Chapter 1 Part 1:
His skin shown bronze in the light of the rising sun, as he stood overlooking the dreaded Valley of Mists below him. He was staring at a lone tower shrouded by the gray swirling mists. My vantage point beneath a large tree's shade afforded me ample opportunity to inspect my friend's lithe cat-like body. My eyes continually stauling on the ugly gash that seeped on the side of his chest, recalling, with absolute clarity, how it got there.
This was my best friend. A man I had fought side by side with from many years. From the sandy beaches of Azadmere, to Khindenkheim, to forays into the Wylds, a large wilderness area covering a great portion of this vast continent.
This was Questar, a half-elvin Ranger. Shunned by the majority of both elvin and human peoples, but for myself, it had been fast friends with him and his twin sister, Kassandra, whom we had come to this vile place to rescue.
But now, Now we are here. Overlooking the Valley of Mists and I can "see" my friend's troubled heart and "hear" his thoughts. He is blaming himself for the capture of one of our companions. Blaming himself for the possible loss of others. It seems our friends, Johanish Slickfingers, Wolfling, and Gotorah the Lightheart, have not made it back from where they were to cause a diversion. Something I will have to look into later, but for now, I have more pressing matters on my mind, Namely Questar.
*"Star"* I mentally sent out. *We must see to your wound…*
"Zaar, you know that I don't like thought thieves," he stated, interrupting me in the process.
"I was merely forcing my way through your somber reverie", I began again. "Your wound is seeping through the bandages and your sister is still in no condition to heal you at this time."
I walked toward him, careful to make sure that my wide brimmed hat was in place. You see, I have a 'condition' in which my skin burns badly in the sun. Not as bad as it did years ago, but bad enough still to warrant protective measures.
"Questar," I said quietly. "You are not to blame for Tamlin's capture",
"Zaar, who else is to blame," Damnit!!! Cut off again. "It was my fault that we are here. If I had just been able to keep them from",
"QUESTAR," I shouted (finally I get to interrupt.) with a voice that boomed louder than it should. Yet another "victim" of my "condition". "We ALL knew what we risked agreeing to this rescue. I knew. You knew. So did the others, as well. It is sheer madness challenging a lich, let alone a lich-lord in HIS very own fortress."
"But",
"But nothing, Questar," I interrupted again. "You, gifted as you are, were no match for a lich-lord and his minions when they came for Kassy. What could you possibly expect to do, other than survive? THAT is what gave us a chance to mount this rescue.
"Each of us volunteered for this, and EACH of us has known the risk since the day we set out on the first adventure together."
Questar's shoulders slumped as my words sunk in. And once again, my eyes fell on the ugly wound. Black ichor seeped through the bandages letting me know the infection from the lich's blade was spreading rapidly. Often, death comes immediately if the onyx blades are used, but Questar's endurance and his training as a Ranger by the Druid's of the Wylds, were what kept the infection from running rampant through his system. But, due to my "condition", I can also "see" it killing him. Slowly.
I mentally reached for him, lifting him off the ground, gently cradling my dearest friend in my arms.
"Another new 'gift', Zaar," Questar asked. "Does this have something to do with your newfound love of the color black? And your avoidance of the sun that you used to adore so much?"
His questions, though soft as a baby's sigh, rang loud as a clarion's call in my ears.
*Much has changed, my friend,* I sent. I chose to do this because a mental voice carries more than even the elvin language in the way of emotion. *For you, it has been only 2 weeks since we went our separate ways for vacation…* The pause carried with it the knowledge of a secret. *For me, it has been a lifetime.*
With that sent, he slept. Questar, vaunted hero, loving friend slept, finally allowing his exhaustion to win, so I took him to his tent and placed him on a cot near his sister. I changed his bandages, applying a healing salve, before replacing new ones. I'm no healer, but I can apply an ointment and bandages. Every good adventurer learns this. They learn if they want to survive in a world as harsh as Shalisterra.
I left them in their tent and went to my own. There was a task that only I could see to. A task that HAD to be done, swiftly and silently, as only I could move. Free from the prying eyes of even my dearest of friends.
My tent was large, black and had mystical inscriptions on it. These were barriers to keep the unwanted and uninformed out, as well as to keep me hidden from those searching by any known means. Scrying, Astral Projection, Clairvoyance, nor magickal spell could penetrate my barriers.
*Tasha?* I mentally called out.
*Here, my love,* she replied in turn. *On the pedestal on your table.* Where I new she would be. She was always there, but formality and habit had formed a little ritual between us.
"Can you sense Tamlin?"
*Aye, my love. He is in a cell in the dungeon of the tower. He lays there on a cot, bound hand and foot.* I could feel something in her mental voice. It was just a quiver but it prompted me to take more notice of what she was saying. *Beloved, there is. An unholy in the room with him* in all these years that I have known my wife, Natasha, she has always called anything 'unnatural' an "unholy". But never once has she used this term to describe me. I finally got the nerve to ask her about it one night and she simply told me that all things in life have a predator, it was the natural order of things, so was it any wonder that there were those of my "kind" around to prey upon the humanoids. I had not thought of it like that before.
I began to look for a very special gift I had received from my youth. Something I had received adventuring with Questar and his sister, when we had traveled to the Wylds in search of a mystical artifact lost by the brethren of monastery there. It was a bow.
Searching in a black chest near my bed, I found it, still wrapped in the oiled cloth I had left it in so many years ago. Well. It was "so many years ago" to me.
"Tasha," I began. "Can you tell me where a safe place to teleport in would be?"
*I would suggest near the foot of the cot. It seems the unholy has confined itself towards the door to either attack as you would enter the door or keep you from exiting the room, should you somehow make it through the tower and into the dungeon,* there was a mental shrug (more felt than seen, but memory for one such as I can be VERY vivid). *I cannot make what strengths this unholy may have, though I can see into the room. There are shields around him. They are more than just invisibility. I hope your bow will keep you as his keeps him*
Worry. In all my years, I have never known Natasha, the Great Druid of Time, to worry about me. More often than not, she would toss a comment such as "be careful, but have fun" over her shoulder and continue with what she was doing. This was truly something new. I wonder if it was due to the fact that I still haven't been able to find her body. Maybe, when we are done here, I can get the rest of the Adventurer's Guild to aid me in my search. IF I can find a way to broach the subject of what I am and stay alive at the same time.
While unwrapping the bow, I turned my thoughts to calling up the teleportation spell. I focused upon the spell, pulling out the words through my mind at the same time pulling the energies needed to cast the spell through the aether around me.
"Batistrah torahn veigh, negath bel vehalahm," I began to chant softly, gathering strength in my voice as well as the energies. My voice began to take on nuances as I began to use my free hand to draw intricate patterns in the air while the other hand held the bow at the ready.
I watched as my scenes changed from the colors around me to gray to black, back to black to gray and then the color (or lack there of) of the dungeon cell holding my friend. Looking around the room, I was glad that this form of the teleportation spell made no noise. It gave me the chance to look around the room and take in the situation at hand.
Looking around the room, I saw that Tamlin was lying on a shoddy looking cot, bound hand and foot as Tasha had stated, but noticed that it was spell-chains that bound him. Spell-chains, the bane of all magick users. They not only incapacitate our magicks, but tend to incapacitate the users as well. Spell-chains are made of a natural loadstone like material that sucks all of the magicks out of a person. Magick users are not only focuses of the magicks they use, but a part of them as well. Thus the reason spell-chains are the bane of our existence, as well as banned in many of the countries around.
A shuffle in the air caught my attention. I looked where the disturbance was to see a shimmering which denoted the presence of something shielded from normal view, but as I have mentioned before, I am not "normal" by any stretch of the imagination. I looked closer at the shimmering space and I could make out the form within. All things on this plane of existence give off an aura that shapes them, which one with my "condition" can lock into and view. What I was seeing, however, I am not all too sure I was ready for. Tasha had called it an unholy, but I know now that it was a daemonite. A daemonite is a creature born of one mortal parent and a one demonic one. Most were born of humanoid mothers and they are usually humanoid in quality. This one I could tell was born of a demonic mother and had been raised in the depths of the abyss. Its general shape and size, along with the fact that it was bat winged pointed to this. Being born of a demonic mother also gave it enough energy to pull this type of shielding. We, of the mortal plane, called it the Shimmering. Only those who specifically are keyed into seeing this type of energy can spot it.
What was the old saying, "Those who search for trouble are bound to find it was there all along"? I think it was more than true in this situation. I had come to rescue a friend, only to find that this was a trap of sorts, but was it a trap for the mundane or for someone of my stature. This was all that remained to be seen.
"I can smell you, elf" the daemonite began, slapping me back to reality. "I know that you are here".
Using a trick of the voice, I called out, "And is that supposed to make me fear you, daemonite? Or is that just simply your way of acknowledging my presence?" It was a taunt, I know, but it would also buy me a little time to figure something out... The thing I needed to figure out was exactly how strong this being was.
I noticed, in this time, that there was someone else in the room with us. A male slave who was obviously there to tend to the unconscious Tamlin. It was up to me to protect them both, if I could, as well as rescue them.
"Boy, move to the cot and be prepared to leave as soon as I am finished here," I said with as much strength as I could muster. Truth be told, I had no idea if I would survive this attempt, let alone be able to rescue the three of us. I was satisfied with the fact that the lad did as he was told.
The daemonite dropped its shielding, showing its true form, causing the color to drain from the slave, and allowing me a target to fire upon, which I did with a speed born of my "condition". I pulled the drawstring of my bow back and fired three times, hoping that the bow would select the proper arrows for the job. Three strikes hit the daemonite, one in the shoulder and two in the chest.
"Is this the best you can do, elf"?
End of Chapter 1 Part 1
Written By: Belfazaar Ashantison