The Crimson Blade

Prelude

He threw back his head and cackled, a mad, desperate noise, echoing the torment of his soul. He had finally made it, and his enemy was trapped. For sixteen years Dareon Del’Acris had tracked his quarry, battled against him on uncounted battlefields.
“Fool,” Dareon muttered, “I have you now.” His hand coddled the wound hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed upon the planar gate before him. Taking one final breath to steady his nerves, he plunged forward, allowed himself to fall into the abyss.
He grimaced against the sudden on rush of pain, a deep agony that pulled at his very spirit. Things were not right here, and as he fell the dire ramifications of what he had done came to light. The world around him twisted, moved like waves of mist sliding atop each other. His body moved with them, twisting and turning, his stomach contorting in on it self. Mouth open wide, he screamed in absolute agony, the solitary note streaming across the plane like a blanket of ice. His body moved with it, splitting apart it cast away across the universe, his mental essence all that remained.
Del’Acris knew what must be done. With all his remaining being he forced forth the thought of his enemy. He focussed his will upon it, used it to control the realm about him. An eternity passed and still he fought for power, until a single beam of clarity opened itself through the endless chaos. He pushed for it, dived into the pocket plane he had created, a plane where he himself could fend off the ensuing catastrophe.
His feet found earth, his eyes found his enemy. Archeon cocked his head and grinned, impressed once again with Dareon’s resourcefulness.
“Powerful indeed, for a human,” he spat.
The demon stood fifteen feet tall, skin the terrible shade of blood, horns protruding from it’s skull. Massive black wings twitched impatiently behind, and with every breath dark steam fell from it’s lips and nostrils.
Dareon drew his sword, his face painted with a look of sheer hated. “Today I have my revenge.” He charged.
It’s wings unfurling, a massive curving blade formed in the demon’s right hand, blood and fire dripping from its cruel barbs. A flaming whip lashed ahead from it’s left, attempting to cut the human down before he could make his approach.
Dareon skipped aside the whip, and charged on. A scream of desperation left his lips as his blade cut for the demon’s leg. Throwing itself back the demon escaped the blow; it’s wings holding it above the floor, and down the huge sword came, falling like a crumbling tower atop Dareon’s head.
His own blade parried, flames skittering across the metal and singing his face. Dareon laughed desperately, looking up to eye the monstrous beast he meant to kill; he knew he was doomed. Rolling to the side, he broke the parry, casting his blade from the pocket plane.
The demon threw itself forward, wings beating heavily upon the torrent air. It howled in victory, it’s whip coiling for Dareon’s leg, it’s blade diving for his throat.
The man’s thoughts crumbled for a moment, his focus waned. The pocket plane followed suit, and chaos leaked in like a breach in a boat’s hull. The demon, unexpecting, was hit first, it’s form contorting into some indiscernible shape.
Closing his eyes, Dareon pulled his thoughts back, his focus finding his lost blade. The chaos surrounding the beast formed, a pointed mass of steel driving it’s way through demon flesh. His eyelids snapping open, Dareon Del’Acris saw that he stood over his dying enemy; his blade driven through the demon’s skull.
He knew there was no way home, yet he smiled none the less, knowing that his work was done. His thoughts collapsed, his smile growing, as chaos washed around his body, and devoured his soul.



* * * *



Measuring each footfall, he tentatively made his way to the entrance of his prepared cubby. Peering over the edge, he surveyed the unfolding spectacle before him. The small dell was bustling with a number of figures layered in dark robes; cowls pulled low covering every hint of facial feature in shadow. The chanting emanating from their lips echoed about the stone walls, filling the night sky with their vile tongue. He reached back, taking hold of an arrow and gently drawing it from the quiver strapped to his back. Drawing back the bowstring, the elf raised the arrow to eye level, and took aim down the shaft. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he marked his desired target.
The high priestess gazed upon her gathered assembly. Drawing the dagger from its sheath, she raised the blade before her, admiring its cruel craftsmanship. She smiled wickedly at the many notched knife-edge; wishing; needing to put it to use. Raising her hands, eyes growing wide as the chanting reached a crescendo she spun on the stone tablet behind her. With a screech of pleasure she dove forward, the blade leading the way. She froze suddenly, straightening up, her cries of pleasure twisted into cries of pain. The chanting ceased, all eyes focused on the arrow tip protruding from the back of their priestess’s neck. The high priestess fell dead.
Leaping from his chosen cover, Helderash’s sword sang as its blade slid from the sheath mid-flight. Landing softly, he brought his blade across with a snap, taking the head from the man before him. The dell erupted into chaos, armed figures leaping from every nook and hole. The robed figures turned to meet their attackers, drawing weapons, and frantically charging the nearest opponent.
Helderash set himself into a defensive position, readying himself for the oncoming assault. Two opponents charged in, sword arms raised high, blade-edges dancing in the moonlight. The first attacker’s battle cry fell into a gurgle of undiscernible noise as Helderash’s weapon cut across, opening his throat. The second of the two sent his sword cutting down and across, aimed for his enemy’s exposed shoulder. Helderash spun, his sword neatly deflecting the clumsy blow, and leaping back he cut through the shrouded figures abdomen, dropping him to the rocky floor. Stepping across his recent victim’s corpse, Helderash made his way swiftly forward to join his comrades in the thick of the fighting.
Crimson filled the dell, the deep red cloaks dancing wildly about as they trailed behind the sure and steady attacks of the experienced invaders. The ring of metal against metal filled the air; the sounds of dying screams accompanying the macabre melody. Pushing forward relentlessly, the attacking force moved as one, their deadly form’s blade dance nothing short of breath taking. The mass of cowled figures fell under the dance, the mesmerising display easily overcoming their inadequate defences.
As the remaining defenders fell into the final throes of death, or bolted from the dell into the night beyond, crimson cloaked soldiers stalking in pursuit, Helderash slid his blade back into it’s sheath and paused to survey the final scene. The bodies of dead figures covered the ground, the hoods of most still low about their ghoulish faces, hiding the final agonised visage of death. The blood of his enemies ran thick between the cracked veins of the stone floor, and beyond the rocky crop’s walls, the screams of his remaining opponents falling under the chase of his men could be heard. The battle was won, but a scowl was painted upon the features of his face. Littered among the blacked bodies lay a scarce few sights of the colour crimson; new recruits, and not ready for such a battle. A sigh of remorse fell from his lips as he gazed over their youthful features, many barely passed childhood. With a shake of his head, long hair flailing wildly, he pushed the dispiriting feelings away, quickly composing himself. There was no time for such thoughts at the current moment, he knew.
A broad figure approached from behind, and clasped a heavy hand upon Helderash’s shoulder. Following Helderash’s telling eyes, the newcomer gazed upon the spectacle before him, echoing his friend’s sigh.
“A tough battle; they fought bravely and have done us proud,” Kander comforted his companion. “They’ll rest easy tonight.”
Helderash offered a gentle nod as thanks, and turned to regard his friend. The human towered a foot above the elf, his broad shoulders dwarfing Helderash’s diminutive stature.
“These tasks of ours are becoming all the more difficult, ” the elf lamented, “the demon hive must be closer than we anticipated.”
Kander nodded in agreement, “we should move as soon as possible, they will know of our attack soon enough.”
Helderash dropped his eyes to the stone, his mind scanning through the possible alternatives before him. For weeks his men had worked their way forward, infiltrating the enemies front line, in search of the demon home. They had staged a number of ambushes upon stray groups of victims, decimating them at every opportunity. Finally, he knew they were nearing their goal; the hive of the demons was close, and his mission was nearing its end.
His contemplations were swiftly set aside however, the scream of a terrified child cutting into his thoughts. The two men turned their heads to the stone tablet dominating the rear of the dell, their eyes scanning the bundles covering its surface. Striding toward it, Kander brushed the swaths of cloth aside, revealing the flesh of a naked infant beneath. Lifting the baby into his arms, Kander turned toward the elf, smiling gently.
“It’s a human child,” he whispered, gently rocking the baby to help comfort it’s fears, and quiet it’s revealing cry.
Helderash started forward, but stopped in his tracks and turned as a second elf entered the dell. Rushing forward, the elf stopped before Helderash, snapping into a quick bow.
“The last of the clerics has been slain, not a one has escaped our wrath,” the younger elf grinned, turning to regard the return of the crimson cloaked soldiers. The elf’s features were a youthful mimic of Helderash’s, his voice carrying the same rough tone.
Helderash closed his eyes momentarily in thought, calculating their next movements, before opening them again to regard his brother, Leife. “We must move swiftly” he ordered, “prepare the men for departure.” Looking back, he noted Kander had secured the baby to his back, by means of a tied cloth hammock. Knowing they were finished here, he gave a telling nod in his brother’s direction; and as quickly as the dell had erupted into chaos, all was silent.



Chapter 1: Tales of the Beginning

“They say the planes are infinite, overlapping, and intersecting; like a never-ending lattice, encompassing every choice, every alignment and moral code. They range from the glistening silver halls of the Gods, and ultimately fall to the lower hells of the abyss, where the demonic hordes name their home. We remain perched between the two, balancing on the tip of a needle, ready to slip and fall to destruction, should we do nothing to prevent it.”
Kander allowed his thoughts to roam, deciding he would make this last lesson a poignant one.
“Kara-thur,” he continued. “No one continent has ever faced such bitter conflict. The name conjures memories of destruction and death in each of it’s inhabitants, yet none would think to desert it. No land is contorted of such twisted deceit, has known such bitter evil and yet, somehow, pockets of love, honour and respect manage to remain.
It wasn’t always so; the land knew peace once. But that was before the invasion, when the abyss opened it’s gates and fell upon us, the infection of our beloved land by the demon hordes. I know not how they arrived, nor do the wisest sages of Ellthsenar, but they perverted that which knew peace. They brought war to our homeland and as they spewed forth from their mountain holes, they brought death to whomever they crossed. Entire cities were wiped from existence, their people burnt into nothing more than a flicker of memory. It seemed we would all know death by their hands, it seemed there was no measure of hope.”
Kander paused, and sighed deeply, replaying the memorable, but ultimately sickening events through in his mind.
“Men are not known for abandoning their homes easily however. Numerous wars were waged, and numerous men fell in desperate need, fighting to secure the safety of their families, however short lived. The population Kara-thur once knew was reduced to cinders, burned under the grinding wheels of the demonic tyranny, and all believed the name of their beloved land would cease to exist.
This did not defeat the people of Kara-thur however, but merely fuelled their bitter resolve. Alliances were formed across the continent, comprising all who could stand against the oncoming onslaught. A century of war followed, a century of death, but the demons were driven back.”
Quieting momentarily, he pushed himself into a sitting position, a frown taking to his bushy brow. Lurching forward, Kander choked bitterly, cutting his tale short. He clutched his arms about his chest, his face contorted in pain; another reminder to Kryss that her foster father was dying.
Resting back, Kander’s face slowly eased into a smile, his eyes staring beyond the walls of his room, as if reaching into the depths of a pleasant memory.
“It’s been seventeen years since their fall; since they were driven back into the deep. I’ll never forget that day. We had been hunting their home for near a decade, the moment to exact a measure of vengeance was a pleasing one indeed. We marched forth with an enormous force, an army formed of men from the cities to the west, and the elven clans of the east. The day we stood before the gates of the hive, you could feel the anger, the bitter hatred each and every one of us held for our enemies. We fought with the demons for days; a tiring, bloody battle, and it seemed the continuous stream of enemies would never cease; but not one man deserted the field short of falling to his death, until the work was at it’s end, and every one of the beasts lay dead.”
Kander paused once more, a great sigh passing his lips. “Remember child, death is but a passing to the God’s Hall, another place, where out spirits may rest and be at peace.”
He turned, his eyes catching hold of his daughters and holding them firmly. “While you live, never give up hope, and never surrender the ones you love, or the ideals you most cherish.”
He nodded, and smiling warmly pulled his feather quilt up about his neck, and closed his eyes. “Now I must sleep, I’m old and worn, and soon I too shall rest with the God’s.”
Kryss smiled weakly in return. She was torn inside, the sight of her dying father filling her with both dread and grief. For nineteen years he had watched over her, cared for her as a child of his own. He had always been so full of life, but since the death of his wife four years prior, his health had slowly waned. She had decided the façade would continue however, she would not exhibit her true feelings, for her father’s sake. Kander was a strong believer in the old ways, and knew that upon his death he would be reunited with his love in death’s silvery halls. He was content, and Kryss did not want to ruin it.
Rising from her perch beside his bed, she kissed him gently upon the brow, before making her way quietly from the room.
Outside, the sun was shining pleasantly. The long meadows of Winterswalk stretched out before her, the odd small stonework cottage placed among the long grasses. Flowery aromas filled the air, and Kryss, eyes closed in momentary thought breathed them deeply. Summer was usually her favourite time, the only season in which the isle was not coated with a thick snow, a change in the northern winds bringing the settlers a few months reprieve.
She made her way along the cobbled path from the house, turning left at the village’s small church toward the bay. Kryss often travelled to the beach, a quiet spot rarely visited, and somewhere she could think with peace. She had been visiting more and more often lately, recent events playing heavily upon her mind.
Dropping to the sand she curled her arms about her knees, and let her gaze roll across the seemingly endless ocean before her. Waves gently lapped against the surrounding cliffs, the sound of the outgoing tide somehow comforting. She sat, and thought, and watched the roll of the tide fall away from her toes.



* * * *



Standing centre deck of a narrow, three-mast war ship, he eyed the bay before him, too far to see the solitary figure sat among the rocky outcrop. An interlocking plate suit adorned his form, delicate for it’s kind, it’s dull shine occasionally catching the glare of the sun. A thick deep blue cloak hung about his shoulders and long, dark grey hair danced wildly behind him, catching the summer sea breeze sweeping away from the island. He stood easy, right hand resting customarily close to the hilt of his long, slightly curving sword.
“Dock us to the east of the island boats master” Helderash called, turning to regard the man steering the ship. A grim look was set about his features this day. Barely a ten day ago he had received word Kander had taken to his death bed, and he had rushed tirelessly since, to sit beside his friend for one last time.
Helderash had never expected this. He had stood besides Kander before, blades drawn in conflict against any number of enemies. Death was common then, expected even, and it seemed almost unnatural to Helderash that he would witness his friend taken by age and sickness. Worse still was the bitter feeling of helplessness. This was one adversary he could not fend off, could not join his comrade against, and he disliked it immensely.
As the boat steadily came to rest, he shook the thoughts away and headed for the ships gangplank. Men bustled about, throwing anchors from the side of the boat, brisk orders being hurled from the ships helm.
“Pleasant enough spot m’lord, it’ll do the men good to feel the sand beneath their boots” Thessel said, drawing himself up behind Helderash. He was old, white hair spotting his balding crown, his face drooped with wrinkles. His voice came out a whisper, slow and monotone, yet somehow comforting.
Helderash sighed, “allow them to the beach, I do not wish the village here disturbed. Send runners to collect supplies.” He paused. “I will be with our friend, join us whenever you’re ready. No doubt you wish to see him also.”
Thessel bowed his head in assent. “Of course my lord, I shall be with you shortly.” He closed his eyes smiling weakly before turning to his duty.
“Thessel.”
“Yes m’lord?”
“Thankyou.” His face the picture of sorrow, Helderash turned, and slowly made his way into the village.




Chapter 2: Unsuspecting and Unaware

Rocking back and forth on the rear legs of his wooden stool, his own legs propped against the stone window pane, Dillon threw his dice against the table. “Damnit Will, are you cheating or something? I’ve not won one yet.”
William gave a cheerful smirk, eyeing the losing dice. His palm extended, he beckoned at Dillon to give him his due. “You sure you want to keep playing? I’d feel awful bad if I deprived you of whore money this leave,” his smirk growing wider.
Frowning, Dillon tossed a copper coin from his purse, before bursting into belly shaking laughter. “You’re not likely to do that now,” he said, gently patting the coin bag tied to his belt. “Always keeping some back for that.” He grinned.
They were an unlikely pair of friends. Dillon was huge, ripples of fat pushing out under his breastplate, and he carried a smell equally unpleasant. Besides the large ginger caterpillar of a moustache laying above his top lip he was completely bald. Dillon was also loud, obnoxious, and loved to tell tales of his trips to the home-cities brothel.
In contrast William was lean, handsome and married. Neat black hair fell to his shoulders and his breastplate shone in the sun rays peering through the tower’s window.
They’d been guardsman at a small tower outpost for near three years, overlooking a small valley which marked the borders of the safe lands. Beyond somewhere, lay the ghoul towns, but since the fall of the demon’s they had never stirred.
For three years, Dillon and William had sat their post alone, and friends they had become, out of necessity more than anything.
“Just two more months too,” Dillon lamented, “and I’ll get me that girl.” He eyed his friend seriously for a moment. “You’re welcome to join me you know, I’ll find you a nice cute one, maybe have you smiling more from now on.”
William chuckled, staring into his companion’s eyes. “I think I’ll leave the pox catching to you my friend, I’ll stick with my wife.”
“Bah, no fun” Dillon moaned. “Well roll the dice damnit, I’ll be getting that money back if your not to be spending it well.”
Sighing, William scooped up the dice and tossed them across the table.


* * * *
Stretching his arms high above his head, Leife closed his eyes and yawned. The morning sun was just grazing the horizon, it’s light illuminating the world; the cry of hunting gulls filling the air. Breathing deeply he allowed the sweet smell of the sea to enter his lungs, the gentle salty spray upon his face waking him. Belting his blade to his waist, he gloved his hands and flexed his fingers, stretching the last of the tiredness from his bones, and set off for the wall.
The small town was barely alive at this time. The odd chant of a priest could be heard from the distant monastery, beginning the morning prayers, and a small number of eager merchants had begun setting up shop in the market district as he passed. Leife enjoyed the dawn, a time of peace to think and reflect.
His brother had been gone his usual eight months, and would be home soon. In the winter months the pirates retreated to hidden coves in the eastern isles as the stream of merchants sailing the Jade Causeway dwindled, and Helderash returned with his crew for repairs to his ship. They were hunters of pirates, a small crew who made it their goal to protect the merchant ships and make sure commerce continued with their small, remote town. It would be good to see him again, the old man was away far too often for his liking.
Climbing the narrow wooden stairs, Leife made the top of the wall. Placing his palms firmly upon the stone surface before him he gazed out to finish watching the rise of the sun. The land before the town was flat and grassy, a large plane surrounded to the south and west by an impassable mountain range, the deep blue of the ocean protecting it’s eastern flank. The town was built into a small crevice where the mountains met the sea, protectively hidden from the rest of the world, the only exit a small valley between two vast mountains far in the distance. Leife stood and waited, as the sun crested the high mountain range, and brought morning to the grassy cove. Stirring, he turned and pushed his way through the door of the first guard tower.
“Nothing to report sir, the planes have kept clear and quiet.” The young man kept his eyes to the arrow slit, watching his vigil loyally until relieved.
Leife looked upon his eldest son and smiled. He had made guardsman a month ago, and was as dedicated as anyone to his duties.
“Very good, do the messenger’s report the same?”
“Aye sir, every guardsman report’s clear and quiet. We’ve seen no trouble this night.”
There had never been trouble, every night had been ‘clear and quiet’ since the building of the town nineteen years past. It was a legend in most regions, a whisper upon the lips of travelling merchants, to most nothing more than a story. Men of power knew of it’s existence, but acted as if they knew nothing; the people there were to be forgotten, for killing them was more trouble than it was worth.
“You’ve done well” Leafe congratulated his son. “Now head along the wall to relieve the men of their posts, then go and get yourself some sleep.”
Brandon smiled, nodding. “Yes father.. sir.” He turned for the opposite door, leading toward the next guard tower.
“Oh Bran, Annah left early today for service, see your brothers break their fast before heading out.”
Bran offered a last nod, before turning and heading at a gentle pace along the wall, a cheerful tune whistling from his lips.
Placing his hands against the base of tower window, Leafe looked out across the rolling plane and thought warmly of his children. His eldest son Brandon was sixteen, tall and strong, and his good sword arm had been a welcome addition to the city watch. His younger sons, Mikkah and Xzakariah were twelve and thirteen, and spent their days either schooling, or practicing with the sword. Annah was fifteen. A happy, lively girl, always smiling, with the softest heart he had ever known. She was apprenticing with the clerics at the temple, helping those in the city who were unfortunate enough to require it.




More coming soon, please email me with suggestions and feedback ([e-mail]).

Thanks!