros... I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you to face Kalon. I was tending to Rufus and Rolf above deck... I am deeply sorry.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over it, friend,” said Veros, “I would have done the same thing.”
“You know Veros... You may not believe that you have the ability to take down Jack’s minions, but you have more than you ever thought. How you handled yourself was beyond impressive. Rufus and I could not stand against Kalon, and I was forced back. I worried that you may not have made it back after facing the man. Jack’s minions are no ordinary people. Jack’s fury and dark magic flows through their veins. They are strengthened by his lasting power and it is by this that he controls them.”
Veros suddenly thought of their present situation, asking a question that had been in his mind ever since Melinda had revealed it to him, “If they... Jack’s minions... are everywhere, then how can we tell who is one of them?”
“You don’t see their true appearance in our realm, as Jack has concealed them with a magic shape that can be bound to mortals. On the inside they are demonic constructions of Jack, fury and darkness in its purest form contained within a metal shell with magic holding it together. There is but one way to tell if they are truly one of Jack’s minions.” Tom explained, looking straight ahead to where Hook Coast slowly came into view.
“What would that be?”
A sly and rather humorous look crossed Tom’s face as he said, “Their magic form is not immune to the foulest of liquids,” Veros leaned in, his eyes filled with expectancy, “Bluegin.” The rather puzzled look that Veros gave Tom only made him laugh, loud and long. “It’s true. We proved it earlier this morning. It would seem that Rufus’s foul brew is good for something after all. It would appear that one of the ingredients has some magical presence that is strengthened by its even stronger substances. I wouldn’t know exactly, but if it works, I would keep some with you at all times.” Before he could say any more, the two realized something: they were already pulling into the dock of Hook Coast.
Veros had heard tales about the amazing place that was Hook Coast, but nothing could prepare him for what it was truly like in person. The lighthouse which soared high above the bright streets of the frost-covered town was lit by a bright flame that had recently been implemented, or at least that Badris had said, having once visited the place to see his friend, Scorl the barman at the local inn. It was a pleasant place, full of beauty and wonder, and of course, the snow. Most of the likes of Knothole Glade had not seen the glistening white unless they had ever been in Oakvale during the long winter. Veros had only seen it once, a long many years ago in that very same city, truly a rare and amazing thing to behold. The Sea Wolf was docked near the old wooden harbor deck of Hook Coast, by a busy warehouse where various merchants strolled in and out, often speaking about local news and tales.
Finrar slipped over the edge of the crow’s nest, almost gliding down the rope ladder he had made to the deck, where he landed rather gracefully. Veros saw Melinda roll her eyes at the young, rather odd man, knowing that she was not exactly one to put up with his bizarre gusto that he withheld at all times, however unusual it was. Badris, clad in a thick woolen coat he had brought along, joined Veros, Tom and Rolf by the edge of the boat. They just looked out across the bay for a moment, taking in the brief serenity of the moment, before they were brought back to the most important issue of keeping warm. More accustomed to the humid setting of Witchwood, most of the crew were most surprised with the brisk weather change. Tom, however, being the seasoned traveler he was, was obviously just about immune to the cold, as it seemed the Hook Coast citizens were, wearing light fur coats and hardly showing any signs of reaction to the chilly air. Durig trundled up the lower deck stairs, carrying in his thin arms an enormous pile of coats and robes fit for the climate of the Coast.
“Thank you my boy. Hook Coast is colder than it looks, and these will be of much aid. Veros, take this.” Tom said, taking from the pile a thick, grey fur traveling cloak, a pair of wool mittens and a heavy, layered coat, setting them in his arms. He then proceeded to distribute the remainder of the assorted coats to the rest of the now-freezing crew, taking for himself a light jacket much like one that many Hook Coast residents were seen wearing and a pair of brown, knee high boots. With that, the company seemed rather well equipped to handle the weather, a new challenge amidst many. Rufus, what with still recovering, was to stay with the boat under the watchful eye of Rolf, who was also not feeling up to venturing out for the time being. Tom had already notified the local town guards, and Kalon, still unconscious, was swiftly hauled off to a ship convoy heading towards none other than Bargate Prison. Though he was indeed a horrible, malicious man, Veros couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The prison had spawned many unpleasant rumors and tales, and as a child he had the images of its dark stone corridors and winding, shadowed passageways in his mind as his father relented its many secrets to him. How he had known, Veros could only imagine.
Sorry it took so long, but here we have Chapter 9, the entry into Hook Coast. Enjoy!
Chapter 9~ The Enemy of Hook Coast
“Hook Coast in sight off the port bow!” yelled Finrar Vodruke from the crow’s nest high above the deck of the ship. It was very early in the morning and a thick fog still hung above the water, swirling about in unusual patterns and eventually dissipating before it reappeared again without warning. Veros was resting against the mainmast with Rufus Almonder, watching over him as he sat with a rather cross expression on his bruised face. He had persevered through the worst, but suffered various wounds from Kalon’s attacks. The rest of the crew, as Veros had recently discovered, was okay as far as wounds, Melinda only receiving a few scratches and Badris sustaining only a bruise on his back. The night had left everyone aboard shaken, and sleep did not exactly come easily. As for Kalon, he had not died, though he was badly hurt. His unconscious body was put in the extra bed at the now locked empty room at the end of the lower deck hall. Even though he was an evil man and served Jack, Veros could not shake the image from his mind of his limp body, his blank eyes staring off into space and most of all, the inescapable feeling that he had almost killed someone. Perhaps he was no fighter, but he was stronger than he had thought. He only hoped he was stronger to face the challenges that were inevitably ahead.
“Hook Coast off the port bow!” Finrar repeated loudly from his position atop the crow’s nest. Veros looked up to see the strange, short man balancing on the edge of the platform. Recently, he seemingly took up residence above their heads, somehow enjoying the view from the crow’s nest. Veros personally thought he was quite the nutjob and was off his rocker, but couldn’t help but notice that his feeling of freedom and altogether happiness was refreshing in such dark times of uncertainty. Tom Meldrinas shifted his position from the front of the ship to come beside Veros, resting on an oaken walking stick he had crafted earlier.
He looked wistfully out to the horizon, where the fabled lighthouse of Hook Coast rose out of the early morning gloom and fog, before he spoke, “Look, Veros... I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you to face Kalon. I was tending to Rufus and Rolf above deck... I am deeply sorry.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over it, friend,” said Veros, “I would have done the same thing.”
“You know Veros... You may not believe that you have the ability to take down Jack’s minions, but you have more than you ever thought. How you handled yourself was beyond impressive. Rufus and I could not stand against Kalon, and I was forced back. I worried that you may not have made it back after facing the man. Jack’s minions are no ordinary people. Jack’s fury and dark magic flows through their veins. They are strengthened by his lasting power and it is by this that he controls them.”
Veros suddenly thought of their present situation, asking a question that had been in his mind ever since Melinda had revealed it to him, “If they... Jack’s minions... are everywhere, then how can we tell who is one of them?”
“You don’t see their true appearance in our realm, as Jack has concealed them with a magic shape that can be bound to mortals. On the inside they are demonic constructions of Jack, fury and darkness in its purest form contained within a metal shell with magic holding it together. There is but one way to tell if they are truly one of Jack’s minions.” Tom explained, looking straight ahead to where Hook Coast slowly came into view.
“What would that be?”
A sly and rather humorous look crossed Tom’s face as he said, “Their magic form is not immune to the foulest of liquids,” Veros leaned in, his eyes filled with expectancy, “Bluegin.” The rather puzzled look that Veros gave Tom only made him laugh, loud and long. “It’s true. We proved it earlier this morning. It would seem that Rufus’s foul brew is good for something after all. It would appear that one of the ingredients has some magical presence that is strengthened by its even stronger substances. I wouldn’t know exactly, but if it works, I would keep some with you at all times.” Before he could say any more, the two realized something: they were already pulling into the dock of Hook Coast.
Veros had heard tales about the amazing place that was Hook Coast, but nothing could prepare him for what it was truly like in person. The lighthouse which soared high above the bright streets of the frost-covered town was lit by a bright flame that had recently been implemented, or at least that Badris had said, having once visited the place to see his friend, Scorl the barman at the local inn. It was a pleasant place, full of beauty and wonder, and of course, the snow. Most of the likes of Knothole Glade had not seen the glistening white unless they had ever been in Oakvale during the long winter. Veros had only seen it once, a long many years ago in that very same city, truly a rare and amazing thing to behold. The Sea Wolf was docked near the old wooden harbor deck of Hook Coast, by a busy warehouse where various merchants strolled in and out, often speaking about local news and tales.
Finrar slipped over the edge of the crow’s nest, almost gliding down the rope ladder he had made to the deck, where he landed rather gracefully. Veros saw Melinda roll her eyes at the young, rather odd man, knowing that she was not exactly one to put up with his bizarre gusto that he withheld at all times, however unusual it was. Badris, clad in a thick woolen coat he had brought along, joined Veros, Tom and Rolf by the edge of the boat. They just looked out across the bay for a moment, taking in the brief serenity of the moment, before they were brought back to the most important issue of keeping warm. More accustomed to the humid setting of Witchwood, most of the crew were most surprised with the brisk weather change. Tom, however, being the seasoned traveler he was, was obviously just about immune to the cold, as it seemed the Hook Coast citizens were, wearing light fur coats and hardly showing any signs of reaction to the chilly air. Durig trundled up the lower deck stairs, carrying in his thin arms an enormous pile of coats and robes fit for the climate of the Coast.
“Thank you my boy. Hook Coast is colder than it looks, and these will be of much aid. Veros, take this.” Tom said, taking from the pile a thick, grey fur traveling cloak, a pair of wool mittens and a heavy, layered coat, setting them in his arms. He then proceeded to distribute the remainder of the assorted coats to the rest of the now-freezing crew, taking for himself a light jacket much like one that many Hook Coast residents were seen wearing and a pair of brown, knee high boots. With that, the company seemed rather well equipped to handle the weather, a new challenge amidst many. Rufus, what with still recovering, was to stay with the boat under the watchful eye of Rolf, who was also not feeling up to venturing out for the time being. Tom had already notified the local town guards, and Kalon, still unconscious, was swiftly hauled off to a ship convoy heading towards none other than Bargate Prison. Though he was indeed a horrible, malicious man, Veros couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The prison had spawned many unpleasant rumors and tales, and as a child he had the images of its dark stone corridors and winding, shadowed passageways in his mind as his father relented its many secrets to him. How he had known, Veros could only imagine.
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
The first stop in their illustrious (or however you look at it) visit to Hook Coast was of course, the pub, the Dragon and Hobbe, a quaint place on the Northern end of town. Badris had made the decision to go there, primarily to check in on Scorl, his old friend. As they walked along the paved, frozen streets together, Badris spoke in his gruff voice, “Aye, this be a noble tavern ‘ere. This very same place be the pub where the legendary pirate Carstog Garisnof held council in durin’ the age of the pirate clan uprisin’. This same tavern ‘ere in Hook Coast was home to the assassin lord Jak DeRold fer two years when the Wars of the Bloody Skull were takin’ place.”
Durig shifted his shoulders uneasily before he said, “Sounds like a pleasant place...”
Actually, the place was surprisingly elegant, a tall, steeped wooden roof rising above the street with various designs of Balverines and warriors carved into its beautiful dark wood. Two wide, iron and ebony doors stood open, revealing the bustling interior of the tavern. Once inside, Veros realized how large the tavern actually was, with a tall arcing ceiling, about twice the size of the Knothole Glade pub. Veros guessed there were about thirty Hook Coast citizens inside. In one corner, a group of men laughed and drank heartily, leaning back in the comfortable seating that was provided. In the center of the pub, various tables were arranged with anyone from traveling merchants resting to fair maidens sitting about and incoherent drunkards wandering about. The table in the other corner of the pub caught Veros’ eye though. A motley band of nefarious-looking rogues, about six of them, were clustered around a round table, drinking and eyeing the rest of the room suspiciously. Suddenly, one of the rogues, a dark-skinned man with a black bandana wrapped around his head, fixed his gaze upon Veros. Something in the rogue’s eyes told him that he knew who Veros was and did not mean well. He brushed it off as a strange coincidence, but as he moved through the crowded room, he felt the rest of the group’s stare, watchfully monitoring him with cold gazes and dark eyes.
Finally, Veros and the group had prevailed through the thick crowd and emerged in front of the bar, empty save for an obviously inebriated middle-aged man and a thoroughly busy barmaid, carrying about fifteen drinks at a time. Behind the bar, stood the burly barman and Badris’ friend, Scorl. He was surprisingly finely tanned, and had deep hazel eyes (or eye, seeing as one eye was missing, a weathered patch concealing it) as well as a light brown short mustache. Scorl wore a simple barman’s garb, much the same as Badris usually wore, except he wore a bulky leather coat that had seen many days over his barman attire. Badris immediately leaned over the bar and shook his friend’s hand as he said, “Scorl me old chum, how are ye’?”
Scorl’s tanned face lit up with a wide grin as he responded, “’Ello there Badris! I heard from one of them travelers named Nibren that you’d be headin’ out this way. I ‘aven’t seen yer face fer ages it seems. Mind introducin’ yer company here?” Veros noticed for a moment that bad grammar seemed to be a trait in many barmen, but didn’t say anything.
“Well, I’m sure you know the whole reason of this here venture, Scorl. This here’s Veros Bantain, the man o’ the hour for his efforts on board the ship out there. That over there’d be Durig, my apprentice back in the Glade. Then there’s Melinda Germain, the scholar o’ this whole lot I’d say. And not to forget Tom Meldrinas, our guide and leader I suppose you’d call ‘im. Then last but certainly not least, there’d be Finrar Vodruke, the mage o’ the group, or so I’ve heard. These make up our group ‘ere along with two others aboard our fine ship out there, the Sea Wolf.” Badris explained, gesturing towards the appropriate people as he spoke, Scorl occasionally nodding his head.
“I’ve heard about this lot, especially the beautiful Miss Germain there,” Scorl’s eyes seemed to have a brief glint of wistfulness in them. Melinda had a brief look of surprise and almost blushed… Did Scorl have something for Melinda? Veros felt a fresh wave of disturbing thoughts, but quickly forgot them to prevent cringing in distaste, “Well, I’m sure you all are rather tired from yer recent journey. That there Sea Wolf must be a grand vessel if it made it here within a day m’ friend. Not many ships kin make it even as far as the outer buoys without reaching at least three days on the open water. From what I can make outta that window there, I see it sittin’ out on the harbor. Looks like a fine sea craft if I’ve ever seen ‘un.”
“Why thank ya, m’ friend. I was told by Rolf, one of the Oakvale crew members, that this ship ‘ere was built by some of Albion’s finest carpenters and first sailed on the first day of summer for good luck, and ever since that day, it’s been a darn legendary ship. I don’t intend t’ argue with ‘em,” Badris responded.
All while this was going on, Veros could not escape the gaze of the corner table where the roguish-looking band sat. He got the sudden urge to ask Scorl something. He leaned on the bar, his back partially facing the barman as he pointed as inconspicuously as he could at the corner table and said, “What could you say about that lot, Scorl? They keep staring at me or something.”
“You see that there bunch here and only at night if you’re up in the darkest o’ hours after midnight an’ before dawn. That’d be them thugs of,” he lowered his tone even further, “Wyverd Wickstad, the local gang leader if I’m not mistaken. Nasty lot,” Scorl lowered his voice so it only seemed like a faint growl.
“Wyverd Wickstad? Who’s…”
Almost before he finished his sentence, Scorl answered quickly, as if it was not something to speak about in broad daylight, “Don’t say that name s’ loudly, Veros. Wickstad may not be a very impressive name mind ya, but it commands a lot o’ fear around Hook Coast. ‘Is family’s been in this city fer over a decade, a very secretive, very quiet sort. Never seen one out in the day back then, before even Wyverd was born. They say that Wyverd’s family was a group o’ Skormm acolytes, thieves and ruthless bandits. I m’ self think it’s all true, but some in town refuse to believe it at all. They haven’t been ‘ere as long as I have. Wyverd is the oldest son of the new generation o’ Wickstads, dark and mysterious. He’s got Will in his blood, and commands it with ease. He’s pure evil and I know it. The man’s organized ‘is own band of thieves and thugs in Hook Coast, an’ none dare to challenge ‘im, much less his thugs. He’s the enemy of Hook Coast itself. If they want somethin’ from you mate, you’d best watch yer back while there isn’t a dagger in it.” With these rather disheartening words, Veros turned back around, only to realize that the group was eyeing him even more intently, only one thing was different- their blades were drawn.
“Veros, they want something from you,” Durig said, his eyes wide.
“I know,” he said, “my life.” Veros looked over and noticed that Tom’s grip was tightening on his ebony bow. If Tom had reason to be worried, so did the rest of them.
“What do ya say we do, Scorl? This ain’t good here,” Badris said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. Wickstad’s cronies were already up out of their seats and weaving their way through the crowd of tavern goers. The question now was fight or flight.
“Slip yer way out the back door while ya can!” Scorl hissed under his breath, motioning with one beefy hand behind the bar to the left. They quickly chose flight. Veros wasted no time, and neither did his group, hurriedly sneaking out the back way. Wickstad’s minions were hot on their heels, weapons drawn and eyes set on their goal. Their eyes were vicious and bloodthirsty. This was definitely not good.
The first stop in their illustrious (or however you look at it) visit to Hook Coast was of course, the pub, the Dragon and Hobbe, a quaint place on the Northern end of town. Badris had made the decision to go there, primarily to check in on Scorl, his old friend. As they walked along the paved, frozen streets together, Badris spoke in his gruff voice, “Aye, this be a noble tavern ‘ere. This very same place be the pub where the legendary pirate Carstog Garisnof held council in durin’ the age of the pirate clan uprisin’. This same tavern ‘ere in Hook Coast was home to the assassin lord Jak DeRold fer two years when the Wars of the Bloody Skull were takin’ place.”
Durig shifted his shoulders uneasily before he said, “Sounds like a pleasant place...”
Actually, the place was surprisingly elegant, a tall, steeped wooden roof rising above the street with various designs of Balverines and warriors carved into its beautiful dark wood. Two wide, iron and ebony doors stood open, revealing the bustling interior of the tavern. Once inside, Veros realized how large the tavern actually was, with a tall arcing ceiling, about twice the size of the Knothole Glade pub. Veros guessed there were about thirty Hook Coast citizens inside. In one corner, a group of men laughed and drank heartily, leaning back in the comfortable seating that was provided. In the center of the pub, various tables were arranged with anyone from traveling merchants resting to fair maidens sitting about and incoherent drunkards wandering about. The table in the other corner of the pub caught Veros’ eye though. A motley band of nefarious-looking rogues, about six of them, were clustered around a round table, drinking and eyeing the rest of the room suspiciously. Suddenly, one of the rogues, a dark-skinned man with a black bandana wrapped around his head, fixed his gaze upon Veros. Something in the rogue’s eyes told him that he knew who Veros was and did not mean well. He brushed it off as a strange coincidence, but as he moved through the crowded room, he felt the rest of the group’s stare, watchfully monitoring him with cold gazes and dark eyes.
Finally, Veros and the group had prevailed through the thick crowd and emerged in front of the bar, empty save for an obviously inebriated middle-aged man and a thoroughly busy barmaid, carrying about fifteen drinks at a time. Behind the bar, stood the burly barman and Badris’ friend, Scorl. He was surprisingly finely tanned, and had deep hazel eyes (or eye, seeing as one eye was missing, a weathered patch concealing it) as well as a light brown short mustache. Scorl wore a simple barman’s garb, much the same as Badris usually wore, except he wore a bulky leather coat that had seen many days over his barman attire. Badris immediately leaned over the bar and shook his friend’s hand as he said, “Scorl me old chum, how are ye’?”
Scorl’s tanned face lit up with a wide grin as he responded, “’Ello there Badris! I heard from one of them travelers named Nibren that you’d be headin’ out this way. I ‘aven’t seen yer face fer ages it seems. Mind introducin’ yer company here?” Veros noticed for a moment that bad grammar seemed to be a trait in many barmen, but didn’t say anything.
“Well, I’m sure you know the whole reason of this here venture, Scorl. This here’s Veros Bantain, the man o’ the hour for his efforts on board the ship out there. That over there’d be Durig, my apprentice back in the Glade. Then there’s Melinda Germain, the scholar o’ this whole lot I’d say. And not to forget Tom Meldrinas, our guide and leader I suppose you’d call ‘im. Then last but certainly not least, there’d be Finrar Vodruke, the mage o’ the group, or so I’ve heard. These make up our group ‘ere along with two others aboard our fine ship out there, the Sea Wolf.” Badris explained, gesturing towards the appropriate people as he spoke, Scorl occasionally nodding his head.
“I’ve heard about this lot, especially the beautiful Miss Germain there,” Scorl’s eyes seemed to have a brief glint of wistfulness in them. Melinda had a brief look of surprise and almost blushed… Did Scorl have something for Melinda? Veros felt a fresh wave of disturbing thoughts, but quickly forgot them to prevent cringing in distaste, “Well, I’m sure you all are rather tired from yer recent journey. That there Sea Wolf must be a grand vessel if it made it here within a day m’ friend. Not many ships kin make it even as far as the outer buoys without reaching at least three days on the open water. From what I can make outta that window there, I see it sittin’ out on the harbor. Looks like a fine sea craft if I’ve ever seen ‘un.”
“Why thank ya, m’ friend. I was told by Rolf, one of the Oakvale crew members, that this ship ‘ere was built by some of Albion’s finest carpenters and first sailed on the first day of summer for good luck, and ever since that day, it’s been a darn legendary ship. I don’t intend t’ argue with ‘em,” Badris responded.
All while this was going on, Veros could not escape the gaze of the corner table where the roguish-looking band sat. He got the sudden urge to ask Scorl something. He leaned on the bar, his back partially facing the barman as he pointed as inconspicuously as he could at the corner table and said, “What could you say about that lot, Scorl? They keep staring at me or something.”
“You see that there bunch here and only at night if you’re up in the darkest o’ hours after midnight an’ before dawn. That’d be them thugs of,” he lowered his tone even further, “Wyverd Wickstad, the local gang leader if I’m not mistaken. Nasty lot,” Scorl lowered his voice so it only seemed like a faint growl.
“Wyverd Wickstad? Who’s…”
Almost before he finished his sentence, Scorl answered quickly, as if it was not something to speak about in broad daylight, “Don’t say that name s’ loudly, Veros. Wickstad may not be a very impressive name mind ya, but it commands a lot o’ fear around Hook Coast. ‘Is family’s been in this city fer over a decade, a very secretive, very quiet sort. Never seen one out in the day back then, before even Wyverd was born. They say that Wyverd’s family was a group o’ Skormm acolytes, thieves and ruthless bandits. I m’ self think it’s all true, but some in town refuse to believe it at all. They haven’t been ‘ere as long as I have. Wyverd is the oldest son of the new generation o’ Wickstads, dark and mysterious. He’s got Will in his blood, and commands it with ease. He’s pure evil and I know it. The man’s organized ‘is own band of thieves and thugs in Hook Coast, an’ none dare to challenge ‘im, much less his thugs. He’s the enemy of Hook Coast itself. If they want somethin’ from you mate, you’d best watch yer back while there isn’t a dagger in it.” With these rather disheartening words, Veros turned back around, only to realize that the group was eyeing him even more intently, only one thing was different- their blades were drawn.
“Veros, they want something from you,” Durig said, his eyes wide.
“I know,” he said, “my life.” Veros looked over and noticed that Tom’s grip was tightening on his ebony bow. If Tom had reason to be worried, so did the rest of them.
“What do ya say we do, Scorl? This ain’t good here,” Badris said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. Wickstad’s cronies were already up out of their seats and weaving their way through the crowd of tavern goers. The question now was fight or flight.
“Slip yer way out the back door while ya can!” Scorl hissed under his breath, motioning with one beefy hand behind the bar to the left. They quickly chose flight. Veros wasted no time, and neither did his group, hurriedly sneaking out the back way. Wickstad’s minions were hot on their heels, weapons drawn and eyes set on their goal. Their eyes were vicious and bloodthirsty. This was definitely not good.
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Thanks. I was wondering if someone was going to post sooner or later. Just don't give up on me and there will be a new one out soon... maybe even today if I'm lucky.
Thanks. I was wondering if someone was going to post sooner or later. Just don't give up on me and there will be a new one out soon... maybe even today if I'm lucky.
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
If I can just get on later today, I may be able to post the next chapter...
Curse you Asscreed!droded;67487 said:
If I can just get on later today, I may be able to post the next chapter...
D
Darg
Guest
Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
Here we are at installment 10 of the saga. Prepare for the part where things get a little interesting...
Chapter 10~ The Hope of Hook Coast
Veros’s heart was beating hard against his chest as he bolted out the tavern back door. What were they going to do now? A fight was imminent, no matter what. They would stand their ground and see what they could make of the situation. The band of six henchmen burst through the door of the tavern, blades ready, all except for two thin men with black crossbows. They looked almost amused, as if they could easily beat the simple band of Knothole Glade townspeople. They were wrong. The fight broke out, Badris throwing the first punch with such force that it knocked a crossbowmen off his feet. Veros supposed it was due to the fact that he regularly dealt with disorderly drunk people on a regular basis, but was too busy at the moment to contemplate this. He whipped out his katana, swirling it with surprising grace and chopping one of the front minions with a crushing blow that pierced through his heavy leather armor. The blow drew blood, but the enemy hardly noticed this mere obstacle, pulling his ragged cloak over the wound and leading the band forward.
The man that Veros had smote shouted as he held his blade out, “Serve Wyverd, the lord of Hook Coast, or die by the blade of his dark soldiers!” With this rather chilling message Veros readied himself for anything. In a blue flash that lit up the back wall of the tavern, all six of them materialized an energy shield that wrapped close to their body and prevented most attacks. This was not looking good at the moment. Veros looked to Tom, a worried look on his face. He surely had something up his sleeve. And indeed he did. With a wry grin on his face, he flicked his wrist upward, the six focusing on a small crimson bundle before it fell to the snow-covered ground.
“Fall back!” he shouted, diving away and taking Veros by the collar in his amazingly strong grasp. The bundle seemed to shimmer for a brief moment before it burst with a shining aura of magic power. The energy shields protecting the minions wavered a bit and became a weaker shade of blue. The six of them seemed quite phased and weary. Veros then realized what the bundle had been: a secret device used in times of war called a Willbreaker. It was meant to release a strong quantity of raw magic energy into many targets and overload them, eventually draining and deteriorating their Will completely. This would give them the jump on Wickstad’s thugs significantly.
Veros decided to lead the charge against the enemy, roaring, “Get them!” and flying into the midst of the beginning battle, his blade soaring through the air already. Tom held his ground beside him, firing accurate shots into the small crowd of minions and occasionally shifting his position. Veros heard the almost satisfying crack of the nearest henchman’s neck as he smashed the blunt edge of his katana against his head. He turned around to be pelted with small wisps of flame bursting from another thug’s fingertips. The Willbreaker had worked, and their magical energy had been even more damaged than Veros had every imagined. He took the worst of the weak magical blow and thrust his fist out into the minion’s gut, doubling him over. He seemed to be improving as a fighter… Tom suddenly came into focus, slashing all around him in bold circular motions with an obsidian cleaver, tearing through armor and pushing back the three that surrounded him momentarily. Then, almost out of nowhere, Badris and Melinda jumped into the fray, Badris knocking henchmen on their sides with blows from his solid, hardened fists. Melinda was no fighter, but she could use various spells to her and everyone’s advantage. She raised her hand and cast what appeared to be a healing spell… and it was.
Veros suddenly felt fresh reinvigorating energy flowing through his veins from the spell and felt suddenly compelled to continue on. But even with this new feeling of hope, he realized the group was losing their strength fast. Badris seemed fatigued from hurling away jaw-breaking punches and had a gash across his forehead with dark blood partially staining it. Melinda had even sustained a few blows, her robe torn in several places and a bruise on the right side of her face. Tom still seemed defiant and almost invincible in the face of his enemies, though through it all, Veros could see he was slowly becoming more and more exhausted. That wasn’t a good sign. Out of nowhere in the midst of this setback, a fluorescent shard of electric blue exploded through the air and sent four of the thugs off their feet and sprawling onto the charred snow. What had just happened? Veros thought, looking up the incline behind the tavern to where Finrar Vodruke was standing atop a tall snow bank, his fingertips still luminous with the magic residue. So that was where he had gotten to. So the rumors were all true: Finrar the town eccentric once thought to have been crazy by most of the population in Knothole Glade, was in fact quite the sorcerer.
Yet he was not done! He flew straight into a flurry of attacks, launching fireball after fireball into the remaining two minions with lightning fast speed and accuracy. They were laying on their backs in the snow, unconscious in an instant. Badris’s jaw seemed to drop and Melinda’s expression seemed anything but unsurprised. Durig, who was quietly standing by, seemed appalled beyond words, but in his usual manner, Tom seemed passive but proud of Finrar. One of the crossbowmen forced himself to his feet with his injured arm, spitting blood out of his mouth as he hissed, “You may have won the battle, but you cannot possibly win the war. Wyverd will find you.” Almost as if on cue, the rest of them rose off of the frozen ground and sprinted away. None of the company followed them. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, especially for Finrar, they all stared at him amazedly.
He just looked a bit embarrassed and shrugged, saying, “Hey, it’s in my blood.”
After that dangerous encounter, the six of them entered back into the pub to find that the occupants were turning their attention to them almost instantaneously. Veros suddenly realized that they looked like they were nearly mauled by Balverines, most of them wounded with tears and scratches across their body in various places. Scorl turned to them, an astonished expression on his pudgy face, “What in Skorm’s bloody name ‘appened to you all out there? We all heard the sounds comin’ in here and were all worried. We were all about to call them guards outside o’ here, but after all, even they’re ‘fraid of Wickstad’s henchmen.” Veros almost felt sickened at the city. It was seemingly run by a psychopath Skorm-worshiper and no one in the city would do anything to stop him- not even the guards. It seemed to be the story of Veros’s life.
“Why doesn’t anyone do ANYTHING?” Durig shouted, surprising the rest of them thoroughly, “What is wrong with Albion when no one will even stand up for anything in their own hometown? When no one will fight against evil anymore?” The pub’s occupants seemed to be focusing all of their attention on Durig. Even the incoherent drunkards milling about stopped what they were doing to lean on anything around them and listen, “I remember old tales of Hook Coast from my childhood and how it was a great city of heroes and legends. Where has all the heroism and the valor gone to? Where are Albion’s saviors? If Hook Coast cannot stand up to Wyverd Wickstad, then we will!”
“Hold it just a moment there sir!” came the deep accented voice of a town guard stepping into the tavern. Varying levels of distasteful looks met the guard, a sure sign that this was not the moment to interrupt. The guard however, had something to say still, “Who might you and your company be?”
Durig fixed him with a look that Veros could not define before saying with an unwavering voice, “I am Durig Champlain of Knothole Glade and these are my friends. Who are you and what business do you have with me?”
The guard seemed taken aback, as if he had previously underestimated Durig before he said, “I am the Company Captain of all Hook Coast watchmen, Lewis Dehoode, and by what I have seen and heard, it would look as though this is finally the time.”
“The time for what?” Melinda chimed in, an obvious tone of insincerity in her voice.
“The time to strike back. If your lot can fight back some of Wickstad’s worst minions, then you can help the guard and I take on him I expect. The people just here in the pub have noticed your actions and I know that it is finally time. We’ve been waiting for this opportunity to come ‘round for far too long and with your help I know we can triumph. This may sound strange and all, but what this place needs is hope… and courage. And I think you have it. What d’ya say?” There was a long silence. Not only were they getting their selves involved with a race against time and Jack of Blades himself, but they were going to face the threat of a deadly master mage and his henchmen on the way. Avoiding peril was one thing, but plunging head-first into it was a totally different concept. For either hope and courage or failure and death, this was going to be interesting.
Here we are at installment 10 of the saga. Prepare for the part where things get a little interesting...
Chapter 10~ The Hope of Hook Coast
Veros’s heart was beating hard against his chest as he bolted out the tavern back door. What were they going to do now? A fight was imminent, no matter what. They would stand their ground and see what they could make of the situation. The band of six henchmen burst through the door of the tavern, blades ready, all except for two thin men with black crossbows. They looked almost amused, as if they could easily beat the simple band of Knothole Glade townspeople. They were wrong. The fight broke out, Badris throwing the first punch with such force that it knocked a crossbowmen off his feet. Veros supposed it was due to the fact that he regularly dealt with disorderly drunk people on a regular basis, but was too busy at the moment to contemplate this. He whipped out his katana, swirling it with surprising grace and chopping one of the front minions with a crushing blow that pierced through his heavy leather armor. The blow drew blood, but the enemy hardly noticed this mere obstacle, pulling his ragged cloak over the wound and leading the band forward.
The man that Veros had smote shouted as he held his blade out, “Serve Wyverd, the lord of Hook Coast, or die by the blade of his dark soldiers!” With this rather chilling message Veros readied himself for anything. In a blue flash that lit up the back wall of the tavern, all six of them materialized an energy shield that wrapped close to their body and prevented most attacks. This was not looking good at the moment. Veros looked to Tom, a worried look on his face. He surely had something up his sleeve. And indeed he did. With a wry grin on his face, he flicked his wrist upward, the six focusing on a small crimson bundle before it fell to the snow-covered ground.
“Fall back!” he shouted, diving away and taking Veros by the collar in his amazingly strong grasp. The bundle seemed to shimmer for a brief moment before it burst with a shining aura of magic power. The energy shields protecting the minions wavered a bit and became a weaker shade of blue. The six of them seemed quite phased and weary. Veros then realized what the bundle had been: a secret device used in times of war called a Willbreaker. It was meant to release a strong quantity of raw magic energy into many targets and overload them, eventually draining and deteriorating their Will completely. This would give them the jump on Wickstad’s thugs significantly.
Veros decided to lead the charge against the enemy, roaring, “Get them!” and flying into the midst of the beginning battle, his blade soaring through the air already. Tom held his ground beside him, firing accurate shots into the small crowd of minions and occasionally shifting his position. Veros heard the almost satisfying crack of the nearest henchman’s neck as he smashed the blunt edge of his katana against his head. He turned around to be pelted with small wisps of flame bursting from another thug’s fingertips. The Willbreaker had worked, and their magical energy had been even more damaged than Veros had every imagined. He took the worst of the weak magical blow and thrust his fist out into the minion’s gut, doubling him over. He seemed to be improving as a fighter… Tom suddenly came into focus, slashing all around him in bold circular motions with an obsidian cleaver, tearing through armor and pushing back the three that surrounded him momentarily. Then, almost out of nowhere, Badris and Melinda jumped into the fray, Badris knocking henchmen on their sides with blows from his solid, hardened fists. Melinda was no fighter, but she could use various spells to her and everyone’s advantage. She raised her hand and cast what appeared to be a healing spell… and it was.
Veros suddenly felt fresh reinvigorating energy flowing through his veins from the spell and felt suddenly compelled to continue on. But even with this new feeling of hope, he realized the group was losing their strength fast. Badris seemed fatigued from hurling away jaw-breaking punches and had a gash across his forehead with dark blood partially staining it. Melinda had even sustained a few blows, her robe torn in several places and a bruise on the right side of her face. Tom still seemed defiant and almost invincible in the face of his enemies, though through it all, Veros could see he was slowly becoming more and more exhausted. That wasn’t a good sign. Out of nowhere in the midst of this setback, a fluorescent shard of electric blue exploded through the air and sent four of the thugs off their feet and sprawling onto the charred snow. What had just happened? Veros thought, looking up the incline behind the tavern to where Finrar Vodruke was standing atop a tall snow bank, his fingertips still luminous with the magic residue. So that was where he had gotten to. So the rumors were all true: Finrar the town eccentric once thought to have been crazy by most of the population in Knothole Glade, was in fact quite the sorcerer.
Yet he was not done! He flew straight into a flurry of attacks, launching fireball after fireball into the remaining two minions with lightning fast speed and accuracy. They were laying on their backs in the snow, unconscious in an instant. Badris’s jaw seemed to drop and Melinda’s expression seemed anything but unsurprised. Durig, who was quietly standing by, seemed appalled beyond words, but in his usual manner, Tom seemed passive but proud of Finrar. One of the crossbowmen forced himself to his feet with his injured arm, spitting blood out of his mouth as he hissed, “You may have won the battle, but you cannot possibly win the war. Wyverd will find you.” Almost as if on cue, the rest of them rose off of the frozen ground and sprinted away. None of the company followed them. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, especially for Finrar, they all stared at him amazedly.
He just looked a bit embarrassed and shrugged, saying, “Hey, it’s in my blood.”
After that dangerous encounter, the six of them entered back into the pub to find that the occupants were turning their attention to them almost instantaneously. Veros suddenly realized that they looked like they were nearly mauled by Balverines, most of them wounded with tears and scratches across their body in various places. Scorl turned to them, an astonished expression on his pudgy face, “What in Skorm’s bloody name ‘appened to you all out there? We all heard the sounds comin’ in here and were all worried. We were all about to call them guards outside o’ here, but after all, even they’re ‘fraid of Wickstad’s henchmen.” Veros almost felt sickened at the city. It was seemingly run by a psychopath Skorm-worshiper and no one in the city would do anything to stop him- not even the guards. It seemed to be the story of Veros’s life.
“Why doesn’t anyone do ANYTHING?” Durig shouted, surprising the rest of them thoroughly, “What is wrong with Albion when no one will even stand up for anything in their own hometown? When no one will fight against evil anymore?” The pub’s occupants seemed to be focusing all of their attention on Durig. Even the incoherent drunkards milling about stopped what they were doing to lean on anything around them and listen, “I remember old tales of Hook Coast from my childhood and how it was a great city of heroes and legends. Where has all the heroism and the valor gone to? Where are Albion’s saviors? If Hook Coast cannot stand up to Wyverd Wickstad, then we will!”
“Hold it just a moment there sir!” came the deep accented voice of a town guard stepping into the tavern. Varying levels of distasteful looks met the guard, a sure sign that this was not the moment to interrupt. The guard however, had something to say still, “Who might you and your company be?”
Durig fixed him with a look that Veros could not define before saying with an unwavering voice, “I am Durig Champlain of Knothole Glade and these are my friends. Who are you and what business do you have with me?”
The guard seemed taken aback, as if he had previously underestimated Durig before he said, “I am the Company Captain of all Hook Coast watchmen, Lewis Dehoode, and by what I have seen and heard, it would look as though this is finally the time.”
“The time for what?” Melinda chimed in, an obvious tone of insincerity in her voice.
“The time to strike back. If your lot can fight back some of Wickstad’s worst minions, then you can help the guard and I take on him I expect. The people just here in the pub have noticed your actions and I know that it is finally time. We’ve been waiting for this opportunity to come ‘round for far too long and with your help I know we can triumph. This may sound strange and all, but what this place needs is hope… and courage. And I think you have it. What d’ya say?” There was a long silence. Not only were they getting their selves involved with a race against time and Jack of Blades himself, but they were going to face the threat of a deadly master mage and his henchmen on the way. Avoiding peril was one thing, but plunging head-first into it was a totally different concept. For either hope and courage or failure and death, this was going to be interesting.