The Eye of the Phoenix

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Thanks, droded. Well, here we are at Chapter 21, out quicker than I anticipated. Here we have the first stroke of death that enters the epic quest of our unlikely hero. Like I said, some good things have their end, and this is the unfortunate end to one of our protaganists here. Well, I must say that this is something new for me, killing off characters like J.K. Rowling, but every tale has to have its tragedy... But you be the judge here:

Chapter 21~ Fall of a Hero

It was no Twilight Prophecy. It was reality. Jack of Blades was standing right there in the forest, surrounded by half a dozen of his minions and his two glowing orbs as eyes boring incessantly at Veros. He felt them on him, appraising him as if he was a savage animal Jack was simply testing, leading him on to the inevitable. He had made them all play this game, had held all the cards the whole time, and was the reason for this whole journey. For what seemed like several minutes, though it was only in reality a few seconds, Jack and Veros stared eachother down. Veros felt the confidence in his own glare, knowing that he had not come all this way just to be struck down by a crimson-cloaked soul-sucking excuse for a demon. But Jack’s eyes were unrelenting, unblinking and soulless. They were as flaming ellipses with a vicious ferocity that outshone any peril the company had ever faced. Then, their gaze broke. Veros moved to the front of the group, Tom sliding over to stand next to him with a look of equal determination on his face. Still, Tom even seemed nervous, as Veros could detect the fear in his eyes.

“Well, well Veros,” Jack boomed, his voice roaring with a deep growl that originated from behind his shadowed mask, “long time no see. It would seem that you have changed, as have I. I am no force to be reckoned with, fool! You should have stayed back in Knothole Glade and never gotten yourself involved in all this. Then, you could have saved yourself the guilt of having me destroy your world while you desperately try to put out a flame that’s impossible to extinguish. If you play with fire, you’re sure to get burned, Veros.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Jack!” Veros snapped, his fists clenched and his knuckles white, “You may think it will all bend to your will in an instant, but I know the truth about you.” Veros took one step forward, grinning in satisfaction as Jack almost took a step backwards. “You are afraid of me, coward! You know that I can do this. You know that I can beat you just like my grandfather beat you!” Veros almost shouted the last few words, the triumph and boldness rising in his voice until he could hardly believe what he was saying. He caught a glance from Tom, proud as he had ever been, the two of them standing at the front of the group as they faced down Jack.
“Such a waste,” Jack said with an eerie calm as he shook his head, “that you fools should have such overconfidence in the face of your defeat. You still do not see it, do you? I have an army of servants loyal to me, and what do you have? I’ll tell you what: nothing! Many have tried to stop me, to quench the fire of my blade, but where has that got them? Your grandfather could not defeat me. How sad it was, Jericio, that pathetic old fool. How he thought he destroyed me, he thought he won. Oh, was he wrong. Why can you imbeciles never see the sad truth that I cannot be beaten? I cannot be defeated, especially by a ragged bunch of scum like you.” His words cut deep, but Veros kept face. In his life, he had backed down far too many times to count and this time he would stand his ground until… well, he didn’t quite want to consider that.

“Scum? It looks like you are the only scum here, Jack!” Sarvis stepped out of the shade of a frost-coated tree, his distorted, damaged face snarling with hatred deeper than what Veros could ever know.
Jack spun around, his cloak fluttering around him like the wings of a vast, dark moth, “Ah, Sarvis. So you evaded my men once more. Good for you. It’s too bad you came all this way to die like the mangled abomination you are. I have no use for you any longer. In case you haven’t realized yet, it’s just the way things work. You have outlived your usefulness. It’s only your time to… expire.” Veros stared over at Sarvis. What he had been through was all Jack’s doing, and here he was at this very moment, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. A fire shone in his eyes, a confidence that matched theirs with equal intensity. Perhaps, Veros thought, as his grandfather always said, the enemy of his enemy was his friend… he’d wait and see.

“You have no idea what you are up against, demon.” Tom said, his eyes unwavering and his tone harsh, “You have made more foes than allies it seems. Soon you will see the true power of what you underestimate. Enough of this! Let us settle this once and for all.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, and he growled, “So be it.” He made a brief, subtle gesture with his hand and his six minions fanned out, three on each side of him, flanking him in formation. He fingered his scarlet cloak, throwing it to the ground and leaving only his hood. It was then that a long, sleek blade was revealed at his side, a master-forged weapon with engraved runes in its gleaming surface. The armored, gloved hand that had slain many gripped the sword once more and drew it out to stand with it in a deadly offensive position. Veros made his move before anyone could attack, pulling Sarvis to stand beside him and Tom.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, frustrated at first.
“We’re going to help you.” Tom said before Veros could, “We have a common enemy and a common goal. You would do wise to accept our aid.” Sarvis hesitated at first, but seeing the glares from the others, he willingly accepted, drawing his own blade out.
“Surprise, surprise.” Jack sneered with his blade still out, “Traitors and enemies alike against me. Wow, I’m getting better all the time.”
“Save it, Jack. We’ll just see who laughs last.” Sarvis shouted bitterly.

Then it was begun. The minions shouldered their double-edged blades in their traditional format, moving in on the company and Sarvis. Veros launched himself into an attack, skewering a minion on the end of his fine silver katana, realizing with dismay that it could not affect the horrible foe. Tom staved off a strong attack from Jack, backpedaling to slice the helmeted head of the minion straight off. With the momentum of his strike still pressing him on, he continued the swing back around, only to have it blocked hard by Jack. He staggered a bit, only to recover and continue the assault elsewhere. Badris, despite his recent incapacitation, wielded the might of the axe he acquired while in Hook Coast and split the armored exterior of the minions like egg shells. Side-stepping into another pair of minions, Badris unintentionally bowled them over. He shrugged; almost laughing at his opponents, though now was hardly the time for comedy. He dodged a high swing from the minion behind him with surprising agility for someone of his size, coming back up to thrust his heavy fur boot out in a bone-shattering kick. That was, if minions had human bones. Scorl charged up to stand beside Badris, quiet until this moment, swinging a rough iron mace like a lasso around his head to land it hard against the side of a minion’s head with a resounding ‘ding’ noise.

Out of the corner of his eye, Veros spotted Jack, racing towards him with his blade over one shoulder and ready to swing. He hopped crazily to one side to avoid the blow, though the blade grazed his shoulder and left a jagged scar. A bit of blood leaked out, but he easily stifled it with a piece of hide that was in his coat pocket. Jack did not cease his assault, turning with the motion of his blade and jabbing out with a crushing blow. It was not as swift as he had planned, allowing Veros safe passage back into the midst of the battle. Jack pursued him intently, though his eye could not trace him through the heat of the fray. Suddenly, he was intercepted in his search by Finrar, who had busied himself with climbing the nearest tree like an odd-looking Balverine. He hurled himself on the crimson-mantled demon, whipping his sword around to slash at his neck. The armor beneath his hood absorbed the brunt of the blow, though Finrar indeed detected a trace of blood trailing from his throat. With a muffled yell, he threw Finrar off of him into a deep snow bank, still wildly trying to seek out Veros.

Though elderly as she was, Melinda Germaine even offered a fair fight, making good use of a yew bow to hinder a few of the monstrosities’ blows. Durig stood by her with his weapon at the ready, swinging with broad and low attacks to bring his enemies to their knees. He winced as the pain coursed through his temple, a thin scar received from the tip of a double-edged blade throbbing intensely. Meanwhile, Scorl and Badris battered away at the relentless minions, who somehow seemed to function without pain as a factor. Badris had sustained countless blows across his left arm, many of them limiting the full use of his axe, though Scorl, for the most part unscathed, could make up for his disability. Badris hacked through another foe, this time slaying it with a strike that brought the axe slicing through its midst.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix


“Demons! Louts! Morons! Chowder-headed buffoons!” Sarvis Umbras fired off insults at the rampaging minions, carving them up with little heed to his own injuries. His leg was bloodied in two places and his jaw had taken the worst of a side-sweeping slash. For the most part, Sarvis seemed to be enjoying it as far as Vero could see. He was literally laughing in the face of death, taking as many of them as he could with him before he went down. Well, he was determined. Veros could give him that. Without noticing it, Veros had avoided yet another blow directed by a particularly strong minion towards him. He aimed a powerful blow back at the opponent, the blade barely grazing the minion’s back as it ducked. Before he knew it, the minion had muscled him to the ground with the blunt edge of his weapon and was continually bashing it against his head until he thought he would lose consciousness. Through his blackened eye, Veros caught sight of Tom, skidding to a halt next to him and lifting the minion’s chin up with the tip of his blade, subtle but powerful. Beaming in his strange way, he let down his blade and swung it up to break the minion’s neck. The demon toppled over, writhing on the ground until Tom crushed its chest with a long-reaching bash from the hilt of his blade.

Veros took Tom’s outstretched hand, struggling to his feet. He managed to get the words out as a few drops of blood fell from his open mouth, “T-thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now let’s go. There are plenty of skulls to crack here.” Veros could have laughed if it were not for his terrible headache. Tom always had his odd way of remaining jovial even in a situation such as this. Tom made his way back into the battle, his blade only a distant gleam under the waning northern sun. Veros got to his feet, his headache dashed from his mind. He glanced over to see Finrar, doing some sort of spellcraft on him. A heal spell? If nothing else by the power of Will, this had to be the most useful, Veros thought as his mind returned to ease. He shot a grin at Finrar, who returned it as best as he could, though he revealed just how many teeth the minions had knocked out…

Suddenly, Finrar’s eyes widened and he yelled, “Heads up!” Veros soon realized what he meant, instinctively dropping to the frozen ground as a blistering ball of fire streamed overhead, making a roaring ‘whir’ sound as it lit up the forest. He leapt to his feet, his eyes making direct contact with the cold, yellow orbs that were Jack’s. Oh, just great he thought. He’s a swordsman and a magician. What’s next? Jack focused all his strength into pursuing Veros, who readied himself with a stance he had seen the soldiers of Bowerstone use once. He held his katana sideways across his chest, the tip reaching beyond his shoulder and ready to repel any blow Jack had to throw at him. However, he wasn’t quite ready for what Jack really did. The scarlet-hooded demon moved like a swift shadow, using his blade as a means to hurl Veros into the air. He landed in the frigid bank, hearing a strange crackling sound, soon revealed to be the nearby flames of the exploded fireball as they licked at the top of the gnarled tree. Nearby also lay a blood-red indistinguishable item draped over the vast white. It was Jack’s cloak that he had shed off, near enough so that Veros could snatch it up. It was then that a plan entered his mind. He only hoped to Avo that it would work.

Snatching up the cloak as Jack moved in, Veros whipped it around into the flames and it instantly caught fire, almost blending in with the deep red hue of the thick cloth. His sword in one hand and the tattered cloak in the other hand, he assailed Jack, the adrenaline flowing through his veins. Veros flung the flaming fabric out as he distracted his opponent with a flurry of blade attacks. The cloak wrapped around his side exposed by a flaw in his defense, the searing inferno surrounding his raging foe. Jack screamed with an unearthly sound, a horrible roar that echoed around the area. Veros seized his opportunity, swinging his leg up around to kick Jack around the center of his back, staggering him so that he crashed into the foot of the flaming tree with a dull thud. “Hey Jack! Remember, if you play with fire, you’re sure to get burned!” Veros made well sure that these words stung, though hardly as much as the flames of the tree. It felt good to finally be on top. The best part about it was that Jack had caused the fire in the first place, though Veros could be sure that it wouldn’t hold him back for long. He rushed back into the midst of the fight, finding to his surprise that the tide of battle was turning in their favor.

Three of the six original minions lie dead in the snow, one more Veros presumed dead. Not many, man or beast, could take a stab through the throat he guessed. The two remaining foes were easily overtaken by the remaining force, Rufus leading a powerful attack from the flank and slamming them to the ground. It was fair enough to say that the battle was won in Veros’ opinion. But no, he was wrong. He was very wrong. Jack was not dead and it seemed that he never would be, being an unquenchable fire as he had said. He was not weak as he had appeared, powerful as a raging storm and unstoppable and invincible as a mountain range. There was only one way to truly defeat him, and that they had yet to acquire.

What happened next was almost beyond what Veros could comprehend. It happened so fast without any warning that he could hardly believe it had occurred right there, right then. He could hardly believe it had occurred period. Out of the corner of his eye, a brief dark shadow hovered quickly towards the group. It was enough for him to realize that something was deeply amiss. And that was still quite an understatement. At that moment, Veros’ mind felt barred from reality, removed from all that he saw and knew at that very second. He could do nothing but watch. The black shadow swooped in with a horrible screeching sound, a deathly silhouette in the failing light of the day. Then, the smoke dissipated and out of its midst rose the form of Jack, blade drawn as he charged into the middle of the company. Veros’ legs felt rooted in place. He could not run, he could not shout to warn them, but he could do nothing but be a spectator of the horrible event.

The sword of Jack shimmered in the waning light, drawn high above his head as he guided a swift path towards the company, and eventually to Tom. All time seemed to slow, every second ticking by like an hour as Jack’s saber sung through the frosty air with a sound as the screaming voice of a horrible wraith. All seemed blocked from Veros’ vision except for Tom and Jack, the rest of the world shut out as it all unfolded. In the growing illumination of the rising moon, a single blade fell and another blade shone with the scarlet gleam of blood. Death was in the air. Jack turned to Veros, his eyes the portrait of satisfaction. Then all was silent and Jack disappeared into the imminent dusk. The shroud was drawn back that obscured the thoughts from Veros’ mind, and then it hit him.

The crumpled form of Tom lay where he had once stood only minutes ago, tall and bold in the face of their victory. But it was no victory, not by a long-shot. He lay in a puddle of crimson blood, a harsh reality amid the beauty of the almost-mythical forest. Veros rushed to his side, where the rest already stood, staring at him with eyes wide with fear. Somehow though, Veros knew by instinct that he was not yet dead. As he approached, he saw the face of Tom as he lay on his side, confirming that his suspicions were right… for the moment. Veros knelt down beside him, noticing that a single tear streaked his own cheek. He wiped it off and tried to not appear worried as he looked into Tom’s deep blue, beautiful eyes one last time. He recalled those many days ago back in Knothole Glade, when he had first gazed into those very same eyes, and what he had seen that had changed him on this journey. He was confident, strong, and bold. Like Tom was, even now in his death.

His lips lit up with a smile, pale as they were. Veros could detect the pain in his face from his horrid wound. His face also looked feverish, pale as a few drops of sweat fell to the ground beside him. Then he spoke. “Hey Veros.” he said, making an effort to speak, each word paining him inside like his injured side.
“Don’t speak, Tom,” Veros said, cautious as he clasped Tom’s hand in his for support, “it’ll be alright. Melinda, she can heal you. Right, Melinda?” Melinda’s eyes shifted slowly to Tom’s side, where the deep gash showed no signs of recovery in her eyes. Her face fell and Veros knew that it was hopeless. He only hoped that Tom did not notice this.
“Look, Veros,” Tom strained, “I’m so sorry for this.”

Veros felt the warm tears streaming from his eyes as he said, “No, Tom. This is all my fault. I could have stopped it. I could have done something. I should have done something. I- I just…” His words trailed off and he could not think of anything more to say.
“The blame does not fall on your shoulders, Veros. It is rather that I died here in this place then elsewhere along our road. All things have an end, I’m afraid.” With these words, a tinge of sadness was evident in his voice.
“What about us? We can’t go on without you!” Veros said, trying but failing to keep a straight face, “The only reason we got this far to start with is because of you! How are we going to carry on without you?”
Tom smiled weakly, “I know you will. All of you must go on. Veros, I’ve always known that you would become a leader. Now is your opportunity. You must go on your way to Snowspire and then onto Lake Bridmor to stop what I could not. It all rests in your hands, Veros. I have confidence in you. Jack, he is afraid of you. Afraid of what he has no power over. You will triumph. As for myself, I always knew that my cockiness would catch up to me sometime… I suppose that now is my time.” He coughed as a faint laugh escaped his lips.
“Tom,” Veros said as Tom’s grip tightened on his outstretched hand, “don’t leave me now! I can’t do this all alone!”
“You cannot stop destiny’s will. And apparently, neither can I.” His gaze looked straight ahead, to the stars above in the gray northern sky, “Veros, return my body to its proper resting place. To the Guild of Heroes. It is my final resting place-” And so Tom Meldrinas, the man that helped them along the way to this place in time and taught them all of their true destiny, the man that had done what he could to stop the evil and fallen, and the man that Veros was proud to call his friend, let the last breath of life escape his lips as his hold loosened on Veros’ grasp and his lifeless hand dropped to the frozen ground as a light snow fell from the dark northern sky.
“It is where you belong, Tom.” Veros gasped as the warm tears could not be held back any longer, “As a hero.”

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Hello again, people! Sorry it took so long... I'm kind of having difficulties over the longest, craziest days of summer, and somehow it doesn't help to come back and be greeted by the sight of so many other stories more-read than mine... I suppose I shouldn't be jealous or anything, but I'm starting to feel a little... discouraged... either way, I'll still write if you'll still read.


Chapter 22~ Visions of Hope

The light of the distant city was glowing ever brighter as Veros, Badris, Scorl, Durig, Melinda and Finrar trekked across the frozen foothills of the Northern Wastes. Rufus Almonder had taken up the grim task of bringing Tom’s body back to the ship, easily one of the strongest out of them besides Badris and Scorl. Veros could still not believe that Tom was gone, a leader and a friend that could never be replaced. His grief for him would never truly diminish, though another feeling secretly welled up inside him as he traveled on. It was a feeling of cold, bitter fury. Jack had too long plagued his life. He had taken his dear Melissa from him and now had taken Tom out of his life, and if nothing else in this sordid journey, he vowed to take his revenge, to show Jack once and for all that he wasn’t going to stand around while he destroyed everything he held dear.

As strange and out of place as it now seemed, Veros was now the leader, and it never truly occurred to him how difficult it was. With so much resting on his shoulders now, the greatest feeling of being alone really set in. Sure, there were the others along with him, but without Tom, his confidence was limited. In more ways than one, Tom had always been the one to bring light into the darkest and most desperate of situations, and from now on, it was all they could do to carry on their mission. He would not let Tom’s memory be in vain.

“Veros?” Durig asked, looking over Tom’s old map by torchlight as they walked, “What does this mean?” he pointed towards an odd dark mark in the shape of a diamond divided into four areas. It was surrounded by what appeared to be a series of silver designs resting over an otherwise unmarked area of the map near their current location in the foothills. Veros took hold of the map and studied it, noticing the faint gray lettering below it that said, ‘Arcturian Moonshade’ in a rolling, sleek text not unlike Tom’s. The best guess was that it was one of his ancestor’s that used the map previously, judging by the aged script.
“Arcturian?” Melinda said as she gazed over Veros’ shoulder, “I recall that name very well. If I’m not mistaken, it is the surname of Ryros Arcturian, the ancient white knight of the Northern Wastes.”
“A white knight y’say? Why, there’s been nary a white knight in these lands since the days of the Old Kingdom. Hook Coast ‘ad many a good few become white knights in those days.” Scorl said, scanning the horizon as if some answer would suddenly pop into his mind.
“Also, Moonshade is the term for the magical energies that forge a Balverine’s bestial power. It is the essence of Will that is focused on a certain area; take for example the lakes at Darkwood and Witchwood. Around midnight, all Balverines focus on the Moonshade sight to regenerate their strength and heal themselves. It’s rather odd though, how the name Arcturian and the word Moonshade are together like in this marker’s case.” Melinda said, scratching her head as if she was pondering something.

“From what I know though, Moonshade sights are created by a great deal of magical energy taking place in one spot with the infused power of a Balverine. In my days of studying bestial properties out in Darkwood, I at least discovered that.” Finrar mused, “Whatever happened on the sight though, I’m sure not the one to guess.”
“According to a bit of my own research, Ryros Arcturian, it seems, was slain in a perilous duel against a terrible snow Balverine of these lands, though it has been said that he took the Balverine with him by unleashing his full might of Will in one powerful blow, the happening that brought about the magical focus.” Melinda offered, an evident knowledgeable tone in her wise voice.
“Why did someone mark it there then?” Durig asked, gesturing with a single finger at the aged lettering.
Badris glanced at the darkly etched placeholder as he said, “I believe it to be a traveler’s habit. I’ve seen many a wanderer pass through my tavern an’ while they’ve looked over their maps and such, I’ve always noticed that they mark off points o’ interest where they’ve been. Y’never know, but that’s my guess.”
“More likely than not.” Veros said, “Something must’ve happened at that very spot that was worth recording, whether for good fortune or ill… Judging by the other markings of this sort on the map, that’s what I gather.”

Indeed, countless other marks done in the same fashion dotted the ancient map of Albion, one especially that caught Veros’ eye: a scrawled signature “TM” deep in the midst of where the Shardos Straits lie, closely followed by the inscription: ”The Kraken Slayers” written in Tom’s familiar script. Just then, the memory of Tom’s prize, the shimmering white scale that he had taken from the dead Frost Kraken entered his mind. Though it remained on the ship while they ventured on, it was all that Veros had left of the wandering leader. Even with him gone, Veros made a promise to himself that his bold strength would live on through him. He would complete his journey despite any predicament. For Tom, that was.

“Either way, we may as well continue on.” Scorl said, “It’s still a while ‘til midnight, as dark falls quicker than most anywhere else in the Northern Wastes. With any luck, we all won’t run into anythin’.” Veros only hoped that his words were the truth. They carried on through the darkness, lit only by Durig’s torch as the sound of it crackling in the gloom was all that reached Veros’ ears. The foothills were treeless; a rolling, frigid landscape of shadowed hues and pitch darkness, the distant shape of Snowspire’s tall walls and battlements the only indicator of where to go. They occasionally passed by the odd boulder pile, many of them tall enough to seem like gray, ice-coated walls. As well as this, a few of the sloping hills rose up towards the sky, some of them becoming steep cliffs with silver tendrils of ice hanging from their edges. Then, as Veros and his company continued on, a sudden light snow came out of the east, faint but inclusive, shrouding the distant lights of the far-off plains. Wandering any more in the bluff would warrant disaster and perhaps push them off course. Veros made the decision as the leader to stop for the night. The rest were weary and needed rest if they were to reach Snowspire at all.

“Look, everyone. This shroud is thick and I know that you all are exhausted as am I. I suggest that we set up camp by the protection of one of those rocky cliffs until it is light enough to see our way.” No one disagreed with him, realizing just how tired they had become after the long day’s share of trials. Their supplies were limited, preferable by the company to travel lightly, though the presence of four light tents from Knothole Glade was a welcome addition to their luggage. Setting up the tents with unmatched haste, the six of them prepared for the night by posting a watch every hour on the hour. The first watch, Veros willingly took. However, before they retired to their rest, they sat around the crackling flames of a small fire, lighting up the shadow of the rock wall they had pitched their tents adjacent to. They ate a few food supplies in their packs, most of it the remaining bread that they had taken from Scorl’s inn back at Hook Coast.

As he sat around the flame and ate, Veros wondered what the fate of the icy port town was. They had left it in the hands of the corrupted town guard what seemed like years ago, though it was only a few days. What would become of the city, Veros could only guess, but he would return to it once the Dawn Breaker was in his grasp to free it from Jack’s reign and to save the city. A place that was only the stuff of fairy tales and legends that he knew as a child was now a concept so familiar that it was head-spinning to think about how far he’d gone. Even now, saving the city sounded like something so far off, something unattainable as standards were at that very moment, though he was close enough to the sword to know that it truly was attainable. Somehow, his doubt spoke louder than his instinct.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

After a while of lounging by the edge of the flames, Durig, Melinda, Finrar and Scorl retired to bed, Badris and Veros the only remaining after they entered their assigned tents for the night. The night fell swiftly after that, the darkness growing to the point of where it surrounded their humble campsite like a rowboat in a frothing, unrelenting sea of despair. Silent only until the sounds of the others’ deep slumber could be heard, Badris spoke, his tone low, though audible enough to be heard over the incessant crackle of the flames. “’S pretty rough here. Pretty rough.” As he said this, Badris looked at the stars far above. Veros could tell that he was thinking of what to say, definitely knowing Badris well enough to read him that way.
“Yeah.” Veros said, his eyes falling upon the mesmerizing arc of the fire, “Yeah it is.”
“Look.” Badris pointed towards the farther-north night sky, a fleeting grin reaching his lips at the sight of the far Northbound Glow. Veros still recalled the very first day that Tom had pointed out the shimmering wonder on a clear night on the endless sea. It truly was amazing, a fiery whip of shimmering radiance reaching up from the cold, distant horizon. How many things he had seen were innumerable, but one thing he was privileged to have seen in his life was nature’s lightshow, the quiet serenity of the Northbound Glow.
“It sure is beautiful. There aren’t many things out there that you can see such as this.” Veros said as the two of them gazed wistfully out to the wide scope of the far-away horizon.

To Veros’ surprise, Badris grinned and began laughing in his low, familiarly growling voice, taking him back to the good old days when they both just sat around the bustling tavern and spoke like they hadn’t a care in the world. It was a time so distant, so long-past that it was surreal in his mind, a time that was only just that: a memory of the past that may never be again. Then, Badris stopped laughing and looked up at Veros, an unusually merry expression on his face as he said, “Oh, Veros. If only the rest back home knew what we’ve all been through. Not many’d expect that us, a humble barman and a tavern-goer, to get this far, standing on the doorstep o’ the Northern Wastes. I mean, we came from wastin’ our days away in the good ol’ Glade and ‘ere we are, a bunch of motley adventurers on a mission such as this. If only they could see us now, Veros. If only…” His voice trailed off, almost as if it was swept along with the light snowfall on that cool night.
“Yeah,” Veros even cracked a grin as the thought entered his mind, “I can’t believe it myself, even standing right here today. I mean, a couple of crazy townsfolk like us hardly belong here. But somehow it seems like we do.”
“You bet yer life we do. Otherwise we wouldn’t have made it this far. Don’t you see? Somehow, some way, we’re meant to be here, whether y’know it or not. In all my days as a barman, all my experiences and whatnot, I’ve never believed in whatever they all say ‘bout destiny and the like. Well, now I have to say that I do.”

“Sometimes Tom would talk about it,” Veros said, almost without realizing that the words escaped his lips, “about destiny. About my destiny usually. Apparently, he knew about it, knew that it would all fall into place like this and that we would make it this far. I know we can do it, even without Tom, though it’s going to be tough. That much I know.” Tough? After saying it, he felt a wave of exhaustion, realizing just how much of an understatement it really was.
“Indeed it will be, Veros. Indeed it will. Well, you’d best be retirin’ for the night like the rest of that lot. I’ll take the next watch, s’ don’t worry yaself about it. It will be a long day ahead o’ us I can tell right now.” And even later that night as Veros drifted off into a troubled slumber, Badris’ words still echoed in the caverns of his mind, knowing doubtlessly that it would be a long day after all.

That night, without warning came a Twilight Prophecy long after their absence from his thoughts. It was a feeling unwelcome, an infiltration of his mind and a dark presence that clouded his vision as he slept on. In his dream, he found himself once more locked in the deadly battle in the forest, the blades of his foes whirling around him as Jack ordered them on. But one thing was different: the sky was blood red, just as it had been that very first night in Knothole Glade that the dream had entered his mind. The eerie light of the scarlet sky shone down on the perilous scene below, Veros realizing at once that he now knew what would come at the end of the fray. Tom would die again. He had to stop it, futile as it was. The dream played out almost identical to the actual fight, though this time near the final moments, when all of Jack’s minions lie dead in the blood-stained snow, something different occurred. Jack’s cloak swirled around him as he fled- fled like the end of the world was coming. The end for him, that was. Everything frozen around him in that very moment, his entire purpose set on chasing him down, Veros broke into a run, coming up quick on the heels of the crimson cloaked demon. The mask rotated around as Veros lifted his blade back with his full strength in one blow, one last glimpse from Jack in his mind. His eyes, yellowed and demonic, were opened wide in fear! A fear deep-reaching as the depths of the glorious Arkroot Trees of Hook Coast, as unwavering as the fierce armor of the doomed Kraken and desperate as Hook Coast’s deadly battle, fear in its true form.

The Balverine bone blade hued through Jack’s middle, leaving a bleeding gash that forced him to the ground of the frozen wood with a muffled scream. Veros moved in, not relenting as he hacked away at his adversary until there would be no more pain, no more death, no more of Jack’s evil in the world. And then his dream ended, with his blade held high above his head in glorious triumph, the demon of Albion finally slain. Veros woke from his sleep, sweat dripping down from his brow. A sudden, instantaneous excitement rose in his veins, a vigor like no other. The adrenaline pumped so heavily that he could hardly hold it back any longer. Somewhere, from deep inside of him, he felt a surge of confidence, and heard again a few of Tom’s final words clear as the light raindrops of Witchwood in his ear: “Jack is afraid of you. Afraid of what he has no power over…” And then it faded, leaving Veros to ponder it deep into the midst of the night, the possibility of just what lie in wait…

 

[blu phoenix]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Wow, it's been so long since I've read more...and it's still amazing! I love your work! Please keep it up! Oh yes, reppage!

 

[FableGuy]

Fable Guy's First Returning Post

Hello forums,FableGuy's BACK!Ok Darg... your story is extrordinary.
I'd love to read more of it!

Edit:Oh yes I almost forgot.... +reppage for you

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Sorry I haven't been as loyal to writing more on this story as planned lately, seeing as I've been gone almost forever! Two weeks can be like forever to me when I'm away from my beloved forums of fable. I'm glad to see that people have not yet forgotten my tale of sorts, and I tell you in truth that I have another chapter ready and waiting to be released and perhaps read in the near future. Until then, Darg is back!

 

[Triz]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

A story bout Fable univse?I'll read it.

 

[m800_runner]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

good work Nightfox. you got talent

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Thanks for all the support people and I hope I can get access to MY OWN computer for once so I can put the next chapter up. One thing's for sure though once I get this story wrapped up- the chapters will be in small portions so they are easy to read and in a way, easier to write. Until then, hopefully you'll see a new chapter.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Well, what do you know? I was true to my word after all... that's got to be a first. Either way, keep reading and checking in, and oh yeah... read this new chapter... it's freshly-baked...

Chapter 23~ The Leader Emerges

They were all awake by the time the sun peered out from the shroud of thick clouds and fog that obscured the dim light. A light snow was falling ever since midnight, when Veros took over the watch once more. Finrar had volunteered next, choosing to stay up for the rest of the shift. If he was as restless as Veros was, then the thought of sleep was easily abandoned in his mind. As they packed up their tents and readied to go, Veros went over to speak to Finrar. “Hey, Finrar. You know you didn’t have to take the whole shift. You need rest just like all of us.” He said, noticing that Finrar looked exhausted and battered.
“I know. I know. It’s just that- well, something’s troubling me. These lands are unfamiliar and maybe it’s just instinct, but we shouldn’t be here.” Veros was rather surprised by this remark, especially seeing as Finrar was usually the confident one.
“Shouldn’t be here? In what way?” Veros said, recalling Badris’ words last night.
“Last night I heard it, the call of a Balverine, many Balverines for that matter. It was not that far away from where we now stand. We are not wanted in these lands and I know that it has something to do with the Moonshade site. There are dark things afoot here, perhaps something more powerful than even Balverines.” Stunned again, Veros even began to wonder about the surrounding land and what inhabited it.
“Perhaps there is, but I’m sorry, Finrar. We have to continue on if we are to make it to Snowspire City. We cannot wait any longer.” Veros was not exactly a master of this whole leadership thing just yet, but his words came out with a surprising level of assertion.

“But… it’s just that- that after the forest… you never know what could happen. It could be one of us.” Finrar’s words cut deep, Veros seeing the pain in his eyes as he said this. Tom’s death had taken a major toll not only on him, but on the rest. It was hard losing their leader, especially when they were so deep into the journey, and Veros imagined that they were not overly eager to have him as the new head of the quest.
“I know what you mean, Finrar. We will make it though. I know it.” And for once, Veros even believed it as he said it, but he only hoped Finrar did as well. After all of their supplies had been packed up, Scorl hid any remaining evidence of the fire ever being there, claiming to the others that the enemy could easily track them unless their trail was erased. The northern sun floated barely above the rim of the horizon in the clouded sky when they continued on their way, approaching nearer and nearer to the marked spot on the map. For a while, the only scenery consisted of rocky outcroppings, low cliffs and the occasional snow-covered hill. The land was barren of trees, the only flora the intertwining roots that crawled up the edge of the boulder-strewn cliffs.

To the right of their path, a series of frozen-over puddles could be seen, many of which glowed with an eerie light, a phenomenon that Melinda revealed to be stored reserves of magic energy, a sure sign of a Moonshade site. This made Veros more uneasy as the frosted pools became more prevalent in their surroundings, the rocky cliffs fading into the background to be replaced by a landscape of withering trees and cracked stone. There was a change in the air, something subtle but still noticeable to detect a drastic difference in heat. A foul, greenish mist seeped into the air, a curious twinkle of silver light appearing every so often in the high boughs of the wilted trees. Pointing to the odd glimmer as it appeared and vanished, Veros asked Melinda, “What was that?”
Melinda scratched her head and answered quietly, “To be honest, I can’t say I’ve seen anything quite like that. To me, it resembles a common woodland nymph of the mainland, though something’s quite different about this one. They do not appear dangerous, though they are perhaps spies for a greater force, the eyes of the woodlands as some call them. Something is amiss here though…” Her words trailed off, soon replaced by an unusual noise, a deep, hoarse growl starting low until it rose in pitch and volume until it reverberated off the trees and filled the whole area with the horrible, unmistakable howl of a Balverine.

“Quick! Hide yourselves in the thicket!” Veros snapped, directing them all to a thick group of trees. The rancid smell of Balverine hide filtered into the scarce woods, though Veros knew that there were many of them, a hunting party of the kind that inhabited Witchwood. Hugging the back of the tree as he crouched, Veros peered around the trunk of the dead tree to catch sight of a company of four Balverines prowling the clearing where the withered trees allowed a leafy clearing in the midst of the gathering woods. Three of them were sniffing around curiously, the other one scanning the surroundings as it stood on its legs, its back rigid and its legs arched as if it were about to pounce. The Balverines were all whitish in color, their underbellies darker like the ones that inhabited Witchwood, though one of the beasts bore a ragged scar through its eye. Judging by the mark, Veros guessed the hunters of Snowspire had created such a blow, and that the city was not far now. Though indeed it was not that far away, it would seem like an eternity of travel when faced with this new trial.

As the Balverines’ breath sucked raggedly in and out as they prowled the clearing, Veros grasped at straws for what to do, the others staring at him with inquisitive eyes as they hid in the thicket. The hunting party was moving closer by every passing second, close enough for Veros to see the reflection of the surrounding woods in their eyes filled with bloodlust. As the sight of the low cloud of mist at the forest’s floor caught Veros’ attention, he formulated a plan, however desperate and dangerous it was. Though if there was anything Tom had taught in this sordid adventure, it would be that sometimes to be bold was to face danger. And perhaps in this confrontation with it, they might succeed.

Veros dropped to the layered snow and dirt of the forest’s floor, positioning himself in a horizontal way so that his form just barely sunk below the wall of thick mist. He motioned for the others to do the same, all of them complying with an expression that was a mix of fear, incredulous doubt and even a bit of relief that there was someone to lead them once more. Putting his daring plan into action, Veros lead on through their low path, crawling over the rough terrain of the thick woods, hardly drawing any attention to themselves while the Balverines sniffed at the air furtively and tried to trace them. Veros guessed that the thick mist diffused most scents, another advantage to his plan. They carried along in this manner for several more minutes, none of them daring to even breath for fear that the Balverines’ acute sense of hearing would discover them yet. While Veros was pulling himself along at a fair pace, the other following suit, the silence was broken by the faint noise of a twig snapping. Veros swiveled his head around to see that Durig had caught the end of his cloak on a low-lying stick, cracking it in half. Almost immediately, the Balverines spun around with their claws out and their eyes locked on the six of them as they scrambled to their feet, Veros already preparing himself for the inevitable fight.

“Run!” shouted Finrar, stumbling as he struggled to his feet.
“No! You have better chances fighting than running away. If we flee now, they’ll surely catch us.” Veros hissed, a bit of contempt rising in his voice as he realized that Finrar was trying to steal his role.
“We won’t make it! They’re full-grown Balverines. Snow Balverines. We can’t win!” Finrar said once more.
“Oh we will. I’ll see to that.” Veros said back, for once actually knowing that he could. An unmistakable sensation was rising in his veins, a feeling he’d felt all along their path, when battling Kalon the traitor, on the night of Wyverd Wickstad’s downfall, during the fight against the frost Kraken, and even now. The fire of combat had returned. As powerful and straight-on as a smith’s fiery hammer, Veros launched himself straight into the fray, his blade like a solid, unflinching whip as it slid across one of the terrible beast’s throats as smooth as if it were a well-oiled and deadly machine. In fact, it might as well have been. The Balverine croaked with a long howl, a bloody gash running from its neck to its shoulder as it crumpled and died on the spot. Even Veros was impressed with his work.

Badris fended for himself with surprising efficiency, dishing out his blows like a trained soldier at the Balverine which stared him down, though his wounds were increasing as the blood on his axe spread. Always a remarkable talent in Veros’ eyes, Finrar blew away one of the Balverines with a scorching torrent of flame, part of the blaze burning straight through the chest of the beast. Veros made a mental note to not get on Finrar’s bad side… Durig and Melinda were not of particular weighing on the battle’s success, though the pair could find their mark fairly regularly with their bows, both of which were built to an extent to handle the strain of many arrows being fired at a time. In fact, Durig could fire off three arrows at a time from his bow, a method he found effective though it could be inaccurate. Soon, only two Balverines remained, a drastic turnaround from the battle’s beginning. Veros moved in on one of the two left, though his boldness did him nothing good. The Balverine leapt into the air, catching his shoulder in its clawed grasp and hurling him to the ground. Veros found himself staring straight up into the dark, furious eyes of his attacker, one hairy hand holding him unwaveringly to the cold ground while the other one was held back with every outstretched long, black claw as just another chance to skewer him. Without a second’s bidding, Badris hurled himself at the Balverine, his axe a blur as it cut through the frigid air to land square in the ridge of the beast’s spine. It was killed instantly.

Veros watched as the vicious gleam vanished from the monster’s eyes and its outstretched hand fell limp to the forest floor. Pushing the dead Balverine off of where Veros lay, Badris pulled him abruptly to his feet and wasted no time in laying waste to the final Balverine. However, his injuries at last took their toll, his exhausted wits failing to aid him in dodging the beast as it flung its weight against his undefended flank. The burly barman crashed to the ground, drained of all energy as the Balverine descended on him. Veros shouted in fury as he did the only thing he could do at the time: launch his bone-hilted katana into the air at the vicious assailant. For a split second, Veros was stunned, his eyes flicking shut for a brief moment. When they finally opened, he was surprised and pleased to find that the blade had hewed through the creature’s waist, felling it like a dead tree. Veros rushed to Badris’ side, bringing him to his feet in the same exact fashion that Badris had just a few moments ago. He dusted himself off, looking battered and worn as a thin streak of blood dripped from his temple. Veros wiped it off with the hem of his cloak, supporting the barman as he made a great effort to stand up on his wounded leg, slashed down its side by one of the Balverines. Badris coughed roughly, looking up at Veros with an expression of undeniable relief as he said, “Wow, Veros. That there was some pretty amazin’ handiwork just then. But why did ya do sumpthin’ so crazy as that? What if that didn’t work, my friend? What in Avo’s name would ya’ve done then?”

“That Balverine could’ve easily killed you, Badris. I didn’t think for a single second whether or not it would work or not. I couldn’t let anything happen to you, Badris. To any of us. With Tom gone, it’s my duty to protect everyone. Whether we may like to admit it or not, we’re a team of sorts, and we have to stick together. All of us.” Veros said, facing the others as they slowly congregated around in a circle.
“He’s right.” Finrar said, stepping closer as he put his hand on Veros’ shoulder. “I suppose I kind of… underestimated you as a leader, Veros. And I apologize. It’s just that- sometimes… you know…”
“Finrar,” Veros responded, “having this much responsibility is a difficult thing. I guess I sort of underestimated myself as a leader as well. But if there’s anything that I will do as a leader, it’s that I will see to it that I get you all out of here alive. Even if I don’t.” The thought sunk in, sticking in Veros’ mind that it was after all, his responsibility alone to see to their survival. And though it seemed like such a behemoth of a burden, he vowed in his heart that he would carry on in Tom’s place, and maybe, just maybe, he might get used to it…

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Look, people. I'm so sorry I haven't written in awhile and the story is somewhat in a half-dead limbo, so I've decided to resurrect my story and make sure that someone reads it once more! Expect a chapter soon, my readers.....

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Hello again! What a trip it's been from start to nearing the finish, so long that I've been distracted from my writing for a long, long while. But if nothing else, I assure you now that I'm here to finish this story, no ifs, ands, or buts or even some fourth thing I can't quite remember... Either way, I'm back with possibly one of my longest chapters yet! Hope you have some time on your hands...

Chapter 24~ Diversions

Through all they had been through, the peril and the pain, the horrible unpredictable tinge of things and the overwhelming odds they faced, this was by far the most difficult obstacle they had to overcome: passing through the Snowspire gate security. “This is ridiculous! Why can’t they just let us in?” Durig fumed, folding his arms defiantly as they faced down a trio of unmoving red and white-clad guards barring access to the great hardwood gates of the city.
“Durig.” Veros said quietly, motioning with his hands for the boy to stay quiet. This was hardly the time to make more enemies.
“Look, we needto stop here!” Melinda said, bitterness rising in her voice, “We’re not just travelers, we are-” At a quick glance from Veros, Melinda said nothing more. With the entire Hook Coast guard corrupted, it could easily be possible for the Snowspire guard to fall under Jack’s sway as well.
“This is none of our concern, m’lady,” said the front-most guard which Veros presumed to be the captain, “the Oracle advises that there are dark times ahead and some other superstitious mumbo-jumbo. As much as I would like to let ya in, the High Priest has strictly ordered us not to let anyone pass through these gates, not even to leave.”
“The Oracle? It’s not a myth after all?” Melinda said audibly more to herself than to the rest of the group.

“No, tis quite true. The High Priest takes everything the Oracle to heart and though I myself do not, I cannot disobey his direct orders. I’m afraid you’ll have to-” Suddenly, the loud, long creak of the doors beyond where the guards stood sounded and a lone messenger raced to meet the guards at the gate. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and it was obvious that he had ran for a long distance.
“Ornan?” one of the other guards asked, craning his neck to see beyond the reach of the gates, “What’s happening?”
Ornan wasted no time with spewing out a hasty retort between deep breaths, “The Oracle has… died!”
“Died?” snorted the guard captain, “What in the blazes do ya mean? Spit it out Ornan!”
Ornan, leaning on the exterior wall of the gatehouse, spoke, “Its power has been disengaged! It has been deactivated somehow.” Suddenly, it came to Veros like a bolt of lightning jolting straight through his mind.
“We need to get inside the gates! All of us.” Veros asserted, stepping past the surprised-looking guard captain who only stood aside. “They’ll be here soon.”
“Who’re ‘they’?” the third guard inquired in a frustrated tone.
“Jack’s men.” said Veros. Without a moment’s passing, the gates opened wide and Veros’ group marched on in, facing down the suddenly horrified expressions of the guards and Ornan the messenger. Wherever Jack came, death followed. It was a lesson too well learned by Veros.

As they walked through the gatehouse into Snowspire, the guard captain trailed behind, coming up to walk beside Veros with an inquisitive manner in his tone as he said, “Who are you? What do you mean about Jack’s men?”
“First of all, who might you be?” Veros replied, thinking on impulse what Tom would do in a situation like this.
Taken aback by the question at first, the captain answered, “I am Marshal Rendois of the Snowspire Guard. Now who might you be?” Veros was almost annoyed by his last few words, which seemed more mocking his previous tone than anything else.
“I am Veros Bantain of the Witchwood Bantains, no more, no less. You seem to be one with a sharp tongue, Rendois.” Rendois again appeared utterly surprised by this statement, Veros grinning to himself at the intimidation that he had injected into just a few words, “Then I suppose that you won’t mind answering a few questions yourself. First of all, how can I seek audience with the High Priest?”
The marshal scratched his head at the query as he said, “I’m afraid that High Priest Nirkraj sees no one unless their business is of importance to the High Council of the city.”
“Well then,” Veros said as they stepped out of the gatehouse’s shadow, “tell the Council that they’d better be ready for some company.”

. . . ​

Sarvis Umbras was no woodsman; his only experience in the wilderness a brief trip through Greatwood even if it was by escort. Now, he crouched in the high boughs of a gnarled snow-brimmed tree overlooking a vast campsite in the vale of a sprawling forest clearing, his eyes fixed on every detail of interest. It was no wood-cutter’s camp or even a hunting party on a great outing. No, it was an army gathering. Tall, pointed gray tents stabbed at the frost-bitten overcast sky, numberless spikes in a valley of dead land. A great bluish fire burned like a furious eye in the far reaches of the camp, doubtlessly a portal to summon more troops to Jack’s cause. Then, upon closer inspection, he discovered that it was no portal at all, but something much worse. Each a full snow-tipped tree in length from end-to-end, there were eight trebuchets loaded with burning coals, a cold blue in the haze. Jack was staging a full on attack on Snowspire, and there was nothing that Sarvis could do to stop it.

Both cursing himself for having once followed Jack and cursing the demon himself, he failed to notice that the bow he was perched on was wavering, leaning to one side with his unbalanced weight dragging it down. He slipped from his position, plummeting into a thick snow bank below, where his eyes stung with the frigid substance. Standing up slowly, he gradually brushed his face off, realizing once more that his face was not even his. Mottled with the shards of a vicious beast marring his every glance, his whole appearance may never be the same. He would never be the same and it was all Jack’s fault. In frustration, he spun around with his black saber drawn and cracked it into the thick stump of a nearby tree, watching as the bark around the blow became brittle and eventually fell to the snow bank below. Suddenly, something became clear to him. It was not all Jack’s fault. He was not like this because of Jack, even as much as he loathed his previous commander. It was Veros Bantain and his group’s fault that did this to him… And most of all, it was their tall, cunning leader whose name was lost to Sarvis’ mind that did this. But all that did not matter. Their leader was dead, just like the hope that Sarvis Umbras would ever be a normal person’s name ever again.

Grinning with his sharp, distorted teeth, his mind swarmed with thoughts and plans. Veros Bantain was now the leader of his group, and as well was the only competition to obtain the sword besides Jack. And though he could not necessarily destroy Jack, he could take out the other competitors in this race for time. Peering over his shoulder at his sword, its dark blade stuck fast in the tree’s bark, he recalled the dead bark around the tree’s wound. Just like Veros Bantain’s group, he would destroy the guiding head of the crew and the rest of his followers would crumple and die around him, just like the bark… He reached for his blade and pulled it away from the deep cut in the wood, running one clawed finger down its sharp edge. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” he spoke to himself, “After all is said and done, many will fall but one will remain.”

. . . ​

Snowspire Village was truly a beautiful sight in the bright midday sun of the northern wastes. The ice sickles glinted as the light pierced through their cold centers where they hung on the roof edges of houses and shops. Men and women wearing fur-lined coats were gathered along the streets, some with curious eyes at the adventurers as they looked on, some from inside the doorframes of various buildings. Looking at his own disheveled, blood-dirtied fur coat, Veros made a mental note to purchase some new ones while they were in town. A cool wind sweeping in from above the high snow-capped towers of the city felt refreshing as it passed over Veros’ scalp. He could feel an overwhelming sense of warmth in this place, though it was still frigid in the grasp of the wastes. No, it was a sensation brought about by something else, an unmistakable presence in his heart that reminded him of one thing: home.

Small children clad in oversized fur smocks wandered freely outside the shade of a miniscule jewelry shop, playing an unknown game with sticks and a small hide-stitched ball. It reminded Veros of his childhood in Witchwood with his friends, hurling stones into the woods in hopes of catching a Hobbe by surprise, though ignorant and youthful they were at the time. Now, even in this place so far from home and everything that he knew, it still brought to mind sweet images of home. Walking through the wide streets of the village, the cracks in the cobblestone paving iced with a thin snow, Veros’ eyes were suddenly drawn to the grand crowning centerpiece of the town’s glory. Perched atop the flat-topped hill of town was a smoothed stone dais brimmed by a tall dark wall, a wide gate giving way to the equally expansive stair which led up from the street level. Already anticipating it, the guards led Veros, Badris, Scorl, Durig, Finrar and Melinda up to the towering structure, in which lie the inevitable that Veros had heard about in legends and tales so long.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

The Oracle stood several heights of the average man tall, its form consisting of three alike statues, heads with piercing dark holes where the eyes would have been and slanted, definitive features. They were still as stones, mostly because they were just that, stones. All life had faded from their façade, Veros wondering whether or not they ever actually were alive to begin with. “What happened here?” Veros inquired as they stood facing the behemoth creation. Without a moment’s notice, a tall, silver-haired man clad in a white robe appeared at Veros’ side. Startled, Veros failed to notice that he was already speaking.
“It is an omen.” He said as he stood unmoving, his hands clasped behind him as he stared straight ahead. “Darkness plagues this land as I have foreseen. It has severed the Oracle from its power source.”
“Power source?” Durig asked. Taking a quick glimpse out of the corner of his eye, Veros noticed that the boy’s face was unusually pale.
“Yes. The Well of Will beneath the city has been severed from the Oracle and its power has been diminished as a result of something… the hand of midnight is near.”
“Er… just who are you?” Veros inquired, trying to sound as formal as possible. The man looked important, wise, powerful, and not someone to be trifled with.
“I am High Priest Nirkraj of the Snowspire Council and a Royal Sage of the court of Lord Helmort.”

“So Helmort is still reigning here, eh?” Melinda spoke up unexpectedly, “Why hasn’t he done anything about this?” The nearby guards of their escort shifted uncomfortably but refrained any action, their faces held in dark silence. Veros noticed an uncanny property in Nirkraj’s expression: unwaveringly, he stared straight ahead without any signs of comprehension. It was then that Veros realized that the old priest was blind.
Still unmoving as the light wind whipped at his snow-white garments, Nirkraj said, “Yes, I am afraid that he is indeed.” His tone sounded grave and tense, Veros decided, but it was not hopeless. He knew that something was amiss in this deceivingly gentle town and it was after all, usually the inconvenient truth.
“Who the hell is Helmort?” Scorl spat out, the phrase sounding redundant at first until-
“Shh!” Melinda silenced the barkeep, punching him in the gut with surprising force. Veros wondered if she too knew that Nirkraj was blind.
“Yes, it is a question often asked. A question often avoided. Many may know Lord Grimlaf Helmort’s name, but they do not truly know him. Nobody does.” Veros gazed over his shoulder first to Melinda, who only stared back with a blank expression, and then to Finrar, whose expression seemed nearly the same.
“What do you mean?” Veros asked, looking intently into the priest’s blank eyes before he remembered he couldn’t even see the expression.
“None have seen the face of Helmort for over four years. He has locked himself fast within his chambers atop his iron-forged tower to the north of town and has not dared to set foot in the view of the public eye for many a season. Many say that he is on his deathbed; others state that he is only a reclusive old man. I’m afraid the truth is far worse.” His tone dropped almost to a low growl, Veros noticing that his voice was much deeper than it had sounded at first. “Come with me. I will show you.”

. . . ​

​

It was official in his mind, Sarvis thought. The north really sucked. Trudging waist-deep through an overflowing snow bank, he had just barely escaped a close encounter with a behemoth snow bear. The average wayward adventurer would be dead before they even knew it in such a situation. Fortunately for him, Sarvis Umbras was not average, and in this case, hardly an adventurer. Wayward, he thought, yes, but with any luck he could make it as far as Snowspire. Without a doubt, it was where Veros Bantain and his cohorts would be staying… for the moment anyway. He had indeed been in some difficult predicaments in his lifetime, but this was going to be quite a challenge.

Tall, furious, and horribly ferocious-looking, he would have to be clever to make it past the gates. Stopping at the foot of a tall snow-crested tree, he slipped off his worn traveling cloak. Deftly, he flicked out a small dagger he had been carrying in his belt, slashing a few marks in the material before he was satisfied with what he had created: a temporary disguise. The end product looked like a flowing hood with a mask to cover the face, two slits providing room for the eyes to see through, gathered at its bottom as a crude scarf around his neck. It worked well enough to conceal his appearance, and he would doubtlessly need it. If there was nothing that he had learned while in Jack’s presence, it was from one of his commanding officers during training: “a clever disguise and a vicious blade can go a lot farther than a throaty war cry and a bulky warhammer.” It was sage advice, or at least it was in his case, for it had served him well in his many years.

Gazing up to the cold northern skyline, he could see a vague plume of smoke rising from the top of a Snowspire tavern. A warm fire and a cold tankard of ale could do him some good right about now. Then, he almost grinned if it were not for his fierce, gnarled fangs. It reminded him of his days as a freelance adventurer, traveling Albion with caravans of traders in hopes of making a bit of gold as an escort. Oh, the travels he had had when times were good and gold was plenty. He would roll from town to town with bands of motley adventurers, stopping at the scattered roadside taverns and inns to share a bit of story and song before retiring to a restful sleep to awake full of adventurous wile. How times had changed.

Thinking back on it all, he hated Jack even more. Once full of vigor and might, he was just a traveler… until he met Jack. Now what was he? Nothing, he thought furiously, nothing but a pawn. No matter what happened from now on, he vowed that he would serve no one, man or demon. His life had been nothing but being second to anyone, and endless cycle of empty promises and bitter lies. Very soon, he thought, it is all about to change.

. . . ​

​

It was dark in the courtyard of Lord Grimlaf Helmort’s fortress where Veros, Badris, Durig, Finrar, Melinda and Scorl stood, joined by Nirkraj. A half dozen armed guards trailed behind them, silent sentinels as a light snow fell. Veros felt a sudden chill as he felt the guards’ eyes boring straight through him as he faced the fortress of Snowspire City. It was several stories tall, a tower made entirely out of thick, frost-adorned iron, dark and ominous as a black overwhelming shadow. But yet, this place was a fortress, near impenetrable with an impressiveness which rivaled even the great citadels that Veros had imagined in tales of the long-past.
“Let us enter.” Nirkraj said, his voice as flat as the ice-veined plains of the desolate countryside. With this, two of the accompanying guards flanked the massive iron gate of the tower, wrenching it open with noticeable effort. The behemoth metal doors creaked in, giving way to a surrounding darkness that seemed to swallow up all else in sight.
“Er… roving adventurers first.” Scorl said, gesturing towards the shadows with a comical expression on his pudgy face.

With a deft, quick motion of his hand, Nirkraj whipped out an ornate lantern to light the way. It provided ample light in the murky interior of the tower, though the darkness was even more encompassing once past the gates. Once inside, the same two guards who had opened the door bolted it shut behind them. There was no escape now. As they passed through the tower, images and statues became evident in the pale light of the tavern as they passed by. Not all were recognizable, but Veros noticed a recurring form of a cloaked man with a piercing stare and a thick mustachioed face with many scars. He held a finely-engraved broadsword in a loose grip at his side.
“Who is that statue of?” Veros asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. One of the guards came up beside him, matching his stride as he answered in lieu of Nirkraj, knowing that he could not even see the statue.

“It is of Lord Helmort of course. Once, he was a legendary fighter. Yes, he was quite a Balverine-Slayer in these parts, although that title has been claimed by few in recent times. He could send a Balverine to a quick grave with any weapon, and nary was there a battle where he could not easily outwit his opponent.” The guard sounded proud for a moment, a subtle change in his tone that Veros caught before it disappeared.
“What happened to him?” Finrar asked, his voice carrying on through the hall like music in the cool air of the tower.
Shifting his armor on his shoulder uncomfortably, the guard spoke once more, “Only High Priest Nirkraj knows. He refuses to see any of us, let alone speak to us. All we know is that after a fateful duel with a Balverine, a mighty fierce one to say the least, he was gravely wounded. Some say that the Balverine was the strongest in all the north, and even though he succeeded in killing the behemoth monstrosity… something changed after that battle. He quit speaking to the guard and anyone other than Nirkraj until he completely cut himself off from the world. To this very day, no one knows even if he is alive or not. Perhaps this is the day we find out.” A sudden chill jolted down Veros’ spine. Something told him that this situation was about to take a turn for the worse…

Up two flights of stairs from the dark entry passage, the group entered an area dimly lit by a single ancient chandelier, a cold glow reflecting through the tall chamber. The eerie light made pulsating patterns out of the silhouetted forms of cobweb-laden furniture as they passed by in the gloom. From the look of the place, Veros guessed that it was at one time a dining hall, a single lengthy oak table bearing the scars and scratches of many years as well as a myriad of clustered chairs. The next room was a finely decorated antechamber with a circular ceiling and a lone, ebony door rising ominously to the ceiling, a rusted ornate knocker in the shape of a gryphon glinting in the light of Nirkraj’s lantern.

Nirkraj nodded to the guard on his left. The man nodded back and proceeded to open the door wide, revealing a vast, empty darkness. It was a darkness like the pupil of a wolf, cold, deathly and icy. It spread uneasiness throughout all who stood there in the shadow of the open door, all but Nirkraj. Veros wondered if he saw darkness all the time, as deep and sinister like this, but soon found himself stepping into the shadows behind the others as the tall ebony door was closed behind them, making a portentous creaking noise and sealing them in. There’s no turning back now, Veros thought as the shroud swallowed up all sight but for the faint, almost distant spark of the lantern fire.

Silently, Nirkraj swung the lantern around slowly, illuminating the contents of the darkened room, until he stopped as if instinctively, the light shining on one corner of the room. It took Veros a few seconds to notice the bed, grandly made of a fine dark wood with deep blue and silver cloth hanging from its magnificent awning set in polished ebony as were many objects in the room. Then, Veros’ eyes adjusted to the lantern’s enlightenment, his eyes widening and his breath sucking through his nose suddenly like a sudden, icy wind. The others’ reactions were somewhat the same, Melinda putting a single hand to her mouth in astonishment, or perhaps even fear. In the ornate bed, surrounded by a covering of thick silk lay a hunched form, its body moving up and down with shallow breath as its dark, mottled fur bristled uncannily. It was a Balverine, but there was a man within the beast by the way it moved. This was Lord Helmort.

 

[Skeletorfw]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

damn your a good writer
keep up the good work
an impressive story

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Thanks. I'm glad I haven't been completely forgotten. Sorry for its absurdly long bizarreness, but this was undoubtedly the chapter that just wouldn't die! It went on forever, and that's kind of why I took so long. Expect more later...

 

[Rhadiel]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

i like it, i havent been on lately, or at least not posting much, but ive finally added a new chapter to my fanfic Fate, if anyone hasnt noticed...which they havent...btw, i like it a lot, and u write alot for ur chapters, im starting to slack off my stories, since ive got school, and my newly developed skateboarding skills

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Darg, I've only been on here for a small amount of time, and I'm on chapter 19 right now, but once I finish, I'll have more comments.

And BTW, this story is awesome.

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Dude, where's the rest of the story man? I've been jonesing to see the end of this story. Anyways, story so far is awesome. Keep up the good work. You're an amazing writer.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Dude, where's the rest of the story man? I've been jonesing to see the end of this story. Anyways, story so far is awesome. Keep up the good work. You're an amazing writer.

Well, for awhile there, I was considering quitting it altogether, but I can see that someone still looks forward to the rest of it. As soon as I get home tonight, I'm going to type like a maniac to finish it, and by the end of next week, I may get that much closer to the finish. I'm glad I have some support behind me.^_^ I haven't given it up yet...