Young Writers Society

An acidity soaked itself into Valalar, and he felt it as those in heart failure might feel fluids in their lungs. Though both pined the evening away privately, nobody is immune to the call of sleep. Andre rose first and woke Valalar. "Despite what beeth, may the morning bid thee well. If we leaveth this instant, Dravidia can be reached by nightfall."

Valalar knocked himself awake and as his world-weariness flooded back into his mind his face changed to that of an insomniac. Valalar nodded and the pair continued along the road between Ezebullon and Dravidia. The trek was mostly without conversation until Valalar spoke unexpectedly. "My existence is hazy and bewailed no doubt and many things are uncertain. But Andre I do know this; Thunderthrore will die and heaven be damned I will see my family again." Andre couldn't help but pause as the weight and sureness of Valalar's words seemed to overshadow his deathly air. Indeed Andre's perception of their current mission of dragon slaying remained unchanged, but he was blank on how Valalar could change any divinity. Nevertheless Andre couldn't help but give to Valalar what he gave out freely to others over infinitely lesser pledges; belief.

The shadow of Dravidia grew larger as the two walked nearer. They made good time and as they approached around twilight what was previously a leaden outline of walls and hills on the horizon grew progressively more dominating. Indeed they were at Ishabooru's doorstep now. The 'holy mountain' Éviäarmassë has spoken of as a myth now stood regally in front of Andre and Valalar. It's slopes were gentle and green, crowned with snow and some clouds. The treeline was a gradual decrease rather than a clear delineation. At the top was a temple complex neither of them could clearly make out the architecture of. All in all Andre guessed it to be about two thousand meters high, give or take two to three hundred meters.

After overcoming their admiration Valalar and Andre's attention then turned to the city proper and the surrounding flora and fauna. The trees were an unusual mix, primarily cedars, olive trees, and acacia. But also noticeable where paper birches and beeches. About the hills and mountainside where sure-hooved blackbucks with beautiful spiral horns, and Andre could make out a pack of dirty calico wild dogs on the prowl. From the southern face of Ishabooru's Mountain went a ridgeline that started in the heights of the mountain and gradually grew shorter as it went southbound and blended into the rest of the hills. It was this ridge that formed the backbone of Dravidia's layout. The city walls were the first structures to steal their breath constructed of black marble and quartz. More impressive was the white blemishes of the masonry that zipped through the rock as lightning. Valalar took note of the opaque violet-purple columns spaced periodically along the wall, and Andre could feel the consecrations oozing forth from the amethyst. Andre questioned "What host might beeth so foul so to see a city bequeathed by battlements reinforced with sacrosanct spells?"

They reached the even more fortified gatehouse with the glowing purple steel teeth of the gate already above their heads ready to bite. Andre and Valalar could hear the commotion of the armored men they had seen atop the walls. And who they would soon discover were the Templars Éviäarmassë has spoken of. Cautiously but with the assuredness of the Golden Unicorn's words they walked into the city. There in front of the various buildings akin to the walls stood a knight and his entourage. He wore the black and purple plate armor and flat top great helm of Ishabooru's Templars. Every knight's helmet bore a Jerusalem cross of purple steel, and across the breastplate of every man was a septagram framed in arched falcon wings with a single amethyst stone in the center. The only thing denoting this lead knight were amethyst studs decorating the front rivets of his helmet.

The lead knight removed his helmet. Underneath was a man with a peppery unkempt soldier's haircut and white stubble. His face looked like someone in their mid sixties, but Andre could sense his real age was beyond that. Andre also knew that he was someone who'd become callused by many battles and actions to forge a hard won respectability. "Indeed." Though Andre. "Hereth be an exemplar of the adage: fearth the old in occupations where the youthful doth perish."

"Hail!'' said the knight. "My name is Sir Lord Octavius. I am the grandmaster of Her Grace's Templars and the warden of Dravidia. It has been many numerous decades since someone made it through the Golden Unicorn's veil in the Tallmë-Tallmë Reaches. For bereavement of family by an evil Stormdrake you seek the Sword do you not?" As Valalar open his mouth Octavius resumed speaking; "Plainly I tell you, your next trial in obtaining the Sword lies yonder under the Holy Mountain in the Charnel Halls…"

At this point Valalar interrupted Octavius, yet as much as he might want he had no words to say. He was rendered mute in a flurry of wrath, bewilderment, and anticipation. The Sir Lord continued; "Therein lies the host for a final war. Fallen brothers and sisters and slain hideous demons of the western desert alike together sleep, and a Gravelord commands them all. My elf and wizard if you would follow me."

Valalar and Andre followed Octavius and his men through the city whirling in anticipation. Through residential commons and marketplaces they went until they reached the grandiose prize on the city's northern quarter. There set immovable was both a castle and cathedral in one. A building where blacksmiths wrought arms and armor and warriors practiced their art. Deep underneath its foundations were catacombs with vast reserves of food, and teams of hydromancers, herbalists, and hospitallers stood ever vigilant to purify Dravidia's water should the city be besieged. The fortress had an outer wall of nine towers crowned with fleches arranged in a nonagon, and the keep within did likewise before rising skyward one hundred and fifty meters into a fleche flanked by nine smaller spires. Andre's wizardliness realed over awestriken as righteous spells flooded out from walls of ancient obsidian, charoite, and sugilite and spires of tanzanite speared the night with violent dark purples. Ishabooru's knights manned the battlements and artillery, and high in the fleches Andre saw several batteries of uniquely powerful ordinance; cannons. With barrels smoking with pinkish mist powered each by a mage and tended to by gunnery crews.

They entered the building's immense bowels into a blacksmith's workshop "What are we doing here?" Asked an impatient Valalar.

"Equipping you for what dwells underneath the Holy Mountain." Said Octavius as he motioned over to the blacksmith and another Templer. Valalar looked over on the workbench and saw a burgonet helmet and curiass chestplate of fresh steel. Amongst other pieces of armor, a soldier's undergarment and footwear, and a spiked pavise shield. More poignantly a Templar approached Valalar and handed him a long scabbard. Valalar tore the blade from its sheath and beheld a long estoc with an ivory handle and corkscrew steel decor on the cross guard and pommel.

Valalar's impatience bubbled over; "Octavius, you speak of this 'Charnel Hall'. What is this? Where is this? Point me in the direction I need to go and what to do and let's be on with it!"

Andre chimed in; "Aye, please excuse our impetuous fever. We haveth traveled long, and my elf longeth to prove his metal and I to be ministrator to his questing. Indeed, what are thine Charnel Halls? I wish to beeth by the side of my friend there within.

Octavius gave them a sideways look. "Valalar have I not spoken? Your task lies under the Holy Mountain. The path to the Charnel Halls is something only you can travel. You have been provided equipment and the Sword of the Second Trial. As for you my Wizard Andre, you cannot accompany your elf friend. Do you seek to wield the Executioner's Sword? Only Valalar can bear this burden."

As Valalar put on his new gear he witnessed Andre’s tongue light up with zealotry in protest of Octavius’s decree. Eventually the two stopped exchanging pleasantries as Valalar erupted into a laugh; "It's alright Andre. Soon perhaps we'll be before Ishabooru herself and this mess will arrange itself." Turning to Octavius he spoke sarcastically but with a sense of understanding; "One magic sword to acquire an even more magic sword." As Octavius looked with plain dutifulness and Andre grievous concern Valalar nodded to Andre and departed from them for Dravidia's northwest gatehouse.

Dravidia was now a little ways behind Valalar as he walked along a gloomy stone road cracked and overgrown with greenery. Blackish purple pollen from Queen of the Night tulips illuminated the night as fireflies. Only Black Willows grew, they raked the evening as their trunks twisted as that of gowned dancers twirling. The willows pained his mind with flashbacks of his once home. Worse yet the road was flanked with gothic mausoleums and stone winged creatures. Some stood handsome and mournful, others brooding and deathly. There were some enthroned in cold granite, proudly with swords in hand as if ready to cut Valalar down should his spirit be tainted. Valalar looked at one facing skyward. He would have cried at its serenity if he didn't feel watched and judged. He fought off a dreadful familiarity and continued on towards a gatehouse with great cedar doors now in sight.

As he approached the great doors flew open with a stabbing creak. Valalar's personhood collapsed as green streaks fronted a frenzied mass hightailing it for Valalar with two more green crescents a little ways behind it. From the sounds now violating his ears Valalar froze; "Those are Fellflaggers from the Nansemond River! What in blazes is a foulness like that doing in a supposed holy land?!"

Those questions didn't matter now. Those creatures stood in the way of his supposed path to Ishabooru's Sword, and that sword was his hope over delivering vengeance to Thunderthore. Arassërochir himself had tried his darndest to make Valalar a fighting elf, and with all the hate and trauma welled up inside himself Valalar forced himself off his knees and steel rang unleashed. He knew he had to kill the two Fellflaggers separately to stand a chance. He overpowered himself and willed his legs to begin running towards the first Fellflagger. He knew a mistiming would spell his doom. The bat-demon snarled viciously as it went to severe Valalar's torso with its jaw. But it missed. Valalar allowed his momentum to carry him as he dropped to his butt and shoved his estoc behind the bat's sternum and into its heart.

Ungodly death throes were equaled by the fleshy sound of blood erupting from the chest cavity and showering Valalar as the beast crashed and clumped to a dead stop. Valalar smiled; he felt powerful. Finally he could take his abhorrence to an uncaring world and channel it into a release primal enough. He ran at the second Fellflagger but it was observant to his previous tactic. The bat-demon jerked upwards and pinned Valalar with its taloned foot. Before it could bring it's full weight down and squish Valalar he took his free arm and swung his sword and severed the monster's leg at the knee.

The Fellflagger shrieked in pain as Valalar rolled out from underneath it and the bat collapsed with a fleshy splat onto its stump. Valalar took the opportunity to counterattack and stabbed his spiked shield into the bat's shoulder blade. The Fellflagger began to roll over trying to crush Valalar under its back. Valalar using the leverage from his shield was able to rise above the Fellflagger and swing his sword into the neck. Bone, muscle, vasculature, and a bit of the spinal cord were severed as Valalar thudded to the ground from all the downward momentum. The Fellflagger tried to wail through a throatful of innards and died.

Valalar recovered from his daze and worked himself to his feet. He looked over at the limp corpse and collected his estoc and shield, wiping what blood he could onto the mangy fuzz of his slain foe. Valalar's expression warped into great contempt and he spat on the Fellflagger's corpse saying to himself; "Death to all alike yourself. You are no better than the byproduct of feasting dung beetles and maggots." He looked at the stars and spoke with grim defiance; "Lunalynnlë or whatever human god if you can hear me if I am to perish within this place before Thunderthrore dies by my hand know this. My lung wound could be healed by Old Pine's Maylithe Spring but not my fatalism, nothing now alive can heal that. Nevertheless I have risen and forged a partnership with it, I have become its liege lord. If I die now I will crawl out of any abyss your senseless divinities see fit to cast me in. By my fatalism I will see my beloved again."

Valalar gathered himself as the night hung and festered. He walked over to the gatehouse set into the mountainside with its spiked stone archway and large cedar doors. Purple tulip spores lit a steel slab where a handle should be and with a strain he made a crack in the door and darted behind it. A soundless call came from within, and he made his descent in pursuit of its fleeting whispers.