The dead, gray earth stretched far into the horizon where it dropped into the sharp, twisted trenches that gave the Smilelands its name. Ink-black slush spewed through the indentions, a river of death straight from the necrotic cesspool known as Netot’s Chalice.
Netot, god of darkness, was not known for his mercy. Anything and everything that was touched by the cold embrace of death was welcomed into Netot’s arms, which meant little help or interference on his behalf, yet he never did the dirty work himself. That honor fell to Istio, the goddess of war, and those who followed in her hunger for carnage and thirst for blood. Everyone feared the concept of death, but no one ever thought to fear the ones that brought it.
Verina Hinlon stared down the follower of Netot as he hobbled across the gray. Her cold, hazel eyes tracked his movement from the ashen hillside like a vulture stalking its prey. The follower still didn’t know where she was, but he was doing his best to move in a sporadic pattern. She clutched the worn, padded grip of her bow tightly. The first arrow was for the fun of making him suffer. The next would be to pin him to the ground and allow her to slither up and relish in the sounds of his screams.
Verina took aim, pulled the arrow back and listened to the creak of the bow’s string as the pressure stretched it. It was a melodic sound. She released her grip and watched the arrow fly towards its target, the flared and spiky metal tip glinting briefly in the sun. It struck the back of the follower’s leg with perfect precision. He howled in pain as he tumbled to the ground, cursing her from afar. She leisurely stepped down the hillside and made her way toward him. More curses sprayed from his mouth when he saw her.
Verina planted a boot firmly into his chest and pressed him into the ground. He wheezed and coughed, his face red from the blow. She moved her foot over and stomped on his left arm, then did the same to his right to hold him in place. She crouched low, studying her trophy. He was pale, more than most of the Noctide she had seen in her time, and his scruffy black hair was layered with grease. Multiple piercings dotted every stretch of free space across his gaunt face. She pulled her dagger from the slit in her jade robe and teasingly ran it from the nape of his neck down to his stomach.
“What do you want from me, Haelspawn?” He cried. His arms tried to lift her legs to no avail.
“I’m doing your god a favor in honor of mine,” Verina stated, her voice icy and monotone.
She raised her dagger high and caught a reflection of her carefully painted face in the terror of his widened irises. Large, dark circles encompassed each eye, and small red diamonds chained together underneath from her cheek to her nose. Green droplets, a tribute to the symbol of Istio, dotted her forehead. Her lips were as black as the shadows that she lurked in. It was skeletal, haunting, beautiful. It was the last face he would ever see, and she wanted to make sure it left an impression.
Verina plunged her dagger into the follower and reveled in his screams. They were sweet and true, the most natural and exposed sound a person could make in her opinion. When the screams gurgled out, she withdrew her blade and wiped it clean against the palm of her leather-gloved hand. She stared at the crimson with a deep-longing and looked around in shame to make sure no one else was watching. The urge to taste the copper was growing stronger by the moment and she fought it with every ounce of her being.
She was on the verge of breaking when a sharp, burning pain stabbed her in the center of her palm and began to spread outward toward the tips of her fingers and down her wrist. It sizzled against her skin, growing and etching deeper into her body. Green magical energy began to seep outward through her clothes, coalescing into a glowing ball that began to consume her.
‘Verina Hinlon, slayer in my name,’ A snakish voice hissed through her thoughts. ‘You have sworn loyalty to me and now your commitment has made you my perfect champion. Use my power, seek your vengeance and gather your tome. Your task awaits.’
The ball absorbed into Verina’s body with searing pain. She gritted her teeth, feeling it seep down into her soul, then let out a cackle. She had done everything she could to gain Istio’s favor and now she had been rewarded. Her cackle turned into an endless fit of psychotic laughter as she rolled around on the ground and stared into the sky. Tears of joy formed in the corners of her eyes. She was going to have a lot of fun moving forward.
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Tuvhe Vull pushed past the blistering winds and biting cold of Eslen’s mark as he made his way up to the Soule Flame on the mountain’s edge. Eslen’s Mark cracked apart the ground, two large slashes in the shape of a V that stretched from the base to the valley below. The caverns left behind were rumored to be so deep, there was no way to ever find the bottom. Tuvhe placed his hand in front of his eyes as the blizzard obscured his view. He didn’t want to lose his footing and find out if the rumors were true.
His metal boots crunched into the knee-deep snow below. The white seemed to compound with every step and dryness taunted his eyes and tongue. Clumps of ice and snow stuck to his long, dark hair. Still, he knew he had to press forward. Tomhaus Deriden and his brother Yarcon had left to tend to the Soule Flame days ago, as was tradition for the young adults of the Devement, yet they never returned. The village of Senna became abuzz with fantastic stories of what happened to them - witches, monsters, traveling Noctide or Terrolaffs - to the point that Tuvhe took it upon himself to find out. No one else would have.
Tuvhe looked ahead and squinted his eyes. He could barely make out the shape of the outpost aptly labeled “Judgment’s Edge.” If the Deriden brothers were trying to get to the Soule Flame, they would have had to pass through. If the Carceras soldiers and their Adjudicarum leader had no note of their visit, then that meant the Deridens were buried six feet under the snow and along the path he just crossed.
Tuvhe rubbed his shoulders and his plated armor clinked lightly. Up ahead, he saw the small embers of a fire drifting into the storm. His eyes went wide. Not just one fire. The entire outpost was ablaze, hidden behind a cloak of thick snow. He ran towards the gate with his hands raised high.
“Hello!” Tuvhe shouted as loud as he could. “Is anyone here? Are you injured?”
Silence.
“Please, if you need help, I’m here,” He continued. “I’ve come from Senna to check on the Flame.”
There was still no answer. A rustling noise echoed from behind the outpost’s main cabin. Tuvhe place his hand on his sword and steadied himself for potential battle. Something was definitely off. As he rounded the corner, a harsh shriek echoed from above. Tuvhe’s head shot up and he saw the giant beast dropping towards him, claws outstretched. He pulled his sword out in a slashing motion, catching the Frostwolf across the chest, and stepped back as the creature tumbled into the snow. A low grumbling arose.
Tuvhe stepped closer to the flames that began to engulf the main cabin, using the heat to stay warm. A small white creature with fanged teeth and pointed ears popped out from under the Frostwolf’s body. It stared at him from afar, eyes like bright blue marbles, and let out a deafening shriek.
‘Ravilors,’ Tuvhe thought. ‘The little goblin freaks must have raided the camp.’
He pressed against the door of the cabin and pushed it in against his better judgment. He already knew what he would find. The burning of the fresh corpses failed to hide their hacksawed cuts and the looks of pained terror permanently affixed to their faces. He counted the bodies.
‘Only five,’ He noted. ‘That means the Deridens either made it through, or didn’t make it here at all.’
Tuvhe placed both hands on the hilt of his sword and tightened his grip. The thuds of more Ravilors jumping across the rooftops gave way to a swarm assembling in front of him. It seemed like it was at least thirty. He tried to remain steadfast in the increasingly-futile odds. If he was going to die, he was taking as many of them as he could too.
A sharp pain speared through the front of his head and through his mind, causing him to stagger.
‘Tuvhe Vull, seeker and protector,’ A low, somewhat pompous voice called to him. ‘Your commitment has deemed you worthy of being my successor. Take my sword, serve as my right hand, and claim your tome. Do not fail.’
White light emanated from Tuvhe’s hands and into his sword, bending and shaping it into a new form. The pain struck again even harder and he was forced to close his eyes. His head felt like it was going to burst from the collecting pressure behind them. He let out a guttural scream of pain, then all went silent.
Tuvhe opened his eyes, his body laying on the frosted ground, and noticed the blizzard had passed. What was once harsh snow had now fizzled into soft powder falling lightly from the sky. Smoke wafted from the cabin, now nothing but ash and charcoal. Daylight peaked over the horizon.
Tuvhe looked at the sword in his hands. It was the same one he carried with him at all times. He inspected it, but nothing of note was found.
“Was it all a dream?” Tuvhe asked aloud.
He went to stand and slipped on a patch of iced liquid. His head slowly lifted and he caught sight of the scene slightly ahead. Trails of crimson streaked the snow and the bodies of the Ravilors and their Frostwolf companions were strewn across the grounds, slaughtered through skilled slices. There was an air of eerie efficiency to it all. Tuvhe sheathed his sword and looked down at his armor. Red splashed across the chains and fur. He took a deep breath. Being a Tomekeeper was one thing, but being the Tomekeeper of the Betrayer was another.
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I’el Rivini felt the warmth of the sun streak across her face through the holes in the foliage above her. The air smelled of the strawberries and honeydew growing in the fields of Noli’s Orchard below. It was another pleasant day among the people of Farnen’s Grove. I’el caught the sounds of small children frolicking up the hill.
Her body snapped upward.
“By the Protector, I’m teaching the kids today!” She yelled as she pulled herself up and scrambled to look presentable. Napping in the sun was I’el’s favorite pastime, but the twigs and leaves wreaked havoc on her bright orange locks. She dusted what she could out then opted to tie the rest into a bun. It was hunting season, so that seemed like a plausible excuse for the unusual change in hairstyle. There was no way that the elders could know she was slacking on the job again. Even worse, she couldn’t let Friston Slil see her unkempt.
I’el patted her clothes down as Friston and the children crested the hilltop. There were six children, four boys and two girls, each with their handmade bow. If it wasn’t for the fact that Friston was drawing all of her attention, she would have thought it was the cutest sight ever. Friston offered her a wave and one of his usual beaming smiles. I’el melted a little inside. The vest of leaves he wore hugged his chest tightly, the breeze tempting her with the slightest peek of the muscles underneath. His bright ponytailed blonde hair seemed to light up even more in the sunlight, complimented by his crystalline blue eyes and the lone sapphire earring pierced through the sharpened tip of his left ear. He was the picture of wood elf grace in her eyes. She felt her face getting hot as he walked up.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it I’el?” Friston asked. His silvery voice was just as perfect as he was. He pointed a finger toward the edge of her right shoulder. “You, um, have something there.”
I’el panicked internally and swiped the object from her shoulder. She looked down and saw it was just a small twig, thankfully not enough to give away her secret nap. She offered a bright smile of her own.
“Thank you, Friston,” She replied in the most honeyed voice she could muster. She looked up at him with bright emerald doe eyes. The children began to chase and whack each other with their bows.
“Okay, younglings,” Friston called to them in an attempt to re-establish order. “Line up for Miss Rivini.”
They followed his command and formed a crooked row, bows readied. I’el walked past each of them and studied their form while Friston watched them from the side. She adjusted their postures and grip until they all had the same stance.
“The most important thing about hunting is having the right posture when firing your bow,” I’el instructed with a raised finger. “You can be the best tracker in Lidaesea, but you won’t bring home anything if you can’t hit it.”
The children replied with stifled laughter.
“I know!” I’el continued. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I missed some of the most beautiful game because I didn’t make the effort to learn the basics.”
The children laughed again, more hectic than before. Friston stepped forward and leaned in. “You all would do your best to listen to Miss Rivini. She’s the best hunter we have in the grove.”
“But she’s funny!” One of the children, a young girl with curly brown hair, responded. “She keeps playing with the vine!”
I’el looked toward her own raised hand in confusion. The twig that she had plucked from her shoulder was now starting to sprout a thick, dark green vine. It expanded more, wrapping down her arm and snaking its way toward her body.
“I’el, what are you doing?” Friston asked as he stepped in front of the children.
“It’s not me,” I’el stuttered in response. “I don’t know what’s going on!”
The sound of her voice echoed into the recesses of her own mind. Friston and the children behind him started to blur and melt into a multi-colored field. She felt lightheaded at first, then a hard force slammed against the back of her skull.
‘I’el Rivini, my blossoming flower,’ a sweet, melodic voice sang through her pointed ears and into her thoughts. “You have always been one with nature and the people around you, tending to the seeds of the grove. I have selected you as my champion. Go forth, find your tome and grow into the beautiful leader I know you will be.’
As her vision started to return to normal, I’el felt the vine wrap around her whole body. More of it began to spread across her as it rapidly built into a sturdy cocoon and formed a small chamber to hold her within. She looked out of the slit between the vine’s many entwined branches.
“I’el, are you alright?” Friston inquired as he ran his hands along the cocoon, looking for a way to break her free. The children stood frozen in fear and awe.
“I think we need to go to the elders,” I’el answered. Fear and uncertainty clung to her voice. “Once I’m able to get out, that is.”
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