The Seven Seals

Prologue: Descendant

  “The war began five hundred years ago.  At least that is what we are told.  Some would say that it all began long before, from the moment the Prince of Demortia met the eyes of the Maiden of Sedonya… A rather sad tale, actually.
  “First Blade of Demortia, Prince De’Az sought the Princess of Sedonya, Lady Aya’s, hand in marriage.  It was said to be a story of love.  Prince De’Az saw beauty and majesty in Lady Aya and his heart became hers from that moment on.
  “If De’Az knew love when he saw her, it can only be that Lady Aya saw the same.  Often love has a way of blinding what should be seen.
  “The marriage lasted years and the lands of Demortia and Sedonya flourished.  Trade between the two countries tripled and the people prospered.  Everything was perfect.  Or, at least, everything should have been.
  “No one knows for certain what happened between the two.  Fighting broke out between them.  Words were said that couldn’t be taken back.  Prince De’Az hand left a mark upon her face.  War was the product of that print upon her face.  Many proclaimed this the ‘First Blow,’ the strike that started everything.
  “In her anger, Aya severed all trade with Demortia, ending the supply of food that Demortia had been accustomed to receiving from Sedonya.
  “Frustrated, De’Az retaliated in the only way he knew how.  He sent forces, legions upon legions of highly trained soldiers.  His soldiers reigned havoc and chaos upon the capital of Sedonya, Maron.  The battle that took place there forever scarred the land.  People,  over time, began to call the ruins and the scar by another name: The Plains of Perdition.
  “Aya then commanded that the Sedonyian Star Borne, Masters of Fire Magic, be sent into Demortia.  They left a trail of death and destruction, caused by powerful magic, as they moved across the land.
  “De’Az cut off the Star Borne at the Grand Forest of Galei.  With him where the Sons of Orr, powerful Magi of the Earth.  Arron de Ambre, Mistress of the Flame battled Tormon De’Moras, Lord of the Earth.  Each threw their strongest at the other.  The Destruction that their mixing magics produced forever crippled the land miles and miles from where they stood.  Fire and Earth mixed in a horrible reaction that scorched everything into a sheet of black obsidian.  That sheet of glass was shattered into billions of tiny shards.  What was left of the Grand Forest of Galei was a desert of black sand.  The Obsidian Wasteland.”


  Orrick closed the large, leather bound book with a loud snap.  His dark brown eyes were full of scorn and disappointment.  “Allesia, are you even listening?”  His gave a grumble and threw his hands up in frustration.  “I figured you,” he pointed at her with an accusing finger, “would at least show some interest in your own history and heritage.”
  The girl clenched her eyes shut before blinking rapidly and stifling a yawn that tried to rise up her throat.  “I apologize Master Orrick…”  She was interested, she really was.  The problem seemed to be that history itself tended to be so damned boring.  “Master Orrick,” changing the subject quickly she asked, “Arron de Ambre and Tormon De’Moras where masters of the Magical Arts; how is it possible that they didn’t know their magic would have the chain reaction  that it did?”
  Her instructor seemed pleased with the question and promptly forgot the scolding and speech that he had been prepared to give her.  “War dulls the mind, Allesia.  The Battle of Galei lasted for days and each side had suffered great casualties.  No one knows for certain, but I think it would be a good guess to assume that it was an act of desperation.”
  “A simple mistake caused by carelessness?”
  “Mind you, Allesia: a simple mistake that caused the lives of thousands of people to end.  Even the simplest of mistakes can have dire consequences.”
  Allesia bit her lip, it was an answer that she should already have known the answer to.  Feeling stupid she began to organize the papers on the dark mahogany table that she studied at.  Notes covered it, hundreds of them.  She placed them in a neat stack and tapped them against the wood to neaten them.
  Orrick smiled slightly, seemingly able to read her mind.  “There is no such thing as a stupid question Allesia.  It’s when one stops asking questions that they forget what really matters,” her instructor put a wrinkled, aged hand on the top of her head, “they forget that human life is more important than power.  When you stop questioning, you become truly lost.”
  Allesia smirked and lifted an eyebrow at him, “Master Orrick…Would it be possible to…I mean may I practice with my powers again?”  It was rare that Orrick allowed it, she had only been in training for a couple years now.  Even the most advanced students were allowed to meddle in the Magical Arts until their fifth year in training.  Yet being from a long line of powerful Magi gave her special privileges, especially when her family name held such a high history.  Allesia de Ambre, direct descendant of Arron de Ambre. 
  Her name had been disgraced during the war and ever since each child born with the ability to wield the magical arts had sworn an oath to never use the power to harm, even to preserve ones life.  It was the ideal of her family that destroying another to save one’s self was wrong.  The oath she and her family swore forever guaranteed that their name would never be involved in another atrocity as it had been at the Forest of Galei.
  “Allesia!”
  She blinked and immediately blushed profusely, again she had gone off into her own little world and ignored everything around her.  “I’m sorry Master I just…”
  “I know, I know.  But Child, you must learn to pay more attention.”  He frowned at her and finally sighed, “I was saying that perhaps a little practice wouldn’t hurt.”
  The grin that broke out on her face was joy itself as she leapt up in excitement.  “What can we do today?  Fire, Air, Water, Earth, or…Light!  Oh yes, Light!  Please Master Orrick, I want to learn to heal.”  The young lady jumped again.  Orrick couldn’t help but laugh with her enthusiasm.  He knew he could die happy knowing that the student he taught would hold true to her oaths…

Chapter 1: The Black Tide

  The waves crashed heavily against a shore forgotten by the world.  It is day, the sun a ball of molten gold in a sky so incredibly empty.  The air seems to hum as that mass of molten gold heats the black sands of the shore.  Each grain shimmers and causes a ripple in the air, those that gazed at those ripples for to long often started to see things that where not there.
  Each time a wave broke upon that desolate, dead shore a long hiss is heard and a mass of steam rises into the air.  The water, so abundant with black obsidian, appears a deep dark color.  The water close to the sand is hot, almost a boil, as it laps against those black grains.  The water is unable to support life within a hundred meters of the shore.  Those that know of it, as few as they are, call it the Black Tide: the waters of death.
  A man stands staring at the water.  His garb is strange, but common to those who dare wander this forsaken land.  Around his head is a hood of a bright, bleached white, his actual skin is wrapped in white strips of cloth that covers everything from the neck to the top of his head, leaving only his bright blue eyes visible.  Covering his body, a loose cloak made of a lightweight fabric.  The sleeves of his white cloak are worked with silver designs of thorns from the shoulders down to the cuffs.  His hands, like his face, are wrapped in the same white strips of cloth.  On his feet are heavy brown boots, the soles thick to keep out the heat.
  Strangest about this man is the sword that is tied to his waist by a silver sash, the ends of which hand down to his knees.  The hilt is long, but by the length and width of the blade it  could easily be wielded by one hand as well as two.  The guard is small, in the design of a wave and made out of a dark metal.  At the end of the pommel is a single, dark red gem just a step up from black.  The blade itself is hidden in the depths of a hard black scabbard made out of some sort of light metal.  The scabbard can’t hide the fact that the blade is single edged, a rare sword.
  A hand, wrapped in white cloth, is always placed on the hilt of that blade.  His posture appears lazy, yet any that thought that he truly was would be gravely mistaken.  His posture, although at ease, was much the same as a viper preparing to strike.
  Eyes, cold with logic and intelligence, gaze upon the waters of the Black Tide and his hand tightens on the hilt of his sword.  “What once gave life now offers only despair it seems, my friend.”  He chuckles softly to himself as the gem on the pummel of his sword pulses a bright crimson for an instant.  “Alas, I fear that there is little left of the magic that caused this.  Nothing we can use.”
  The temperature began to rise, even through all the clothing used to keep it out he could feel it.  Slowly he raised his eyes up, shielding the sun from his eyes as he did.  The sun was reaching it’s apex.  Nothing in the Obsidian Wasteland came out during this time.  Softly he cursed himself, so focused he had been upon the waters and his quest that he hadn’t paid attention to time.  It may prove to be his final mistake.
  Holding his blade tightly he took off at a run.  Running was dangerous, those that ran rarely lived.  The man knew that if he walked he wouldn’t last in the full heat of this wretched place.  The decision had been made, time was against him on both sides.  Each step brought him closer to salvation and closer to death.
  The skin hidden by the white clothing began to heat up and he grunted as it burned, getting hotter and hotter ever moment.  His sweat wasn’t enough to quell it and it seemed to boil on his skin rather than cool.  Breath came out in hoarse, dry pants as he ran onward.  South, have to go south.  To the south was the village of Amar Delone.  It didn’t matter, at this point in time he would have been more than willing to live in a dark pit full of vipers for surely a death  by venom would have been much more humane. 
  His foot caught something, although he couldn’t bring his mind to focus on what it was.  Before he knew it he was laying in the hot sand, his fingers digging into it as he tried to drag himself forward.  Yet the heat of the desert Hell was affecting his strength.  Clenching his mouth shut he growls deep in his throat.  Can’t die, not like this.  Won’t die…no…
  The dark gem on the pummel of his sword flickered rapidly, as if in a panic.  “I know… pathetic… But… I’m so tired…”  The darkness began to close in on him.  The sky.  I want to see the sky before I go.  He used the last of his strength to roll over and stare up.  The molten sphere of fire was almost there, almost at it’s highest point.  Don’t think about it.  He thought as he stared at the clear blue of the sapphire sky.
  The darkness thickened, but he could swear that, just before it consumed him, he saw someone standing over him.  A girl with the greenest eyes he had ever seen…