Revelations of the Sword: The Blooding

Revelations of the Sword:
Part 1: “The Blooding”

“For all these years my power has grown yet what have I to show for it?  Gal’Malae is mine utterly and my armies throw themselves at those who dare oppose me.  It is not enough!  All of the lands which the sun touches should be mine for none are alive that are as great as me!”  The words of Serisinis, better known as the Queen of Despair, echo back to her in the vastness of her hall.  Her confidant and seeress, Nalathica, cringes from the heat in her Queen’s voice.  Few survive unscathed the Queen of Despair’s displeasure and Nalathica is no exception.  Nalathica’s face is crinkled with age and scars crisscross from one side of her face to the other as a reminder that to fail the Queen means agony.  Her mouth has few teeth left and when she speaks her voice shakes with remembered pain that gets worse as she ages.  The body of Nalathica is no better and is perpetually stooped from age and wounds left over from the Queen.  To behold Nalathica is to know the depth of the Queen’s disdain for those she deems beneath her.

“My Queen, I have foreseen even greater glories for you.  One day the whole continent of Algaldor will tremble with fear at the sound of your glorious name.  Patience is required-“
“Enough!  Empty promises have no place in my hall.  I know not why I keep you around.  Long ago you foretold that I would rise to greatness and become ruler of Gal’Malae and that has come to pass.  Yet, where are these greater glories you speak of?  I hope that you are not lying to me to keep up a guise of usefulness.”  Serisinis emphasizes usefulness and lets a hint of malice enter her voice.  The sight of fear before the pain she brings is intoxicating.

“The predictions my Queen, they do not tell me when they will come to fruition.  You know that I can only foretell what will happen, not when it will happen, my Queen.” 

“Talk, talk, talk is all you do yet lacking in purpose are your words.  I think it is time for another lesson in-“ Serisinis is cut off as Nalathica’s eyes roll back into her head and only the whites remain.  Nalathica slowly rises from the floor and her arms and legs spread as if she is on the rack to be questioned.  Her head snaps back and she begins to speak in a voice that is not her own.

“One is born and four shall die,
Today Her Slayer breathes and cries.
Dark days are coming, pain ahead,
Under Her guidance all will be dead.

Her love and Her touch will warp His soul,
She will lay with Her Slayer and gain power untold.
Blood will run freely and nations will crumble,
Watch closely the Slayer, lest He will stumble.

For Her shall be glory, for Him laced with pain,
Ambition will grow but so will the gain.
Her Slayer will kill for the Queen of Despair,
And do what She cannot possibly bare.”

As the last words leave Nalathica’s lips she crashes to the ground and smoke rises from her eyes, ears and mouth.  A sizzling sound like a camp fire being slowly extinguished by water emanates from the now dead seeress.  “I guess you were still useful afterall,” cackles Serisinis with glee.  “That was more than a foretelling, it had the sound of prophecy to it.  I need to find the Slayer and impose my will upon him.  He will be the key to subduing the nations that resist heeding my call.  For Her shall be glory, for Him laced with pain…  I think I am in love with this Slayer already!”
 
                                        *****

“That’s bullshit,” exclaims Tyzael uncharacteristically.  Tyzael is normally a very quiet and reserved young man taking on the role of big brother and caregiver very seriously.  His parents were killed during the invasion of his native country of Metan by Gal’Malae soldiers ten years ago.  He and his younger brother Ralanar were orphaned that day along with his best friend Calathas whose parents were also slain.  They only survived through the charity of a local hunter named Dolos who took them in directly after their parent’s death and taught them to read and survive in the forest.  Dolos also got Tyzael and Calathas jobs as farm hands for Farmer Granden when they got older.  Long days working on the farm have transformed Tyzael from a skinny boy into an imposing man.  At eighteen he is six feet tall with a well defined and muscular body complimenting his piercing green eyes, long brown hair and tanned skin. 

“I agree, which is why we should quit slaving away for old Farmer Granden and set off on an adventure!  We can leave the boy with Dolos and make our fortune through skill and daring,” laughs Calathas whose carefree and fun loving ways are in opposition of Tyzaels sense of responsibility.  Tyzael works hard and is haunted by the death of his family whereas Calathas would rather spend his time drinking and chasing after pretty smiles than working.  Like Tyzael, Calathas is handsome, but unlike Tyzael, he knows it and enjoys using his appearance to his advantage.  He is short at five feet and six inches but with golden hair, blue eyes and an irresistible charm that women love he is a match for Tyzael in comeliness. 

“Hey, you guys can’t leave me with Dolos and go on some great adventure just because Farmer Granden wants you to work on your day off,” yells Ralanar indignantly.  He is the last of the trio and only twelve years old.  Being Tyzaels younger brother and Calathas’ “honorary brother,” as Calathas likes to say he looks up to them both.  Calathas jokes that it is Ralanar’s honor that Calathas would consider him a brother.

“He’s right Calathas.  Despite the unfairness of our situation we have a responsibility to care for Ralanar until he can fend for himself.  Then we can avenge ourselves on the soldiers that murdered our families so long ago.”  The avenging of his family is an obsession to Tyzael who chafes under the oppressive occupation of his country by the Gal’Malae soldiers.

“Bah!  What can we do against the might of the Queen of Despair?  We may as well enjoy what freedoms we have left!  Let’s go to the inn and get some food and drink and if Farmer Granden wants us to work he can send one of his oafish sons to fetch us.”  Putting action to his words Calathas gets up and starts walking to the local inn with Tyzael and Ralanar not far behind.

When they arrive at the inn they find it almost deserted since it is still before noon.  Llana, the pretty young barmaid is seen wiping a table that must have been recently vacated and looks up as the door bangs open.  “Well hello boys,” she says cheerfully having known the three friends for many years.  She and Calathas have known each other intimately many times and she uses her ample curves to try to entice Tyzael into a similar relationship but has been unsuccessful thus far.  “Granlok and Granzen were here looking for you two, “she says indicating Tyzael and Calathas.  “Seemed like they were a bit upset that you weren’t at the farm workin yet.  I thought you two had the day off today,” When Llana says this she looks meaningfully at Calathas.

“Yes we did my dear, er do!  Don’t fret your pretty head, our plans won’t be spoiled.”  Calathas nudges Tyzael as he says this to keep him quiet, then the three of them sit down at the table Llana was cleaning.

“Llana, we are all hungry and some of us may have a busy day ahead of us.  Could you please get us whatever the cook has prepared for breakfast?”

“Of course Tyzael.  I’ll gladly get whatever you request of me.”  As Llana says this she smiles seductively and leans over him to reach for the last remaining dirty dish on the table.  While leaning, her already low cut neckline slips down to leave even less to the imagination.  “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want, Tyzael?” She asks in a husky voice.

“No, thank you Llana.  The food will be fine.”  Tyzael says this rather briskly, obviously embarrassed by Llana’s attempts to seduce him.

“Fine.”  Llana grabs the dish she was reaching for and flounces away angrily to the kitchen.

“I don’t know how you do it.  She’s beautiful, willing, and well… beautiful and you just sit there like a statue and pass up on her offers.  I always hear the girls around town talking about you Tyzael.  How you’re so handsome and mysterious and they wonder why you never come with me to the dances and what not.  Of course I quiet their questions with a few well placed kisses and they quickly forget you!”  Calathas says this last part with a laugh and slaps his closest friend on the shoulder.

“It’s true Tyzael!” chimes in Ralanar.  “Sometimes when I’m at another boys house playing, the womanfolk ask me if you’ve got a girlfriend yet, or if you plan on ever getting married.  They say such a handsome and hardworking young man should not remain single for long!  I think they’re all deciding on who gets to marry their daughter off to you first!”  Ralanar starts giggling as he says this and infects Calathas with his mirth who starts to laugh as well.

Tyzael smiles ruefully and says, “As lovely as the women of Comona are, my heart is darkened by our loss, brothers.  You know I can never settle down when the killers of our families occupy our homeland and defile it with their presence.  Soon I will join The Insurgents and work to free our people from the taint of the Queen of Despair!”  Tyzaels voice started out quiet but ends in almost a yell as his anger builds.  He is normally calm but talk of Gal’Malae ruins his composure and his anger can consume him.

“Hold man, calm yourself.” Says Calathas trying to soothe Tyzael and put him in a better mood.  “The boy and I are simply jesting, we hate the soldiers as much as anyone but you must keep your voice down.  There are other people in here and who knows which person would be willing to sell their soul to Gal’Malae and tell them that they heard us speaking of The Insurgents for preferential treatment.”  The Insurgents are a small band of rebels that live in the forest and use guerilla warfare to harass and harm the soldiers of Gal’Malae whenever they can.  Tyzael suspects that Dolos, their old mentor and friend, was once a member of The Insurgents and may still provide them with information and assistance when he can.

“Yes, I’m sorry you two.  I don’t know why I get this way, it’s just… sometimes I get so angry.  I can’t think straight and feel like I need to do harm to the soldiers.  One day I will make them pay Calathas, you must believe me.”

“Of course Tyzael, we know that you’ll fight them one day and so will I.  Just not today, today I want to eat and have a little private time with Llana.”  Calathas winks as he says this and Llana appears as if summoned to set down eggs, bacon, porridge and juice in front of the trio.

“Here you go boys.  Calathas, I’ve got the rest of the day off so when you’re done eating don’t forget what you promised me.”  Llana, obviously in a better mood pinches Calathas’ cheek as she says this and walks away swaying her hips in a way that makes the tree watch her with mouths open.

Their meal is good filled with laughs and jests at one another but is interrupted as the door bangs open and Granlok and Granzen enter the common room of the inn.  They are Farmer Granden’s two sons and are also the town bullies.  Like two bulbous clouds blotting out the light of the sun, their presence ruins the sense of merriment that was permeating the inn and everyone becomes quiet and stares at their food.  What Granlok and Granzen lack in intelligence they make up for in girth with both being over six feet tall and riddled with fat that makes them look even larger.

“Hey you two!  Quit eating and get your lazy asses to the farm!  Dad says you two are supposed to work today since the other two lazy asses came down with the flu,” Granlok, the eldest, says this and walks over to the table and snatches bacon from Calathas’ plate.

“Why Granlok, had I known you were hungry I would have gotten the cook to prepare an extra family of pigs for your consumption!”  Calathas and Tyzael smile as this is said, daring Granlok to do something.  While the two farmer sons are able to bully around people already broken and frightened by the occupation of their lands, Calathas and Tyzael never let themselves be intimidated.

Before Granlok can think of something to say in retaliation to Calathas’ jibe Tyzael adds in, “Don’t worry.  We are just finishing our meal then we’ll be there.  Tell Farmer Granden that we apologize for taking so long but his message this morning was unexpected.”

“Yes, well, you better be there!”  Granlok haltingly says this, obviously still trying to think up something to say as witty as what Calathas said.  When it’s apparent that he can think of nothing he settles for kicking another patrons chair which spills the man’s drink all over him.  Granlok and Granzen laugh and leave which releases the forced hush on the common room almost immediately.

“Tyzael, I promised Llana that I’d spend the afternoon with her!  You saw how angry she can get at the littlest thing.  Please cover for me!  I’ll owe you big!  Just tell old Farmer Granden that I came down with the flu as well or something!” Calathas says this pleadingly holding onto Tyzael’s shoulder. 

“Fine Calathas but you need to grow up someday.  I can’t cover for you all your life!  Ralanar, what will you do all day?”

“The other boys and I have a fort we’re building down by the river!  If I don’t have to spend the day with you anymore I can help them and we can get it finished today!”  Tyzael smiles as Ralanar says this and the three of them all go their separate ways. 

The walk to the farm is not a short one and Tyzael begins to head out there at a fast pace.  The way is long but the day is beautiful with the sun shining down and warming Tyzael and temporarily burning away the shadows that surround his heart.  As he walks through the familiar forest heading towards the farmlands he day dreams of what his life would have been like had his family never been killed.  He would probably be starting his own family by now, maybe have his own farm with people working for him and his beautiful wife smiling lovingly at him when he comes home from a hard day of work.  Her belly would be swelling with the promise of a strong young son or a pretty young daughter.  His mom and dad would visit them and talk about when they were young and in love and their life was just starting.  Gradually Tyzael slips out of his fantasy and begins to notice that the birds have stopped singing and even the wind seems be holding its breath.

“Such pretty little dreams, coming from a pretty little boy.”  A voice says mockingly but Tyzael cannot detect from which way it came.  It seemed to come from everywhere at once and the words burn into his brain like fire.

“Cowards hide in the shadows and taunt those they are too fearful to openly face!  Show yourself and prove that you have a shred of honor!”  Tyzael yells this and grabs the knife from his boot that Dolos gave him on his birthday a few weeks ago.  Its edge is sharp and Tyzael practices throwing it everyday, he rarely misses.

“Why leave the embrace of the shadows and enter the garish light of the sun?  Why don’t you, my pretty little boy, come to me?”  The voice stops assaulting Tyzael from every direction and lets itself be seen in the darkness of a thick growth of trees.  The owner of the voice has the shape of a man, but not just any man.  It has the exact same proportions and stance as Tyzael but no features at all.  It is simply made of darkness and though Tyzael cannot see its face, he has the distinct feeling that it is smiling at him.

“What are you?  Some dark magicka must have conjured you up from the darkness but no one in Comona works spells!” Tyzael is frightened and is debating on whether he should attack or flee.  He begins to sweat.

“She created me in honor of you.  She yearns for you and cannot wait until the day that you are one.  You seem frightened?  Fear not, pretty one.  Though I am a gift for you it is Farmer Granden that truly gets to enjoy me.  What a beautiful knife you have.” As the shadow creature says this, a knife, like Tyzaels, appears in its hand and with a wave of goodbye from its free hand it begins to speed towards Farmer Grandens farm.

“No creature!  Fight me, he is just an old man!”  The shadow either doesn’t hear Tyzael’s challenge or doesn’t care and continues speeding away towards Farmer Granden’s.  Tyzael chases after it with his powerful legs shooting him forward.  He runs faster than he’s ever run before, the trees are a blur on either side of him, his legs burn and his lungs are on fire yet the shadow stays the same distance in front of him.  Eventually every breath becomes pain and Tyzael isn’t sure if he can continue on much longer.  Then he sees Farmer Granden’s house just up the hill past the end of the trees.  The shadow has disappeared though and is no where to be seen. 

“By the three!  What foul creature are you?!”  Tyzael hears Farmer Granden scream this and continue screaming in terror.  The sound of the old man’s screams send shivers down Tyzael’s spine as he hurry’s toward the house.  It sounds like the rabbit he caught in a snare the first time Dolos took him out hunting as a small boy.  The rabbit screamed and screamed in fear and the primal sound of terror gave Tyzael nightmares for weeks after.  This was worse than one of his nightmares.  Suddenly the scream ends in a gurgle and there is a terrible silence.  Tyzael reaches the door to the house and kicks it in quickly looking around the small farm house for the shadow or the old man.  Seeing neither he continues in to the kitchen.  As he enters it the scene before him nearly causes him to retch.  Farmer Granden is laying on the ground in a growing pool of blood with the shadow gently caressing his cheek.  The old man’s throat is slit and blood is still flowing out of it.

“Black is my favorite but I’ve never seen a red such as this.  It is a shame my time is up, but the dark one has no more use of me.”  The shadow says this with sorrow tingeing its strange hollow voice and is blown apart by a sudden gust of wind.

“Farmer Granden!  Stay awake!”  Tyzael runs to the now dead old man and cradles his head in his left arm with his knife still in his right in case the shadow returns.  The blood has stopped flowing and the face of Tyzael’s old boss is beginning to turn blue when a voice erupts with rage behind him.

“What have you done?!  You crazy boy we’ll kill you!” The eldest son of Farmer Granden yells this at Tyzael from the doorway with a wood chopping axe in his hands.  His younger brother Granzen is behind him speechless with tears of rage streaming down his face.

“No, you don’t understand!  It wasn’t me, there was some creature that attacked him!” Tyzael frantically tries to explain to the two brothers and backs away from the dead old farmer.

“Our father’s blood is still on your hands and you carry the blade that killed him!  You’ll pay Tyzael!  I never liked you or your friend Calathas and now I’m going to make you suffer!”  Granlok begins to advance towards Tyzael slowly with murderous hate in his eyes.

“Please just give me a moment-“ Tyzael is cut off as the younger brother erupts with a scream of rage and grabs the axe from the eldest, shoving Granlok down in the process.  Granzen charges at Tyzael with the axe and time seems to slow down.  Tyzael crouches and ducks the first swing of the axe as it speeds through where his head was moments before.  Without thinking Tyzael brings the hilt of his dagger crashing into Granzens chin dropping him like an old tree.  Just then Granlok gets back up and charges at Tyzael with fists raised.  In one fluid motion Tyzael flows out of his uppercut with his dagger and brings his arm down hurling his blade at the charging brother.  As the dagger leaves his fingers Tyzael prays to the three goddesses that it will miss the killing blow.  The throw was instinct and he has no desire to kill either of these two poor brothers.  The goddesses must not have heard because the dagger flies unerringly and slides into Granlok’s neck.  The flesh parts and blood cascades down from his neck in rivulets looking like red ribbons on a yuletide gift.  Granlok puts his hands to his neck in a futile effort to hold the blood in, and then collapses to the ground with a sigh.

“I’m sorry Granlok.  None of this was supposed to happen, everything is going so wrong!”  Tyzael says this and walks carefully over to the deceased farmer’s son gently closing his eyes.  As he’s kneeled over Granlok, his head explodes with pain and stars make up the entirety of his vision.  Blindly, Tyzael kicks out his leg and hears a sickening snap and a cry of pain escape Granzen’s lips.

“You’re sorry Tyzael?!  You’ve just killed my whole family, my brother in front of my very eyes.  Even with this broken leg I’ll sever your head with my axe!”  Granzen is in obvious pain with a broken leg but pulls himself up using a chair.

“Please stop man, there has been too much innocent blood spilled this day.  Hear me out!  There is foul sorcery afoot and we are all its victim one way or another.”  Tyzael puts his heart into these words but Granzen’s eyes are bloodshot and crazed and his lips are pulled back in a hateful rictus. 

“Die!” Granzen screams this and makes an off balance swing with his axe which Tyzael easily dodges now that his head has cleared.  Clumsy swing after clumsy swing is aimed at Tyzael each getting wilder than the next.  Like an actor in one of the plays that are sometimes performed in town Tyzael gracefully dances away from blow after blow.  Finally Grazen puts all his remaining strength into a powerful downward swing with the purpose of cutting Tyzael in half.  Tyzael sidesteps and hammers his fist on the handle of the axe which makes it swing down and slam into Granzen’s abdomen.  Granzen sobs in pain and falls to the ground near his father with the axe head sticking out of him.  He stops breathing blessedly quick, apparently giving up on life after having his family slain and suffering such a horrid wound.

Tyzael falls to his knees in shock and puts his head in his hands. “Dealing death for you is like breathing to most,” a sensuous voice whispers into his head.  “Your every movement blackens the light in the eyes of an enemy.  You’ve been born again through the blood of these peoples sacrifice and through their passing grow stronger.  Come to me, my love, and the world will weep when I welcome you.”  Rather than being alarmed a dreamy expression appears on Tyzaels face and he smiles. 

“Yes my love, I hear your words and rush to your embrace.”  The smile fades and Tyzael shakes his head not remembering the mysterious voice or his response.  “I must get out of here.  When Farmer Granden does not make his daily appearance in the market people will begin to wonder and send soldiers to check on him.”  Tyzael mutters this then gets up and flees the house where his innocence died.

Tyzaels flight from the farm to Dolos’ cabin is filled with images of the battle and the faces of those he was forced to slay.  There’s dried blood on all his clothes and his face has tears rolling down it leaving a trail of flesh color on either cheek.  He finally makes it to the home of the man who raised him and frantically starts banging on the door.  “Dolos please be home!  I need you!  Please answer your door!” His words end with a sob and Tyzael starts to bang on the door with even greater urgency.  Finally the door opens inwards and Tyzael falls onto the floor of the small cabin in a heap crying.

“By the good goddess Mishna!  What happened boy?!  You’re covered in blood!  C’mere and let me get you cleaned.” Dolos gently lifts the sobbing Tyzael up and puts his arm under him.  Then supporting him Dolos carries Tyzael to the wash basin.  He starts wiping Tyzaels face and arms and pulls off the bloodstained shirt.  “Are you hurt?”  Tyzael doesn’t answer but instead puts his arms around Dolos’ neck crying the way he did ten years ago. The day Dolos found him and his younger brother with the bodies of their dead parents.  “Shush Tyzael,” whispers Dolos.  “You have no wounds on you other than a bump on the back of your head.  Just calm down and tell me what happened.”

Tyzael releases his grip on Dolos and backs away from the old ranger wiping his eyes.  “I’m sorry Dolos, but I’ve just been through a nightmare with open eyes.  Farmer Granden, Granlok, Granzen, they’re… all dead.”

“What?!  Was it the fiends from Gal’Malae?”  As Dolos says this he reaches for the dagger he always wears at his belt.

“No Dolos, if it were them things would make sense.  It was me…I killed them.  It’s their blood that covered my body and not the blood of those whom I’ve yearned to slay for years.”  Tyzael says this in a whisper as if by saying it quietly, he may make it go away.

“That doesn’t make sense.  Yes the sons were idiots and bullies but even they did not deserve to die and Farmer Granden was an old man.  There’s something you’re not telling me.”  Dolos looks at Tyzael trustingly, knowing that the man he raised from a boy is no murderer. 

“Like I said Dolos, it’s something from a nightmare.” Tyzael quietly relates what happened to him as if in a trance.  He starts with the shadow reading his thoughts and ends with the entrance into the cabin leaving out only the woman’s voice in his head which he cannot remember.

“Dark forces are at work here, boy.  Go into the back room and change into some clean clothes while I prepare supplies.”

“Where will I go Dolos?  I’ve never left the village of Comona and I don’t know the lands past our forest and farmlands.”

“Don’t bother me with stupid questions Tyzael, just go get changed,” Dolos says firmly.  Tyzael rushes into the back room putting on a green tunic and black pants and stops for a moment to look in a mirror.  What he sees disturbs him.

“I’m calm now.  I lost it for a few minutes but my tears have dried and my breathing slowed.  I just killed two men that I’ve known for years, I encountered some sort of demon and I should still be hysterical but my heart is quiet and my hands do not shake.”  Tyzael stares at himself in the mirror and relives the battle where he easily dispatched two large grown men.  Where there was fear and revulsion just a while ago there is also a small seed of pride, a seed that was planted by the whispered words of an enchantress miles away.

“Get in here Tyzael I’ve prepared some things for your journey!”  Tyzael hurries back to Dolos and sees the old ranger standing there with a backpack filled with food, water, a hunting bow, a quiver of arrows and something he’s never seen before.  Dolos has in his hands, holding reverently, a gleaming long sword with strange runes etched into the blade.  The pommel of the sword is well made but worn with leather wrapped around it to give a better grip and it has hilt shaped like two silver hooked blades with a ruby in the middle.  It’s magnificent.

“Dolos, that sword is beautiful.  Was it yours?” Tyzael says this in a whisper longingly staring at the blade.

“Yes Tyzael.  You and your brothers have long suspected that I was a member of The Insurgents and you’re right.  I fought in the War of Winter’s Bite where our country died and only stopped when I found you and Ralanar.  You two and eventually Calathas filled the hole that was created when the soldiers of Gal’Malae moved in and destroyed everything that I hold dear.  I still assist Those Who Fight, as The Insurgents are sometimes called, in any way I can but usually it’s just some food or spare clothes.  I’m old now and have no more need of this sword.  I want you to have it.”  Dolos gently hands the sword over to Tyzael who accepts it with tears running down his face.

“Dolos you’ve done so much for me and I’ve brought shame on you and your home.” Tyzael runs his hand lovingly over the blade and asks, “What is its name?  So great a blade needs name.”

“Its name is the Eye of Heaven and it was given to me by a dying elven warrior during the war.  He never told me why it was called that or if the sword has magicka imbued in it.  I always suspected that there was a power in the sword that I was not meant to use.  Maybe the sword will bond with you like the legends of the Swordsires of old, who battled evil with their powerful blades that were created just for them.  Either way you’ll need a good blade for the journey ahead and I have none greater.” Dolos smiles proudly as Tyzael swings the sword experimentally.  “Its original sheath is buried somewhere in the North with the elf who gave it to me but I made this plain one that you can have.”

“Thank you, this gift gladdens my heart.  But the question remains where should I go?”

“Head Northeast to Maldai which is the greatest human country left where the Queen of Despair can not reach.  You’ll have to go along the borders of Gal’Malae but I’ve taught you all I know of woods lore and this should be no problem for you.”

“I’m frightened Dolos, I’ve never left the village of Comona and leaving the whole country of Metan is very sudden.  Maybe I could stay here in the woods a while?  With The Insurgents?”  Tyzael seems embarrassed to admit his fear but is hesitant to leave all he knows.

“No Tyzael.  There has been increased Gal’Malae activity around here in the last few weeks and many battles that you do not know about.  If they find you they will go out of their way to track you.  The Gal’Malae do not look kindly on the slaying of others unless they are the ones doing the slaying.”  After he says this Dolos grabs Tyzael and kisses him gently on the forhead and intones, “Life is hard and death can be painful but the men of Metan never waver.  Do not forget from where you came, no matter what dark days lie ahead of you.  Even when the sun is gone and darkness fills your sight, Metan remains and through it so will you” 

“That’s beautiful Dolos, what is it,” Tyzael whispers in awe.

“It’s an ancient good bye that fathers in Metan say to their sons when they send them off to battle.  I am not your father but I do love you and have done my best and I hope that my words will keep you safe and one day bring you home again.”  Dolos hands Tyzael the bow and arrows along with the backpack of supplies and gently leads him to the door.

“Goodbye Dolos, I have no pretty words with which to wish you farewell but I love you and will never forget you.  Will you please explain to Calathas and Ralanar what happened?  Ralanar is young but I think Calathas will understand.  Make sure they are ok and do not go hungry?”

“As long as I breathe nothing will happen to them Tyzael, you know that.  Now get out of here before it’s too late!”  With that Dolos shoves Tyzael who shoulders his gear and begins to run through the forest into his destiny.

                                                  *****

The Queen of Despair sits in her throne room impatiently waiting for her Warlord Goldanar.  Goldanar leads her armies and is the one responsible for capturing the country of Metan.  His usefulness to Serisinis gives him room for tardiness that would cost lesser men their lives.

“My Queen, the hour is late but I have returned and done as you requested,” Goldanar bows after saying this and entering the room.  As he bows his right hand is pressed against his heart and the two fingers of his left he puts on his lips.  Goldanar is a frightening man towering over most others at six feet and six inches of rippling muscle.  He has black hair and brown eyes that seem to glow red when he is in battle.  They call him the Wolf because he likes to surround his enemies with his soldiers and pick them apart like a pack of wolves.  His black armor reflects this with snarling wolf heads on either shoulder and mystic runes of protection decorating the rest.  Only the Queen is greater than he with magicka and few can stand against him in combat.  He wields a huge double headed axe that is said to be blessed by Morganoth, the God of War, himself.

“Excellent Warlord, you please your Queen and rewards you shall receive.  The soldiers you’ve sent into Metan must bring me the Slayer or all is lost.  In his heart I’ve planted the seed but it will need our guidance to grow.”  The Queen smiles almost lovingly as she says this. 

“Your will is my law but are you sure we need this boy?  Our army swells with new recruits and we turn our eyes to the lands of the cursed elves.  Soon they will fall to the men under my command and-“  The Queen raises her right hand opening it slowly and lightning encompasses Goldanar as he screams in pain and falls to the ground.

“You forget yourself Warlord.  My will is done, not yours, I ask the questions, not you.  The Slayer and I are meant for each other and I hope his coming will not necessitate your death.”  When the last words leave her mouth Serisinis closes her hand and the lightning and screams both stop.  All that is left is the smell of burnt flesh and smoke rising from the prostrate Goldanar.

“Forgiveness my Queen, I was wrong to question.  Your penance was just and I accept it gladly.”  Though Goldanar suffered through agony his voice does not waver.  He believes pain is something only weak men succumb to.

“It is good that you are glad of penance.  If your soldiers fail to bring me the Slayer, my court will dance to the music of your screams at our next ball.  He comes to me slowly, bring me my Slayer Goldanar.  I need him.”

                                              *****

The journey through Metan Northeast towards Maldai has been an enjoyable one for Tyzael.  No one has disturbed him and after the first few days of hiding in the bushes he even gained enough courage to start using the road.  There he met many merchants and other interesting people who told him tales of lands far away.  He’s now on the outskirts of Gol’Malae and heading directly for Maldai.  A few more days and he’ll be in the fabled holy lands of Maldai where it’s said that the Goddess of Light, Mishna, is known to sometimes walk.  As he walks along the path the merchants call “The Golden Road,” since they use it to get from one country to another to make their profits, Tyzael hears yelling coming from the woods to his right.  Tyzael grabs his bow from his back and knocks an arrow while slowly heading towards the sound.  As he gets closer he can begin to make out words.

“Their outsides are hard but the meats underneath taste good,” yells an inhuman voice belonging to a large goblin.  There are four Gal’Malae soldiers surrounded by nine goblins with a tenth laid out on the ground.  As Tyzael watches a dart flies at one of the soldiers and hits him in the neck dropping him instantly and the goblins began to whoop with glee dancing around and taunting the soldiers.  Tyzael has no love for those who wear the armor of Gal’Malae but he cannot sit and watch men be captured and eaten by goblins.

“Keep your backs together men and shields up.  They have some sort of poisoned dart that knocks you unconscious,” shouts one man who appears to be the leader of the Gal’Malae.

“Yes tasty manlings, keep your shields up,” laughs another goblin.  “We likes to have exercise before we eat!”  As the goblin says this they hear a whistling sound and an arrow slams into the back of the goblins neck spraying black blood out the front.  He gurgles and falls to the ground as another arrow drops one of his friends in a similar fashion.

The largest goblin yells out, “You two come with me into the bushes and we’ll sees what lies in wait and the rest of you deal with these manlings!”  The three goblins head to the bush to the sound of grunts and groans coming from their companions as they battle the soldiers.  As they get nearer an arrow flies out and hits one of the goblins in the shoulder injuring it but not doing any serious damage.  “Ooh, you missed this time archers.  Me thinks you may be in trouble,” cackles the goblin leader as they spy Tyzael crouched in the bush.  As they approach Tyzael drops his bow on the ground with his back pack and draws the Eye of Heaven from its scabbard.  “Why it’s just a little manlings with a pretty sword.  What a nice little snacks for us!”  All three laugh and circle Tyzael with their axes.  “Nothing to say manlings,” taunts the leader.

“I have nothing to say to animals such as you.  Come and test your might against my blade goblin, it hungers for you.”  As Tyzael says this he realizes it is true.  The blade seems to be pulling him to the goblins anticipating the taste of their evil flesh.  Instead of responding the goblins smile and attack Tyzael at once.  Once again time seems to slow down and the goblins attacks seem sluggish and easy to dodge as Tyzael dances between them.  Axe after axe is beaten back by Tyzael’s gleaming blade and one overconfident goblin makes an exceptionally wide swing leaving its side open to attack.  Tyzael capitalizes on this and quickly plunges his sword into the goblin hilt deep and pulls it out again while spinning in a circle with his sword out knocking the other goblins axes back in the process. 

“A lucky blow manlings but you’ll pays for that one,” snarls the leader who rushes at Tyzael with renewed fury.  Tyzael kicks it in the groin, then hits it in the nose with his hilt and turns around swinging catching the other goblin by surprise and cutting off its head.  The last one starts to back away begging to be spared.  “P-please great warriors, I thoughts you were food.  I’ll leave now and not come back, just let me live sirs.”

The pathetic creature stirs the heart of Tyzael with pity and he begins to lower his blade.  As he does this something inside of him takes over spurring him on to attack.  He lunges forward plunging his blade into the heart of the goblin with his right hand and using his other to pull the goblin close.  “Well met goblin, I am Tyzael and you are dead.”  As the goblin leader slides off Tyzaels blade the two remaining Gal’Malae soldiers run up to Tyzael panting.

“Well done young man!  Before you came I thought we were goblin food,” laughs a short grizzled warrior who Tyzael recognized before as the leader.  “We were sent out here of all places to recruit soldiers for the glorious armies of Gal’Malae.  You’ve already been blooded and can use that magnificent sword you carry so you’re a step up from most of the scumbags we recruit!  My name is Logar, and yours?”

Tyzael prepares to attack the well armed soldiers when once again something inside of him forces him into a different decision.  He realizes that if he joins the Gal’Malae army he can learn from then and use their training against them to bring them down from the inside.  As one man he’ll accomplish more than all of The Insurgents combined! “Tyzael is the name.  I… er what does being blooded mean?”

“It’s nothing.  It’s just what us soldiers say about a young warrior killing for his first time.  You seem very young so I assumed this was your first battle which means it was your “blooding”.  Was I wrong in assuming this?”  As Logar says this he eyes Tyzael shrewdly thinking that maybe there is more to this young man than a lucky first battle.

“No, you’re right.  I was frightened and simply acted out of instinct!  I just couldn’t stand aside and let two men be eaten by those foul creatures.  I hoped that I could kill enough with my bow to give you guys time to run but then they cornered me and I had to fight with the sword.  It was… terrifying.”

“An admirable trait Tyzael and we’re glad you did.  We have a spare mount or two now with both of our companions being slain so our journey to Gal’Malae should be no problem.  We just need to bury our comrades then we’ll head to the great city Mes’Nola.  I bet you’ve never been there!”

“Mes’Nola?  That’s the capital city of Gal’Malae where the Queen of Despair lives!” Tyzael seems surprised that he’s going to the heart of the evil empire and begins to have second thoughts.

“The Queen of Despair?  Hah!  That’s what these peasants in Metan call her and it’s been spreading like wildfire.  She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and you’ll agree with me.  I swear she’s not a human at all but the black goddess Quelna herself!”

“That’s sacrilege Logar,” mutters the other soldier who doesn’t seem to like to talk much.

“Well it’s true!  You’ve seen her power, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she comes and destroys the elves and those righteous bastards in Maldai herself!  Anyway we have a grim task ahead of us before we can leave.  Let’s get started.” 

The two soldiers and Tyzael bury the fallen from Gal’Malae and heap the goblins into a pile leaving them for the crows.  Logar does a lot of talking with Tyzael listening and asking questions about Gal’Malae and Serisinis as they prepare to leave.  When they finally do leave it begins to rain hampering the spirits of all three and causing the majority of the journey to be in silence.  When they pass the border of Gal’Malae Tyzael is surprised by how big all the cities are.  There’s towering buildings packed with people in city after city which seem to get bigger the deeper they go.  Tyzael expected people to all look like evil killers living in Gal’Malae but most looked just like the men and woman of Metan.  This all changed when they reached the dark gates of Mes’Nola.

“There it is Tyzael, the grandest city in all of Algaldor,” Logar says with pride and no embellishment.  The walls are atleast 50 feet tall and black as midnight with soldiers covering every inch and spidery runes etched over it in regular intervals.  Crude laughter emanates from the soldiers who seem to have a lot of time to joke with no army daring to attack the heart of the Queen of Despairs power.  When they enter the city towering black buildings surround them and frightening people are all around with cold eyes and ready sneers.  “Lots of thieves and assassins around here is the only bad thing.  I have no respect for them.  An honest warrior will fight his enemy face to face, not use dark magicka or daggers in the back to kill someone when they least expect it.”  To emphasize the point Logar spits on the ground near one of them who sees his rank and hurry’s away.

“It is amazing Logar.  I come from a small village and this city is bigger than anything I could ever imagine.  So many people and the buildings are so tall.  What is that huge tower in the middle,” asks Tyzael.

“That’s the Queen’s Rest.  It’s her home and surrounding it are the military barracks where we’re heading and the arcane academy where you may be forced to go to if you’re unlucky enough.  Welcome to Mes’Nola Tyzael, welcome to the heart of Gal’Malae.”

End of The Blooding.