The Eye of the Phoenix

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Whew, there's nothing like intense crazy-person writing to get the job done- I've finally gotten back on track with this story, especially with all the fear and loathing of writer's block and (with surprisingly, alot of credit due to led_zepp123 and his subtle PM that inspired me once again) the encouragement, BEHOLD, Chapter 28, and it's about friggin time. Didn't think I'd ever get it done, now didja? Sit back and enjoy what I hope is what you've all been waiting for. PS- love you all, readers and all who've taken interest in this- you are the heart and soul of this story! Stick around.



Chapter 28- The Game

So, Veros thought, his heart still skipping a beat, this is him- Helmort, ruler of Snowspire. I wonder if I should be afraid…
“Welcome, you of fair conquest,” Grimlaf Helmort said in a deep and resounding tone that spoke of great wisdom and leadership, “It is I suppose strange to meet you… in person, this dark day. It has been many moons since I have been out as myself, you see. A powerful potion of sorts produced by my good friend Nirkraj here has defeated the change in me for at least tonight. It should last until dawn break. But I have forgotten my manners. It is not every day that I am graced by the presence of a legend.” A legend? Veros thought. As surreal as it was in this very moment, something about being called as such finally felt… right.

Veros had constantly heard of ways you were supposed to address nobility, from an early age when his elders would read to him from the required texts of the Bowerstone ledger. Much of what he’d learned had faded and gone, but he called on what he could grasp of it for just this once.
He cleared his throat and began, “Lord Helmort, we come as servants of a deep and perilous undertaking. We have traveled by sea from Knothole Glade, far and wide, and with the help of many companions and powers unknown, have made it to stand here before you. We find ourselves… in the very midst of a conflict that could in fact tear Albion as we know it apart. As we stand in the threshold of all darkness itself, we face a foe of innumerable odds, the Jack of Blades. We ask nothing but your aid in this time of need, and commend ourselves to fight for the sake of any daring to aid us.”

Helmort grinned, the kind of grin that Veros had only seen in two places: his father’s face the day before he first went to school in Knothole Glade and… much more recently, on Tom’s broad and beaming face in the midst of battle, triumphant, glorious, and hopeful. It was a trusting seal.
Helmort said, “Veros, this is a brave request of the likes I have never seen in one of your caliber. You are truly the legend they say you are. If you would, I ask that you kneel for me a moment.” Veros was never one to defy a monarch, and got down on one knee, feeling a certain burden for a moment. As if on cue, everyone, Badris, Scorl, Durig, Finrar, Melinda and, to Veros’s immediate surprise, Rufus and Rolf, who had entered just in time from the harbor, knelt alongside him, in a kind of humble glory reminiscent of Tom’s stories- of the Guild of Heroes and the great men and women in their ranks. No, Veros thought, not like that. We are heroes. No matter what happens next, that will remain. He said it like a silent prayer, a testament to all they had done and all they still had to do. But more than that, it was the truth.

Taking its iron hilt from a long leather scabbard, Helmort produced a black sword with the engraved insignia of Snowspire on its blade. A sword of knighting, Veros inwardly digested.
“It’s been a long time,” Helmort said, inspecting the prized blade, “An instrument of war, and yet one of great splendor. Surely you are worthy of this honor.” The lord passed by each of the travelers, bestowing on them a certain type of lordly praise, belaying the blade on either shoulder as he said with a certain rehearsed bold confidence, “As I, Lord Grimlaf Helmort of Snowspire heritage this day proclaim, I hereby knight Veros of the Bantain line and his company in the heavenly claim of Avo on high and all of his saints. With the seal of this day, go forth always in the name of honor as you all now bear.”
“Amen,” a solemn but approving Nirkraj said as the brief ceremony came to a close. Like a strange wave of hope, Veros could feel once again like the burden was lifted- now he had help. He gazed into the wizened old eyes of Grimlaf Helmort once again, seeing in them a similar hope, as powerful and uplifting a strength as he’d seen in the last long while.

“So, Veros Bantain,” he said without blinking, “you have commended yourself to my service, but it is now time for me to fulfill my end of the bargain. As lordship dictates, as power preserves, I shall take an oath to help you complete your quest. Whatever the consequences.” Veros nodded, and the old ruler returned the gesture, a kind of ritual handshake that needed no further clarification to know that it was real.
“So be it,” said Nirkraj, stepping forward in turn beside Helmort, “It is done, my friends. Tomorrow, I ask one final meeting. The Oracle. At 6, just before most of the town will be aware. Bring your strength and with it, we will take our next action. For now, though, it is best that you rest and take some time to reaffirm this night. Thank you, and gods bless.” It was a simple but effective dismissal, Veros thought sometime afterwards.


As they walked home in the dark, the moon just peaking above the shadows of the distant woods, their escort guards, Jim and Norman, commented on the whole situation.
Norman, the more competent of the two, said, "Veros Bantain,” as if it were some kind of awe-inspiring euphemism, “huh, never was the day I thought I’d meet a legend. Wait’ll the captain hears about this- he’ll make moist Oakvale pudding in his shorts! Eh, guvna?”
“Yeah,” Jim said in an equally inspired but slightly dimmer tone, “no kidding. You guys are as famous as- as I guess Ryros Arcturian was back in ‘is day!”

“Ryros Artcurian,” Melinda said, the thought suddenly jogging her memory, “tell me, what was he like? I’ve never even heard of white knights before just recently, especially in the North like this!”
“Hmm? Really, now? White knights are the original protectors of the North, doncha know?” Norman said, “Quite the stuff of local acclaim if I do say so myself.”
“Then why ‘aven’t we heard of them long before this, mate?” Badris chimed in.
Norman grimaced slightly, “Oh, that. A terrible deal. As it turned out, apparently quite a long while of years back, around the time of ol’ Ryros’s death, there was a violent reemergence of some Snowspire ordeals. And of course we all know Lord Helmort… what a terrible predicament if they caught word of his nature- and a leader, too! Damn.”
“Yeah, I know, but what happened to all of them, really?” Melinda asked, a fascinated look crossing her usually placid face.
“Aw, that’s just the thing,” Jim said, taking over for Norman for a moment, “nobody knows for sure. What was it not that long back, Norm? Eh, something ‘bout the white knights still bein’ around?”
Norman spit into a steetside snow bank before saying, “No, simpleton, it was something about a descendent… ah, that’s it- dunno why I didn’t think of it sooner. Delgado’s his name. Delgado Arcturian- the innkeeper, if I’m right. You’ve spoken to him I assume. Well, people just recently figured it out that he’s the descendent of the very same Ryros. People in these parts aren’t all that bright, isn’t that right, Jim?”
“Huh?”
“Exactly. Now where was I? Oh yes, when they found out about all this, they went in to see if ol’ Delgado could tell them anything about Ryros. Skorm’s teeth, he didn’t even know! A honest bloodline descendent of the man, and he didn’t know. A shame, really. A lot of us would’ve liked to know. But all in all, that’s what I know. Not a historian, sorry. Mayhaps you should ask the man sometime… they say he’s a real trick with the tongue.”

Veros strolled along, admiring the stars, letting the words absolve the night silence and idly recognizing them as the reached the town square and stepped over the threshold of the tavern. It was empty at this hour, save for a strange couple who were obviously intoxicated and a peculiar gameskeeper on duty. The innkeeper was nowhere in sight.
As soon as they entered the place, Norman declared importantly, “Well, right then. We’re instructed to go on the graveyard shift tonight… er, downstairs. Where the kegs are, if you catch my drift. You all have a jolly good night. Let me and the lug know if you need our assistance. G’night to you sirs and madam.” Veros acknowledged the two guards with a nod and approving smile, which somehow seemed to surprise them. As far as guards went, they weren’t half bad… of course, except for the actual ‘guarding’ part.

Along with the rest of the weary travelers (except for Badris and Scorl, who elected to go raid the liquor while the innkeeper was off), Veros headed up the rickety stairs of the inn, feeling about ready for a good sleep. Although they hadn’t much time for a reunion, he had spoken briefly with Rufus Almonder and Rolf before their departure back to the ship to secure quarters. They told him in as much detail as they could about their encounters on the sea. Two veterans of the water, it seemed the journey was a success. But they also mentioned their slight witness of Sarvis Umbras and his massacre of an entire naval ship. It made him shiver at the very thought of it. Jack never trained morons under his wing- there was some serious force involved whenever one confronted them. And yet Sarvis, half on Jack’s side and half on theirs sometimes it seemed, decimated them all as if it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. The thought percolated in his imagination for the moment, eventually sinking in the prevailing exhaustion of the night… that was until something brought it right back to the top of his concern in no time.

Opening the door to his inn room he shared with Badris, Veros was greeted with a most unusual sight- the first thing his vision caught was the glint of piercing green eyes, set in a dark complexioned face obscured slightly by strands of long gray hair. It was their innkeeper, the very same Delgado Arcturian that they had talked about with the guards on the way home. The very same… Veros thought, his eyes still on the man, but what is- the question he was about to consider was answered easily enough by a hoarse and familiar voice.
It said, “So we meet again, Mr. Bantain. Care to take a seat?” Veros turned his neck just slightly; already knowing what he was about to see, and dreading it. The twisted and half-beast-like face of Sarvis Umbras stared out at him, unobscured by either cloak or hood, grinning horribly, with yellowed and jigsaw-pointed teeth. He looked only part human and part something else… part a minion of Jack’s, as they’d all found out so long ago in Hook Coast. As everyone had found out, even Tom. The sight made Veros almost want to turn away, but he could only stare into the innkeeper’s piercing eyes and the vicious smile that Sarvis bore.

Willingly, he took a seat, and it begun all over again. The Game, whether played for life or death, peace or war, was at it again. The yellowed and snaggle-toothed grin seemed to say, choose your moves wisely, and Veros prepared for the worst. He made the first move…

 

[led_zepp123]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

glad to have yeh an veros back man, sorry about the hassle an the naggin went a bit awall ther. i got no imagination see and without this story veros just stopped. keep up th good work.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

No, don't be sorry- it's the nagging that gets me off my lazy arse and doing what I love and should be doing- writing this story! If I ever slack off again, feel free to keep on nagging and/or verbal abusing me until I get something done. Every bit helps. =)

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Hello, again! Welcome to the 29th Chapter. It took me a bit, because I'm still getting the ideas flowing again, but this one is another step to some of the most important stuff in the story. Keep reading.



Chapter 29~ Even Heroes

It was a day as dark as any in the hollows and woods of the Wastes, many years before the day that Veros Bantain and his followers set foot in the then-bustling city of Snowspire. A light snow fell over the hills and in the large clumps of pines surrounding the clearing encampment. It felt like the kind of snow that only fell at midnight, thought Ryros Arcturian as he gazed up through the cool white, but it was only 10 in the morning. It was strange, really, he thought as he looked around, what snow meant to the people of this land. To some, it was a good omen, like a white rain on a beautiful day, but to others a seal of fate on a cold morn. He knew not what to call it this day, but he only hoped for the best in the moments to come.

For the fourth time this season, it was hunting day, a time when Ryros and a few of his men went to Creergan’s Hollow to seek out Balverines intently for long hours. It was at times a monotonous practice, but the service yielded the local White Knight Hall a fair ransom’s gold from the overprotective nobles seeking protection from the things. It wasn’t particularly a challenge for Ryros or any of his men. After all, most of them hailed from extensive backgrounds as swordsmen or halberdiers in the famous service of Keep Glistel, a notable profession all around. For men-at-arms, they also knew their fair share of tracking and wilderland survival methods. If need be, Ryros often thought, they could last for weeks in the woods unaided. And in the Wastes, that was a crucial skill indeed.

Ryros sat looking rather bored at an outdoor table covered with all manner of furs, taking in the scenery at a leisurely pace. He was a large man, but not necessarily muscular looking at first sight. A set brow and almost bawdy look gave him the presence of a rogue, and his long dark head of hair separated him from most. As local legend had it, the black ragged tangles of hair made him appear more like his prey for trickery just in case. Some even said it was the necessary element of his expertise. A long, carved ebony bow was slung on a leather sash around his back, bearing at its handle the crest of the Arcrturians, a gray Balverine head crisscrossed by two swords and one silver arrow. It was a symbol he knew well, from the very first time he glimpsed it hanging regally over his father’s mantle. Even this day, he remembered seeing the familiar symbol adorning the proud main hall of his house. He suddenly thought of his family, his wife, Heila, and his three sons. A certain satisfied grin crossed his strong features. It was unavoidable. Ten years earlier, if it was anyone’s guess that he, Ryros Arcturian of all people, would have a family, he would’ve called them crazy. Yet now, it just made him laugh. Still, even in the echo of his own merry laughter, he didn’t know that he would never see his family again. Somewhere in the distance, a Balverine made its lonely cry, but more than that, a cry for bloodlust.

. . . ​

“So, Mister Bantain,” Sarvis Umbras smiled a strange smile as he said this to Veros across the inn table. He was fingering the engraved handle of a Snowspire hunting knife playfully, in a way that made his method of doing so seem scarier than the knife itself. Veros couldn’t help but feel more than a bit nervous. “It would seem that we’ve reached an interesting situation here.”
“What do you want, Umbras?” Veros said, with surprising force to his words as soon as they came out.
Sarvis flicked the knife absently, “Not want I want, Bantain. What we want,” he made a general gesture towards his newfound ally, Delgado Arcturian, who acknowledged the gesture with a rough nod.
“You see,” Arcturian began, his voice sounding unusually smooth for a bartender, “there is a common bond that binds Sarvis and I to you and your company. The pursuit of fulfillment…” Sarvis stabbed the engraved knife into the surface of the table violently, “and in our case, revenge.” Veros’s eyes passed from one face to the other, one mottled and dark-skinned and the other wild and battered. The thought entered his mind like a warning signal, What am I getting myself into here?

“So, on the subject of warfare,” Sarvis began darkly, retrieving his knife from the table, “how familiar are you on the concept of a full-on siege?” That question was the very least Veros could’ve expected. He had to think a moment before replying.
“Enough to know that it’s nothing good.”
“Precisely,” Delgado said, like it was something profound Veros had said.
Sarvis continued, “Good that you know, Mister Bantain. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen here pretty quick-like. Things are going to get hobbe-ugly before we know it. By the time that we do know, I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”
“What are you-” Veros started, but before he could even finish, he already knew what they meant.

It came back to him out of the past days before their arrival in Snowspire, before the meeting with Nirkraj, before it all. The Oracle. That was his first memory of the day they arrived at Snowspire’s gates. A frantic guardsman’s voice in his mind repeated, the Oracle has died! and deep inside, Veros remembered just what that might mean. Death. Where Jack goes, death follows. Death always follows…
“Oh, Avo save us all,” Veros whispered to himself, staring out past Sarvis and Delgado through the thick-paned window. In the night sky, a thin plume of smoke rose in the distance. Somewhere, fires burned on in the darkness. The fires of war itself burned, scorching the plains it seemed for the biggest flame of them all. Jack was coming.

. . . ​

The raid was unlike anything they’d ever seen. Ryros and his men were forced to retreat to a safe clearing northwest of their original campsite. They all knew there was no hope of holding their ground, but they were under Ryros’s direct orders to fend off the Balverine horde. No one ever disobeyed Ryros, even into death. It sounded courageous, sure, but even Ryros himself felt the cold sting of something very unfamiliar. Fear.

He braced himself against the pelt of heavy snow, a powerful allotment in the recent gathering storm. He peered back behind the company’s left flank, and immediately caught sight of the first Balverines advancing out of the woods. A hoarse scream resounded in the snowy clearing, and one of the first men fell, one the beast’s black claws brutally ripping into his spine. Ryros stepped back, and arrow ready, let a silver projectile sing through the cold air into the chest of the nearest Balverine. It howled a sickening death roar and collapsed atop the fallen hunter, but was far from the last for the huntsmen to face that day.

A sight like no other greeted the weary band of Ryros’s men. A snowy white column of Balverines poured out from the undergrowth, as many as they’d seen the entire year, but there was no sport this time. Just the sheer promise of defeat and the raw instinct of survival. Ryros put aside his bow in a hurry, drawing instead a shining pale broadsword from the sheathe at his side. It was a White Knight’s sword, a symbol of courage, strength, and honor. But before long, it was stained scarlet with blood, both human and Balverine, broken and scratched with the turmoil of battle. But of course, it didn’t last. Its hilt held tightly still even in a death embrace, Ryros Arcturian fell in the very spot he swore to defend, surrounded by lifeless allies and drowning in the bittersweet sensation of nothing and everything all at once. Even heroes die, he thought in a mixed daze of pain and emotion, even heroes…

. . . ​

“So?” Veros said intently, “what do you intend to do about this?”
“What else?” Sarvis said almost with a touch of boredom in his tone, “wait it out or fight back. Waiters don’t live long, now do they?”
“Do you have a plan?”
“That depends.”
“On what, exactly?”
Sarvis narrowed his reddened eyes, “Whether or not we have your assistance.” The disfigured, darkened man stretched out a weathered hand, partially clawed, but universally a sign of truce. Never in his entire life, since the days of his youth, was Veros Bantain ever one to accept help with anything, whether it was learning the standards of Bowerstone literature or just the proper technique of shooting a bow. Yet here he was, about to take on one of the biggest struggles he’d ever faced and about to accept help from a man that had constantly tried to kill him in Hook Coast. He stared at the clawed, malformed and wrinkled hand for a moment. It was a risk, and it was sure to be dangerous if he decided to take it, that much he knew.
“Look, Veros,” Sarvis spoke his first name this time, “I know it hasn’t been a wonderful ride we’ve had this whole way, with Jack and his men and all, but c’mon. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, eh? Listen, do you trust me?” Somehow, he did. He shook Sarvis’s hand like he would shake anyone else’s, and somehow, it felt right. They were allies now.
“So, Sarvis,” Veros started, “where do we begin?”

 

[led_zepp123]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

i swear man pm should come to you for the plot of the next fable. an i must have good luck with this story cause i always log on straight after you post it. top addition to the story keep up the good work.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

So, I know this one took a while to come up with, but here it is in all its (sorta) shining glory. It's the 30th Chapter and I'm closer to the climax of this story than ever before. I guarantee there'll be at least three or more chapters to follow, but I thought it was about time we had some action! Prepare for Chapter 30. And oh yeah, enjoy it!


Chapter 30~ The Measure of Will

Veros was able to catch a few hours of sleep after the strange meeting, the whole affair going unnoticed by the rest of the tired crew. Even if it wasn’t a dealing sworn by secrecy, he imagined he would avoid mentioning it anyway. As he lay down on the matted, heavy sheets, eyes flicking slowly closed, the words of Sarvis before he left kept ringing in his ears: It’s time we take the upper hand, friend. Now or never… As much as he hated to admit it, this was true. It was time to strike back. Delgado’s plan was far from simple, but effective. They were to leave before dawn, in a few hours, for the woods. They would then make their way undetected into Jack’s camp… and well, that’s where Sarvis took over. Veros was to go along for the fight, bringing with him the knowledge of his enemy- after all, he’d fought Jack face-to-face and lived. That was saying something. These thoughts still stirring in his head, he fell into a half-lucid sleep, his hand instinctively floating towards his sword by the bedside several times during the night. Edgy? It was more than that, he thought. Much more.

It was barely fours hours into his sleep that he felt two subtle taps on his neck from a heavy finger. The signal. He opened his eyes, and Delgado was bedside, silent as a phantom and cloaked in ghostly gray robes. He looked less like an innkeeper and more like a thief in the night. Still, thought Veros as he pried himself from his sluggish sleep, it fits the task. As a rule, Veros knew that being sneaky was cowardly. It was what they taught in the Knothole schools on the subject of fighting, and it was what his father had told him day in and day out during his youth. But in this case, it was the only way. He pulled on his usual outfit and furs, but before his coat was buttoned, Delgado pressed an equally gray hooded cloak in his hands. He draped it over his shoulders wordlessly, feeling the light fabric’s uncanny warmth. It wasn’t long before they’d left the empty tavern and were out in the cold dark predawn, marching through the gates of town undetected and unnoticed.


As soon as they were out the twin gates of town, Delgado spoke in an eerily low tone. “We’ll be meetin’ Sarvis near Granger Ridge. It’s quiet down there, out of sight along the edge of the forest’s clearing. Won’t be long until we hit Jack’s camp on foot. Something tells me Sarvis might have other plans in mind though…” He trailed off. Veros didn’t bother to ask about that last remark. Something told him the answer wouldn’t be too good anyway.

Granger Ridge was about a mile and a half’s trek from the city walls, in a secluded stretch of wilderness untouched by man or beast. It was in this that Veros began to realize Delgado’s expertise in planning the attack. The ridge was in a wooded area, so much that it was nearly impossible to distinguish were it not for the steep drop on one side. It sat resolutely on the eastern end of a high hill that made its rocky way into the clearing not far from the drop. Leaning against one of the enormous boulders halfway down the ridge’s slope was Sarvis, cloaked in a darker, more fitting cloak with a scarf pulled up over the lower part of his crooked face. He looked bored.

Delgado didn’t dare speak until he was at arm’s length with Sarvis, and Veros followed his lead.
“What’s the status?” Delgado asked uniformly.
Sarvis turned and spat into the fresh snow. “Looks to me like they’re waiting on something. Don’t quite know what that could be, but they’ve been camping here since long past when I came across. Waiting for a sign, perhaps?”
“I suspect foul play in Helmort’s court, quite frankly,” Delgado came across with this most unusual proposal, “after all, the man isn’t around half the time to oversee the matters that go on even in his own rulership. I suspect it could be an inside job and they’re waiting for their signal from within.” Veros scratched his head and thought hard about the last few days for some lost piece of evidence, but couldn’t think of anything worth mentioning.
“Like a spy? Who do you think it is?” he hazarded a question.
Delgado shook his head, “It’s too late to play the guessing game I suppose. We may well know by the end of the day whether we’d like to or not. But mark my words, Helmort is not an easily fooled man. Whoever the traitor is, if indeed there is one, will have serious consequences to pay. Unless we get a hold of them first. Sarvis, would you care to lead?”

He nodded, but before anything he caught Veros by the shoulder sharply. In a serious tone, he told him, “Look, like I said before, I know we haven’t always been on the best terms. Actually, that would be an understatement, I know. But for the sake of what’s at stake right here and right now, I’ve got to ask you again if you trust me. If you follow along with everything, I guarantee we’ll come out of this alive. Can you take an old war dog’s promise, then?” Sarvis almost smiled, a yellowed and broken grin, but still a smile.
Veros couldn’t help but grin himself as he said, “So this is it, eh? I guess this ally stuff really is going somewhere after all. I’ll take your word for it. And if we all end up dead by the end of the day... well,” he paused, not wanting to think of the concept, “something tells me it won’t be a promise worth remembering anyway. Lead on.”

. . . ​

The way that Sarvis lead was a hard trail to follow. He snaked everywhere in a jagged path through the woods, making well enough sure to leave difficult evidence to trace. Still, Veros noted, he seemed to know where he’s going. Or so he hoped at the very least. After what seemed like hours of following the chaotic track, the three of them emerged in a less-dense thicket in a small alcove where they stopped to rest.
“Not far now,” Sarvis pointed out, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his dark cloak. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but this part of the woods felt more sheltered from the winds that brushed through the tops of the boughs and emptied out into the empty valleys. It was safety, but as Veros was soon to find out, not even shelter lasts that long on the warpath.

A short walk across a stretch of frosted evergreen plains yielded the route to a particularly impressive overlook. From its top caked with snow, Veros thought he could see all of the Northern Wastes, its powerful peaks like knives jutting from the earth in the distance, and its mists of enthrallment seeping through the pores of the land itself. It was beautiful. A glorious sensation coursed through his veins for a brief moment before it all sank at an all-too familiar sight. Minions. Possibly hundreds of them, in tightly clustered rows and columns about a quarter mile away, where the line of red war tents began and the woods ended. Their double-edged blades pointed skywards, they shuffled in an animalistic anxiousness to destroy, to serve their one and only purpose at all costs.

Veros couldn’t help but stand at the brink of the overlook in plain shock until Delgado pulled him back down into reality into a less conspicuous crouching position.
“Get down!” he hissed, “Do you want them to see us? The infantry’s not our game here to begin with. We must first dismantle all of their supplies and the trebuchets as well if we are to assault an army! We cannot allow them to function in a siege such as this. It would overwhelm Snowspire too much for them to seize control before a breach. We must act fast though, before they receive this signal of sorts. When all hell breaks loose, we need to be ready to suppress it.” This was wise thinking, even from a bartender. It wouldn’t be long now, and they’d be in camp… and wrecking havoc like there was no tomorrow. Actually, Veros thought grimly, there might not be a tomorrow. They descended the overlook, cloaks tightly drawn and blades at the ready. This was one hell of a morning to start off the day.

. . . ​

“Eh? Thas’ strange,” Badris said as he peered through a crack in the door into Veros’ room. The bed sheets were in a tangle, the lantern was left on, and Veros was nowhere in sight. He stepped in a ways, the sound of his insulated boots making a heavy pounding noise on the dark floorboards. On the room’s small nightstand was a hastily scrawled note that read: Went ahead to meet Nirkraj at Oracle. See you there. That was strange. It wasn’t like Veros to be early for anything other than happy hour. “I wunner what’s gotten into ‘im,” Badris thought aloud, scratching his head before turning and heading back down to breakfast.

. . . ​

The whole thing had been planned out ahead of time: Sarvis would take out the trebuchets, starting a distraction in the process while Delgado and Veros set fire to the stockpile and main group of war tents. It was almost foolproof, but one could never rely on the wariness of minions in cases such as this. Any slip-up could mean a battle with the worst odds possible. Escape was not an option if that happened.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

With a deft wave of his hand, Sarvis made his way opposite to Veros and Delgado, skulking up around a cluster of trees unnoticed. Veros tried to imitate his stealthy habits, but turned out to be less of a shadow in the night and more of an oaf in the spotlight. He tripped and fell into a rough snow bank, fortunately not catching the attention of the minions. Delgado hauled him up harshly with a glare that said Don’t do that again, plain and simple. He heeded the glare’s advice. They made their way to the brink of the encampment, crouching behind the black and red canvas tent wall of what Veros guessed was the stockpile. Without a word, Delgado lifted the loose tent wall and stepped under into the dim light of the stockpile. Veros couldn’t believe the risks he was taking, but followed him in nonetheless.

It was empty of patrols, and offered plenty of cover among the half a dozen rows of boxes stacked high to the tent roof. Beyond the boxes near the tent door, Veros could just barely make out the hunched shape of a minion standing guard. This could be tricky. Delgado lowered his voice and whispered to Veros as they huddled against one of the stacks.
“You know them better than I do. Do they have any weaknesses?” Veros thought hard about that one. Minions were virtually as tough as their soulless potential to kill they contained as far as weaknesses came. He thought back to Hook Coast for a moment. Bluegin. He recalled all of a sudden Sarvis’s aversion to the strange drink that Rufus Almonder had concocted, given his half-and-half state of potency under Jack. Of course, he hadn’t any of the drink on hand, but there was something to that odd mixture that repelled things of a darker construct... but what? The thought came like someone striking a match in the dark. It was not only a drink in the Bowerstone militia just because of its coarse taste, but because it could be used as a weapon. And if brewers created it mainly for that purpose, then Veros knew well enough that it contained some forceful magic, the secret of the minions’ weakness. But where in the hell can I find that? he thought.

Then there came a moment that questioned his judgment, questioned it all the same as that very day he’d decided to leave Knothole Glade for this perilous journey. His mind replayed the day in Hook Coast, battling Wyverd Wickstad and all his men, when something happened. That was the day he used magic for the very first time. The Will never came naturally in the Bantain bloodline, save for a few strange parlor tricks his uncle could perform at family reunions, but nothing more. There was that moment- that time so close to death when he felt it for the first time- the genuine spirit and energy to defeat his enemies without laying a hand on them. It was sheer force and glorious power. And it was exactly what they needed in this case, good judgment or not.

“Cover me. This could get dangerous.” Veros said with authority.
Delgado gave him a strange look up and down as he said, “What? Explosives are around me belt. We won’t be getting anywhere on-” He never finished that sentence, his mouth dropping open at the sight of what Veros did next. Mostly, Veros tried to conjure up the emotion he felt at the time he summoned that particular Will, something between desperation and courage. He focused on it, channeled it, breathed it in, and let it go. Before he knew it, the Will was back. A crackling orb of flames rode down the lengths of his arms, and he felt compelled to direct it somewhere. He shoved both hands out in a powerful motion that sent shivers down his spine as the fireball was released. The orb crashed violently into one of the box piles, setting it ablaze and tearing large gashes through the tent. The fire was quickly spreading. Veros looked over. Delgado only stood and stared, totally dumbfounded, before the words came to him.
“How… how in Skorm’s dark oblivion did… did you do that?”
“Practice. A magician as a friend. You know, the works.” Veros almost laughed. Perhaps it was the Will getting to him, but he felt, for once, confident in the midst of such danger, able to take on anything, rock solid. To some effect, anyway. But their idle banter wouldn’t last long. The flames were enough to attract the attention of the entire patrol this side of the camp. It was an all-out fight now, stealth out of the question.

Veros saw the flames start to lick at the top of the tent hungrily, and decided it was time to get the hell out. He grabbed Delgado, who was still gaping at Veros and his Will, by the arm and charged out the loose end of the tent fabric from which they came. Minions were waiting for them. At least five of them had heard the noise and had come running. They looked ready for a long, grueling fight. So was Veros. He focused bitterly on something that made him furious, a strange mix between Jack and a horde of Balverines, and concentrated his sudden rage into his attack. This time, a green, vaporous burst of rippling energy shot out of a single hand, channeled through one arm into the stunning blow. All of the minions fell back, the front platemail of their cumbersome armor all but blown in by the impressive blast. They were out for the count.

Delgado, still getting used to the idea of Veros’s sudden prowess with the arts of Will, struggled to catch up as they entered the main portion of the camp. Minions were everywhere. Delgado eyed the uniform field of tents to the side curiously, looked to Veros, and they both nodded in a unanimous agreement that one only understands in the thick of battle. He got to work, heading off to the tents to collapse, wreck and otherwise destroy them while Veros fended off the brunt of the surging wave of minions. They came like a pack of wild beasts bloodthirsty for their new target. Veros tried for something different this time, a spell he’d seen more than his share of times. He envisioned the color of a stormy sky and a thunderstorm, and slowly made his senses sharper, more in tune with a certain rapid pulsing through his veins. He released these feelings, and let them fly from the center of his palm, in a continuous streak of blinding lightning that jumped from one minion to the next like a fatal thread weaving its way through many stitches. Veros stepped over the charred monsters with a smug glint in his eye. This was almost fun. Almost. War was not a pretty thing, and it was about to show its ugliness here real quick.

. . . ​

Badris walked at the front of the group after leaving the inn, Scorl shortly behind him and the rest trailing not far behind. He was groggy and still in a partial daze, even after the generous breakfast Scorl and Melinda had made with the inn’s staff (minus a certain innkeeper). He supposed it was because of the uneasy feeling he got in his gut. Just like all good brewers and alemakers, he had a funny sensation whenever something in his drinks wasn’t right, from texture to flavor and beyond. Even though it was by far removed from ale tasting, what with the situation they were in now, but Badris couldn’t help but think his gut feeling might be an actual warning of things to come.

If Badris knew Veros, he knew the lazy man that slept in weekdays while most everyone else was working, until he decided it was time to actually do something for a change. This wasn’t like him, getting up early to supposedly go to a meeting with the High Priest. It was uncharacteristic, but more than that. Badris took out the small piece of parchment left by his nightstand and looked it over. It wasn’t even Veros’s handwriting. He snorted and shoved it back into his pocket as they climbed the steps to the Oracle. Veros was nowhere in sight.

. . . ​

The sparks flew like fireflies from Veros’s outstretched hands, but they were much more deadly than that. They rocketed a fair distance before bursting into explosive flashes of short-lived flames that singed all the surrounding tents and nearly took out another whole brigade of minions. He found himself feeling increasingly tired with every flame, bolt and spell he casted, but it was nothing compared to the inner obligation he felt to destroy every last one of the evil abominations. It was an obligation he was right in the midst of when another thing caught his eye first. A smoky cloud and a red blast of shrapnel issued from the distant trebuchets across the camp, a red explosion erupting for every one of the siege devices in a row. Sarvis’s work was done. Veros almost cheered at the partial victory, but was distracted from it by the nearest minion who rammed up against him with the blunt edge of a cold blade. Although it nearly knocked the wind out of him, Veros recovered easily, whipping out the Balverine-bone hilt of his silver blade and running it through the thick-plated exterior of the minion’s armor. They may be tough fighters, Veros thought, but they’re target practice when it comes to defense. On one end of camp, Delgado had completely leveled a cluster of tents to little more but a mess of scorched stakes and canvas flaps, and on the other end, the trebuchets were slowly smoldering in the aftermath of Sarvis’ demolition work. I’d say our work is done here, Veros thought. He couldn’t be more wrong.

Just like a viper caught in a trap and slowly dying, Jack’s men exhausted all options before bringing out the most powerful devastation of them all- the head of the viper, vicious, controlling and seething with the venom of all things dark and authoritative. Jack was that venom, the poison of the land, infecting and spreading the shadow wherever he lay his sight, and this cold morning was the moment his sights hit home. Like a phantom descending out of a black nightmare, there was a sudden unraveling of the clouds high above and a murky spiral was sent down out of the gloom. Jack stood in the center of the decimated camp, all and none, a monument to every evil in Albion. His cloak flowed behind him like a lord’s shredded flag soaked in the blood of all his enemies, and there was murder in his eyes. Veros was not afraid though. He knew his adversary and he knew him well. This time, he would not lose another comrade.
He stepped forward and said simply, fearlessly, “Hope you brought your luck today, demon. I brought mine.” It was time to cut the head off the viper.

. . . ​

It puzzled Badris to no end, trying to think where Veros could’ve gone. Even as the five of them stepped up into the vaulted plaza where the Oracle’s broad gateway stood, Nirkraj was the only one in sight. Had he abandoned them? No, Badris thought, knowing Veros better. He probably had something to do first. Whatever it was, he said to himself, I bet it was important…

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Always good Darg. You've out done yourself this time.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Thanks, dude. This story ain't dead 'till the fat lady sings!!! Or something like that...

 

[LionHeadTex]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Darg, it's great to be able to read your stuff again. Although I've missed a good deal, hopefully I can catch up in time

Of course, I can already see some really great points in your writing: You're able to make the reader anticipate things and visualise them. And there's simplicity in it, yet at the same time you're not afraid to use complex words...I'd say it's a bit Hemingway (in my opinion) :lol:

You're also consistent, unlike me. Seriously, this is so good one person even said that it should be a movie!

Hm...I'll have to catch up on the reading to critique your writing more...but for now it's just awesome.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Thanks, Tex- you made my whole friggin' day just then. I'm glad this story has gotten some good recognition in the last long while. I'm nothing without readers. And if there's nothing else I can do, I have a goal in mind- to beat the record of the highest ranking fanfic on the site by getting over 140 replies and over 7,000 views. I think I might be able to do it... what do y'all think?

 

[DizzyFromFumes]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Dude i totally agree. Your story actually has captavated me and it has motovated me to start one of my own. So thank you kind sir for with out you, i would have not had a leg to stand on.

*Dizzy raises his glass in a toast. To Darg and The and the Eye Of The Pheonix.

Good read thus far. Keep up the good work.
The 1st begining of my story has been posted hear http://forums.projectego.net/fable-second-means-fairy-tail-end-9907/ if you care to read it.

 

[moonfever]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Thank you. I like to develop the characters before getting into the plot a bit more, but trust me, there'll be more on the way!

Read 2 chapters. Wonderful story. Very well written. Not to long, not to short, just right. Thanks for the great read. Poor Veros.

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

Well, here we go again with another little delve into the plotline. More things to come, from twists and turns to just plain making you think, brought to you as only Darg can bring. Hopefully, that is. Either way, enjoy and be sure to comment!

Chapter 31~ Blindness and Betrayal

Veros stood in the center of the camp, his blade drawn and his eyes fixed on Jack and Jack alone. Delgado hid nearby, marveling at either the man’s great bravery of great stupidity. He guessed it was a mix of the two. Veros couldn’t help but feel tall, powerful, but all the same, like he had no idea what he was getting into. He stared down his enemy with cold, unblinking eyes. Jack seemed to just sway in the light breeze, a phantom of black and red on the ghostly backdrop of the snow. He was waiting for Veros to make the first move. And in retrospect, he probably would have, were it not for a certain diversion that brought that plan soaring into the ground.

A vague crunching sound in the snow like frantic running was all he heard before Sarvis came down on him hard, tackling him by his ankles from the side. His sword was knocked from his grip a few feet away, unreachable as Veros collapsed. A dizzying effect in his vision distorted everything for a moment, freezing it almost in slow motion. He recalled for a moment back in Hook Coast- when he’d first discovered the Will, he’d used a powerful spell to slow time in its tracks. He realized in dismay that that wasn’t the case- Will couldn’t help him here. Veros knew the moment that Sarvis drew his sword to his so-called ally’s throat that he had been betrayed.

. . . ​

​

Badris couldn’t help but feel more than a bit uncomfortable. He stood with his hands behind his back, facing Nirkraj from across the stone plaza where the dead oracle became a backdrop as faded and dark as night itself. Nirkraj was alone, cloaked in a black and gray robe that made his pale, blind eyes stand out and seem even more haunting than usual. Badris looked around at the group. Durig fidgeted absently, Melinda looked half-asleep, Finrar was oddly vigilant, and Scorl seemed to be picking at his ears in a hardly lucid state. It seemed that Badris was the only one that knew something was wrong here though…

He stepped forward into the near center of the stone plaza, the effect of it seemingly like a gladiator entering an arena. Everything sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before Nirkraj decided to speak. It was an unannounced by any signal sort of introduction, so sudden that it smashed the silence and startled Badris at its ominous tone.
“You have come. This is good. The time is ripe for change, as I have foreseen many days with my mind’s eye. Your leader, Veros- where is he?”
Badris hesitated, scratching at his scraggly beard before answering, “Tha’s a hard call, yer holiness. He… well, we was actually plannin’ on meetin’ him here. I dunno where ‘e could’ve gone. ‘Ave you seen ‘im?” Immediately after saying this, he realized stupidly that he was speaking to a blind man.
Nirkraj, however, seemed unfazed and continued, “You could say that. My dreams seem to speak of his deeds. He is perhaps too bold for an undertaking as it is seen fit. As man is made legend, legend is made hero. And hero, it seems,” he lifted his head in an eerie way and stared directly into Badris’ eyes with a mysterious gaze that seemed to know exactly where he was through the fog of blindness, “is made again into just that, a man.”
“What did you say?” Melinda surprised the group by stepping forward a bit behind Badris, the rest following suit, but still staying well behind the burly bartender’s relative aura of protection.
“You have heard correct. It is a tome of the old verses, and one to be held true. The glass of time runs empty quicker than one may imagine. And it is emptying as we speak for your friend Veros,” he snapped his fingers authoritatively and rapidly, a signal of some sort, “and, it seems, for you as well.”

Instantly, a group of at least a dozen guards carried down the steps around the oracle, brandishing blades and featureless grins. They assembled to the right and left of Nirkraj, sentinels and protectors of some dark thing manifest before their very eyes.
“Wha-” Badris spat out in disbelief, but never finished as he was butt in the chest hard by the end of a guardsman’s pike. He keeled over and lay on the ground breathless, while Melinda gave out a hollow screech and Scorl stepped forward daringly. He faced the exact same brunt of a pike, and fell to his knees. Nirkraj only stared straight ahead, ignoring the frantic screams of Melinda as she scrambled to the two fallen mens’ aid. Durig stood by warily, a look of fear in his now widened eyes.
“So, you see now that all things are unstable, are they not? Even empires fall. And in their place rises anew the things that make them great. Power is a fickle thing. Do not let it out of your grasp or it is here you will die.” Nirkraj looked dangerous, and Durig faced him with veiled fear, his eyes darting back and forth between the fallen Badris and Scorl, Melinda crouched over them, and the now suddenly imposing High Priest of Snowspire. Finrar stood by his shoulder, solemn with cold eyes and a fierce grip on the boy’s arm. It said simply enough, be careful. It was all he needed.

Durig was by no means a daring soul. His entire family had always told him that even the bravest of heroes was always left powerless in the end- it was a stupid trail to follow. Still, perhaps it was the sincere outrage of betrayal or the burning hatred as he saw his own allies, his friends, lying in the snow in pain, but something stirred deep in his complex soul. Finrar’s grip tightened, and he knew exactly what it meant. Act. Now. He fingered his belt rigidly, feeling the adrenaline building before he realized at last the sickening truth- he’d never handled an actual weapon before. He grasped the dagger’s hilt and drew it.

. . . ​

​

Sarvis’s fist was heavy, pressed against the collar of the gray cloak that Veros had been given. It was suffocating him slowly, but it was by no means fatal. It held on, but it was seemingly a loose grip. Perhaps it was just the lack of oxygen, but Veros could swear Sarvis was not trying to kill him… yet. Still immobile with the weight of his former ally bearing down on him, his eyes drifted over to where Jack’s shadowy silhouette came ever closer, his blood red cloak trailing after him like the royal cape of the darkest lord himself. He spoke, and it sounded like a voice buried beneath miles of crushing blackness, a voice amplified by a pervading hatred and anciently powerful as all Albion itself. The voice of a demon, Veros thought as his eyes met with the two yellowish orbs waiting in the deep sockets of Jack’s mask. They looked unusually calm, but nonetheless deadly.
“Ah, irony is a murderous thing, is it not, my dear Veros?” Jack said, indifferent to Veros’s struggles nearby, “as is betrayal.” Jack sounded unusually jovial, with a slight tinge in his voice of- Veros could only guess- happiness? Happiness to a demon, he thought, or pain to everybody else…

Jack’s eyes burned bright all of a sudden, as if he had caught the fleeting thought and kept it to himself, an inward blow. It was a disquieting effect, Veros decided. But perhaps what was more disturbing than even that was the gaze Sarvis shot him while Jack spoke. It was by no means one of hatred or revenge- it was merely appraising, watching as if from a distance. It was one of impossible-to-guess illusion and shrouded understanding. Veros could only imagine what was going through the distorted man’s mind. Jack approached, and laid one powerful gauntlet on Sarvis’s shoulder, making it look more like a death embrace from where Veros lay immovably. There were a few moments of silence. Then Jack laughed, the kind of sound that pierced through lesser men’s hearts and felt like a trickle of fire down the spines of his enemies. But Veros had been here before- he knew his enemy well, and he didn’t even flinch from where he lay with Sarvis’ rough hand clutched around his throat.

Jack spoke once more, “But even as betrayal is murderous, is it not a thing of beauty as well? Perfectly executed, perfectly painted as a picture on the canvas of your own demise, Bantain. You, Veros, have failed, just as your grandfather before you did, at defeating me. Where cunning is a thing of immense power, trust is another thing of great weakness. It is for this reason that you shall die as did all the rest that dare to oppose me.” Jack turned, his cape flourishing and coming to a grave compliance with his shadowy figure, “Sarvis, I have no further use of the Bantain. Killing him myself will only waste unnecessary time and effort. See to it that you dispose of him. Far, far away from here where even the Wastes will make his passing unknown.” Then, just as Veros would’ve screamed if it weren’t for the choking grip, Sarvis did something unexpected. He winked.

Sarvis’s scarred features twisted into a distorted grin, the very same one he’d given out in the shelter of the woods when he’d asked Veros if he could take his word and trust him... an old war dog’s promise… Veros felt the death grip loosen as Jack began to step slowly away. The same motley smile running across his battered face, Sarvis handed Veros his fallen sword and helped him up. There were no debates- allies once more, the two of them charged at Jack, swords flying through the air like twin eagles, ready and soaring towards their mark. Veros could’ve sworn he saw the glowing orbs of Jack’s eyes one more time before they were upon him, fighting, screaming, feeling the strength of heroes rush through their veins and into their every blow that beat Jack harder to the ground. Jack hadn’t a chance. But as legends rightfully say, demons are powerful, but not foolish in times of difficult odds. Jack exploded off his heels, his shape taking on that of a spectral oddity, black and red like that of his imperious cloak, that drifted into the cold, unflinching sky up and beyond the woods until it could no longer be seen. This time, they’d won.

Veros felt a cold, glorious sweat run down his face, and looked over at Sarvis, who to his surprise, was actually laughing. Veros immediately started to laugh as well, the sound a youthful and glorious euphoria that only comes in the wake of victory. And what a victory it was, if not short-lived. Veros cut the celebration short at the sight of something in Sarvis’s eyes. It was a sudden awareness, almost like that of a hunter who just realized his prey had escaped. Jack was still out there.
“Where was he going?” Veros asked, a grave sobriety coming over him like a flood of heavy threats. Off to the side, Delgado Arcturian came out of hiding and entered within a short distance of them, a look of uncanny terror across his darkened face.
Sarvis simply said, “Snowspire,” the word escaping his lips in a gust of sudden recognition. It took nothing more. The three of them took off running through the woods, leaving the burning camp far behind. In the distance, a vague trail led through the misty morning silence. Veros swore he could hear Jack laughing.

 

[0cean v0id]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

excellent mate ive read them all today increditble +repx5 mate!

 

[led_zepp123]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

another great addition

 

[killerequinox]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

This is 143 pages of pure excellence Darg! +rep

 

[zant2000]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

sweet 7.5/10 great story

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

So, the new chapter will be out here in awhile. Been having some internet troubles recently. But I had an interesting proposition I was going to ask all of you about- I was considering making an Eye of the Phoenix Myspace (or Freewebs, or one of those things) page where you can download all the edited chapters, see any other interesting content things I put up, and whatever else you'd like. What's your opinion of this? Wish I could get a poll going, but for now just give me some opinions/ideas/suggestions and I'll get back to you. Thanks!

 

[Darg]

Re: The Eye of the Phoenix

I aplogize in advance for double posting. I've been away for so long... this story has been neglected it seems. So many new members, so many new fan fictions. It seems this story's slipped a bit... well, alot, from the top. I'm determined not to let that happen. For anyone who hasn't noticed my previous posting, please give me feedback, whether yay or nay. Or something else, I'm fine with.