"What do you mean they're going to try and take her?!” Shouts an angelic warrior general, as she slams her hands down on the table.
Miuryn, clad in his bronze armor and green mantle looks up at her sadly from across the war room table. "They have become powerful and outside my divine influence. Based on the new rules after our last calamity."
"Be gone with the horrid rule, you would dare not lose her and neither shall I!” Continues the angelic general. "I know you wish to uphold the balance Lord Miuryn, but you care for her just as much as I do.” She pleads, coming to his side.
“I will break no rules, not while I remain in my sister's realm." He snaps angrily.
“Then I shall go and save her myself if you are too frightened of thy siblings wrath!" The angelic general shouts just as angry.
“I forbid you, as I cannot lose you too!" He shouts a mixture of rage and tears.
“IF I LOSE HER THEN YOU WILL LOSE ME EITHER WAY!" She screams at the god, her voice straining.
An uncomfortable silence falls in the room between them. "Go then.” Miuryn mutters through gritted teeth. “You will take my guise and my voice, but if it comes down to it. You shall not die at their hand. Is that clear Naorell?" He commands more than he asks.
The angelic general, Naorell nods and grabs their celestial bronze helmet from the table and raises their blade into the air. With a purple flash of light they are gone.
Naorell takes on the powerful illusory form of Miuryn, allowing him to take control of her voice and guide her actions, willingly forming a powerful bond between the two. Miuryn does his best to create fear and dissent among the cultists, but even Naorell could feel Miuryn’s fear upon seeing Xerxonus, the Endless Shadow. The powerful black Dragon blocks Naorell’s attacks and helps launch a counter attack on Naorell in the disguise of Miuryn. However, the Endless Shadow is not fooled by such tricks and speaks directly to Naorell and Miuryn inside their heads.
“Your only chance was to come here yourself god of lies." Xerxonus begins, “Now two angels will fall to my might."
Naorell and Miuryn feel the Endless Shadow put all of their energy behind a powerful attack. That could not only obliterate Naorell, but more than likely level a mountain. Naorell felt surely it was a bluff, but Miuryn wouldn't take the risk. He pulls Naorell out of there, taking control of her just long enough for her to escape and tumble back into his war room.
“No, no, no!" Naorell cries, “That Dragon was bluffing you, he would not have let that magic loose."
“You don't know him like I do!" Miuryn replies.
“I do know him!" Naorell shouts and pushes Miuryn away as she stumbles to her feet. “I was there when you fought him, I know what he can do!"
Miuryn lets a hand fly, striking Naorell across the cheek. “THEN YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT HE WOULD DO IT!" Miuryn screams, his face turning red.
But Naorell isn't done, despite the slap to her face forming a red mark immediately. “HE WOULD'VE DESTROYED HIS OWN, THE CAVERN AND EVERYTHING AROUND THEM. HE PLAYED ON YOUR FEARS!"
“THEN HE BEAT ME!" Miuryn finishes with a final shout.
The doors open and a beautiful angel with gorgeous golden wings and tall slender form, strong but thin. Her pure white hair and fair skin reflect her radiant glow. Her golden eyes look at the two of them in concern. “What is all of this shouting about?" She asks, sweeping over to Naorell. Looking at the mark on her cheek. “You hit her, Father?" She says to Miuryn.
“I told you to remain in your chambers." He says, his face pained.
“I was content to stay, until the entire court heard my Father and my Love having a shouting match. They came to collect me out of concern for the two of you." She says, putting a hand up to Naroell’s face and hums a soft little melody infused with healing magic. The bruise fades and goes back to normal. “There, all better love?" She says to Naorell, letting the hand linger on her cheek.
Naorell takes the hand with tears in her eyes, “No, I'm afraid it's not..."
The morning sun crests over the small portions that are left of Yadesland. The nation once known as the Pride of the West. Now only an eighth of its size. But the morning sun pushes away the rain and brings warmth to the Nuvar Grove.
The Angel’s eyes open as the sunlight crosses over her face. She stares into the burning orb, either unphased or not knowing the damage that can cause one's eyes. She stares for a few moments before someone notices.
“It is not wise to look at the sun child." Xerxonus says, as his massive wing blocks her vision.
The Angel says nothing, but turns her eyes towards the black dragon.
“Did you rest well?" Nadrum’s cold voice calls from where he sits under the trees. She doesn't respond, still refusing to speak. “If you are ready, we may head to the safe space I have prepared for thee?" Again, there is no response. Nadrum does well to hide his frustration, but gives a glance at his friend. “Unless I am to hear otherwise, I shall continue as I see fit." He says flatly, but with a smile. Nadrum stands and walks over to the tree. He turns his back to the Angel, who can't help but feel like she should run or bolt before he does the task he set out to do. But her body doesn't want to move, locked in the powerful force of indecision and fear.
“Come child," Xerxonus says, then shrinks down to his human form with a shimmer. “Get yourself into these clothes." He gestures at the green and brown cloak.
She looks at the clothes, then at the Dragon Man confused. To which He takes pity “Nod if thou would like help?" He asks, nodding his own head as an example and encouragement.
She pauses, hesitant. After a moment she nods shakily.
"Very good, now sit up child.” Xerxonus smiles, then helps pull the dress over her head. Then the sleeves and laces up the front. It is far too large, but it fits enough for her to be clothed.
During this time Nadrum finishes his portal of roots and gathers his things. “If you're ready, come quickly.” He calls, holding the portal open with his magic.
Xerxonus takes the frightened Angel’s hand and helps guide her to the portal. She slows to a hesitant stop as she approaches. Unsure about the swirling green vortex of magic. "I assure you, child, that no harm will come to you.”
She pulls back her hand as Xerxonus continues another step. “I shall go first to show thee, but thou must promise to follow?" He asks.
She slowly nods. Satisfied, Xerxonus backs up into the portal, his form vanishing from sight. However, the Angel stands there, nervous and stunned by the sight.
“Come now, I cannot hold this forever." Nadrum says, sounding strained. Her breathing hastens to short bursts, but she grits her teeth, balls her tiny fists and marches through with her eyes closed. The sensation is terrible enough to make her scream as she is sucked through the portal. It feels as if ice had shot through her vein, and she is being ripped away from the point in the world she started. She emerges through the root portal on the other side, a screaming sobbing mess. She falls forward right into Xerxonus' arms. They are in the guarded tree chamber surrounded by a different set of four druid guards, as well as Foraun and Riuvyn. They show signs of confusion and concern on their faces as they see the sobbing frail girl, not at all the Angel they perceived her to be.
“Calm yourself child, you have made it and I am here. Thou art safe.” Xerxonus says, ever so softly into her ear. But it does no good in calming the Angel, that similar sensation of when she fell has opened the floodgates. Not just of her tear ducts, but of that deluded hopefulness that this could not be real.
Xerxonus lifts the Angel up with ease. “Where should I look for her room?" He asks, as Nadrum steps through the portal behind them.
“What is all this Chosen Savior?" He asks, addressing the Angel with great concern in his voice. "Thou are not hurt from what I can tell, yet thou act of thou are ill with wounds.” He states, walking up to her. At this point her loud sobbing has stopped, but has managed no success in stopping her crying. She looks at him, her face red and puffy. “Oh! I know what it must be. Your burdens seem far too great, but now it shall come to light the truth and understanding. Come, take my hand and all shall be explained.” He walks up to her, and takes the center of the room. He stretches out a hand to her and smiles. This smile is not a smile to disobey. Even still, the Angel hesitates, second guesses herself as if there was some sort of trick. She bites her lip and makes a motion to Xerxonus' arms. He gently puts her down. She stands in front of Nadrum, afraid but unsure if giving into him is good for her. She didn't trust him, she didn't want to trust him. She saw through his false kindness and pretty words. His voice was always cold to her. Even the Dragon Man was more believable in his words and actions. There was a tenderness in his care and words, even if there could be other plans in mind for her. However, after a moment she does take his cold outstretched hand.
The Angel is led down the hall out of the tree chamber. There is a great deal of persuasion needed to get her to travel across the rope bridge, but with Xerxonus' help She manages. She is brought to another larger tunnel that opens into a large forest chamber of massive mushroom plants and foliage. Their spores fill the space and give it life. There are tents and shelters with people looking in on the momentous moment for them. They all cheer as Nadrum and the Angel come into view. While the Angel shies away from them, she does appreciate being cheered for.
“You see?" Nadrum says, quietly to the Angel. As they walk through the cavern, led by Foraun. “They all have been waiting for this day, for you." Nadrum lets that thought sink in, as she nears the lake at the far end of the cavern. However, she doesn’t pay much mind as she is too busy trying to get a glimpse at her reflection on the surface of the lake. The still water makes for a great mirror, but unfortunately the magical floating lights only allow the Angel to gain a few small glimpses of her long rose gold colored hair and long pointed ears, between the glare. Around the lake are large oak trees that stretch up fifty feet to the top of the cavern and root once again into the dirt above. Along the walls and ceilings there are special magical lights to simulate sunlight. They provide the trees with the nutrients they need, but also give those that do not usually live under the ground, the light they need to maintain their circadian rhythm. The Angel couldn't help but think the place was quite serene and pretty. Despite her trepidation.
They make their way around to the far side of the lake, the stone slowly giving away to soft, carpet-like moss. Then right up to the largest oak tree. The tree came with a sturdy set of ladders that lead the way to the top, where there are rooms, woven out of the branches and trunk. The Angel looks up warily at the tree, but decides not to make a scene and goes up after Nadrum, with Xerxonus close behind her.
However, she had made up her mind to go up. Her muscles didn't agree. The Angel tried as best she could, but the weight of her own body was too heavy for her frail arms and legs. The Angel would've crashed into the mossy floor, if it wasn't for the strong arms of Xerxonus who managed to catch her.
“Do not worry child, even a simple fall like this shall cause you no harm when I am near." He says softly into her mind. The Angel is allowed to try and fail once more before Nadrum takes note of worried onlookers, witnessing this display from their Chosen Savior. Nadrum uses the root from the tree below the Angel to form a platform and lift her up the first ladder. She lets out a surprised scream and nearly falls again. Nadrum hides his frustration just enough for him to turn away from the Angel's vision. But she could see it in his body language. His tense shoulders, his neck, the jaw. All of it made her worry that he might hurt her, or worse.
“Why don't you go on ahead, friend." Xerxonus says, also noticing his friend's frustration, but also the worry of this all going awry. "I'll make sure the Child can take her time and get used to Her legs again.”
Nadrum nods in response and marches the rest of the way up his tree, while the Angel is gently led up the tree by Xerxonus.
Nadrum walks into the new addition made on his tree by the other Druids. The room, just below his own, made for the Angel. It has a gentle domed canopy with just the right amount of leaves and branches above to let in gentle diffused light. There is a wooden platform with furs and woolen blankets. There is a chest for belongings, and a wardrobe for clothes. All made out of the branches by the nature magic of the Druids. Then sitting on a table surrounded by a few chairs. There is a basket of flowers and fruits, all of them edible and freshly grown that same morning. Nadrum takes in the excellent work of his Druids several times while he waits for the Angel to make Her way up the tree.
“Just one more rung." Xerxonus says, holding the Angel up just enough so that she will not fall, but needs to use the muscles she does have to climb up the ladders. She was panting and gasping for breath, her body sweating with the exertion that this body she was in, that it certainly wasn't used to. With a final heave, she pulls her body over the final platform onto her back. Breathing heavily, her world spinning.
“Well done, you have made it to your home." Nadrum says above where she lies with a smile. He reaches down a hand and pulls her up easily. “The Druids here made this home for you to sleep and live in while you are here." He says, pushing aside a curtain of expertly intertwined leaves to reveal the space within.
The Angel pauses, stopping just inside the doorway. She didn't quite know what to make of the space, especially one that belonged to her. She fights to bring back the memories of the life she used to have, but she couldn't do it. It was like those memories were a dream, she could just get the feelings from them, but nothing more. All this did for the Angel was break out in tears with her hand over her face. Every moment this life became more and more real, and everything good feeling about what she left behind became more distant with every passing moment.
Nadrum frowns and worriedly rushes her inside and closes the curtain behind them. He hopes that the other Druids didn't see much of her tears and such weakness. He couldn't understand the Angel, nor could Nadrum get a read on her like he could for nearly all living creatures. He was great with people, even if he detested many. He could understand mammals, and birds, and he was fantastic with reptiles. They were all predictable, they operated off of the instincts to survive and thrive with the tools given to them. But this Angel, this Girl, has none of that. “I think thou shalt lie down now.” Nadrum says, now gently leading her over. "When thou hast calmed thine self, I shall tell thee of thine quest.”
The Angel hears his words, but doesn't care much for them. Why did she want to know what came next? When she only wanted what had been taken away from her. She didn't even want someone to blame, she held no anger in her soul. Just sadness and confusion. Why? Why was all of this done and why to her?
Perhaps the Angel did want to hear what Nadrum had to say. But it was too late, the icy Druid had already stormed out the door.
The Angel stood in the room for a bit, quietly crying. She eventually forced herself to stop, as her eyes and throat became too sore to continue. She walks over to the bed and crawls into it, not bothering with undressing. She pulls the fur blankets up above her head and hopes her dreams bring better memories than before.
- o - O - o -
“I don't understand what went wrong." Nadrum exclaims from a chair in his larger domed canopy room he shares with Xerxonus. “Doth thou think that Miuryn did something to tamper with her mind?" He asks.
"I do not.” Xerxonus says flatly, watching his friend carefully.
"Then why is she so broken, why does she falter at such simple tasks?" He asks incredulously.
“I think you mistake trickery for trauma." Xerxonus says, lounging back in a chair of his own. “The child hath just gone through a terrible experience. There will be much fear and distrust.”
“Did the ritual not remove all past memories from Them?” Nadrum asks, getting up and pacing angrily around the room.
"Friend, if thou were thrust into her situation with little to no knowledge of the world around you and no understanding of thine self, what would thou do?” Xerxonus asks, staying calm and watching.
"You know this answer. But if thou would have me say it. I would always operate on my natural instincts to survive and to hunt." He says, frowning at his friend's simple question.
“Then that is how you differ," Xerxonus says, casually leaning further back in his chair and closing his eyes. “The child is no hunter, nor is she from this world."
“You told me she is a powerful angel, able to control the fabric of reality and the minds of many. Thou would not lie, and thou are rarely mistaken. Explain yourself." Nadrum says, his tone not commanding like he does other's. Instead Nadrum shows confusion and seeks guidance in someone who is clearly a good friend, but also a mentor to Nadrum.
“I am not mistaken, nor do I lie to thee. Instead it is thou who shows ignorance." He says, kindly chastising his friend.
“And what ignorance is this?" Nadrum asks, not all that amused.
“Power comes from many places, but that does not mean a powerful being is incapable of fear or sadness." Xerxonus begins, standing and walking slowly with measured words and measured steps. “Your power comes from your ability to suppress these fears and emotions and instead inflict them on others. But this Angel, this incredibly powerful being was one who helped seal my beloved away.” He says, putting his scaled hands on Nadrum's shoulders. Nadrum looks into his friend's red and glassy eyes, filled with sadness, but determined vengeance. “This Angel's power comes from her emotions. With every melody she weaves, the Creator of All smiles, and obliges." Xerxonus finishes.
The two stand in silence, really taking in each other and Xerxonus' words. Nadrum nods slightly before Xerxonus says “But to quell any worry about Miuryn doing something in secret to the ritual. Do not fret, as that wasn't He who appeared in our combat."
“Wasn't Miuryn?" Nadrum asks, as Xerxonus goes and sits back down.
“Indeed. Instead a messenger sent down to look like Miuryn and fill us up with fear, but so he shan’t break the rules." Xerxonus says.
Nadrum looks at his friend, once again confused "Why did thou not tell me?” He asks.
"I did not tell thee, as I did not want you to lose that urgency as within that fear comes a power in yourself.”
Nadrum stops and sits back down. He clasps his hands in front of him and looks up at the leaf canopy above him. “I believe I understand," he says softly.
An angel, chosen and created by the god Miuryn is struck from the heavens. Powerful blood magic to gain the aid and favor of dark, scorned and forgotten forces is used to complete this task. This Angel, the first Siren created by Miuryn, is now falling from the heavenly realm and having their essence forced into the body of a weak, sickly and fragile girl.
The first thing the Angel remembers is this horrible sensation of dread, of terror, of everything that is, being wrong. Then comes the wet and sticky sensation of being drowned in blood. The Angel screams and the blood and everything around it explodes in an eruption of sound. The hand on the Angel’s back is knocked away and the pool of blood around her splashes into the air like a bomb going off in a small pond. Among the spray of blood is a multitude of unmoving bodies. The Angel tries to flap her wings, but finds she has none. She tries to push herself up, but her arms are too weak. With a twisting pain in her shoulder she manages to get her head above the thick blood. But the sight before her does little to allow air to enter back into her lungs. It was all too much for the Angel. There were no tears, just the screams and shaking of absolute terror. Much like a child that doesn't understand the fear and horror in which is their reality. She is unable to move, She just screams and gasps for air, while she sits in the blood.
“You're alright now." Calls a voice as cold and as sharp as metal. The Angel sets her eyes on a man almost as covered in blood as She is. But still his paper white elven skin, his red tinted brown hair and the eyes that match his voice shine through the blood. However, unlike the Angel, he seems unbothered by the scene around them. In fact he's perfectly calm and still, yet tensed, like a coiled snake ready to strike. He takes a step forward slowly, blood dripping around him. The Angel’s screaming pauses just a small bit, but the shaking only intensifies. Then the head of a Black Dragon moves into view. Its head alone is the size of a hill, nearly thirty feet long with a neck well over a hundred. The Angel's screaming stops, Her eyes stare up at it, Her body freezes and She stops breathing.
“This is Xerxonus, a friend." The Metal Voiced man says, referring to the dragon. “I need you to breathe, and I'll come get you out of there."
The Angel gasps, “Where are my wings?” She weeps.
“Gone I'm afraid, but I can help you, we both can." The Man says, taking another slow step forward. The Angel says nothing and slowly the man steps close enough to pick her up out of the blood pool and carry her in his arms. The Angel cries into his shoulder, the feeling that everything is wrong still clings to her.
“Be still and steady, the worst is over and you're safe now." He says, softly. "I am Nadrum, the first Druid. I am a protector of nature and have sought you out for aid to help right the most egregious of wrong doings this world of Drenbor has ever seen.”
The Angel doesn't respond, She doesn't even open Her eyes. She is wishing for it all to go away, for this nightmare to end.
“But rest and know you are in good hands and wings." He says, as Xerxonus the Dragon leans in close, his one eye is three times the size of Her small form.
“Come child, let us soak away this blood and have you be clothed in warm robes." Xerxonus rumbles. The Angel remains silent but makes no protest. Nadrum the Druid walks up the wing of Xerxonus and sits on a small saddle nestled within the Dragon's ivory spines. Like a bird's nest among the branches of a large tree. Nadrum straps them both in and shortly the powerful wings of Xerxonus flap and they take off with a leap upwards. The ground cracks beneath them as they just barely squeeze through the opening in the roof of the massive cavern. The night air is bitter and cold, with a red glow in the night sky, coming from the lightly obscured Blood Moon on the horizon. The Angel peeks a glance outward as she feels a sense of weightlessness from Xerxonus’ flight. For a moment the feeling is bliss, then she remembers the feeling of having wings once herself, but that feels like a distant memory, much like the cavern opening getting rapidly smaller behind them.
The Angel closes her eyes, trying to recall not just the memory of her wings, but other memories as well. They were fading from her, as if they were no longer hers. She could almost recall a face, a voice. People she loved, family. Then it was gone. Only the feeling of emptiness, a shell of a person she once was, and the horrible feeling that everything was horrendously wrong. The Angel doesn't recall when it happened, but she ended up drifting off into sleep as they drift above the clouds. Her dreams are filled with visions of things she can't quite see but are expected to know. Things she is expected to remember, but she can't quite recall.
The Angel wakes up on a bed of furs, her body and hair no longer caked in blood. She is warm from the abundant amount of soft furs that cover her. The destroyed red dress was gone, but a new long green and brown robe lay at the end of the bed. While comfortable she didn't wake peacefully. The reality that this wasn't all a nightmare came crashing down upon her. A clap of thunder startles her from her thoughts, as she whimpers and cries. The dragon, Xerxonus turns his head to look at her from where he is nestled in the grove around them. He is up against a large stone wall, with large trees making the towers of the walls. There is a wooden canopy that is woven into the trees above Xerxonus, which covers his head and part of his back from the current downpour of rain. Xerxonus peeks his head towards the small stone pavilion that the Angel lays in.
“Does the storm scare you child?” Xerxonus says, his draconic voice rumbling like the storm.
The Angel says nothing, her head still spinning too fast from everything she sees in front of her and everything she sees in her dream. She was trying to simply will it all to go away. Her brain couldn't allow it to be her reality, even if now she knew she couldn't remember why. But the fact of not knowing something She should, is terrible.
“Do you understand me child?" Xerxonus says, a hint of concern in his voice.
The Angel turns her head slowly and looks at him with glassy unfocused eyes. She nods slightly in acknowledgement. The Dragon lets a puff of warm breath out of his nostrils. This dispels the damp chill in the air around the Angel. She covers herself tightly with the fur blankets provided, then looks around, finally taking in her surroundings.
She sits into a stone cubby in a larger stone wall, which she can see, as it wraps around the large grove in a circle. There are other cubbies in the wall, but all the ones she can see from her angle are empty. The grove is centered around a large pond, with a large carved rock in the center. It's hard for the Angel to make out what it is, but it looked to be some creature. Perhaps she couldn't recognize it in the dark, or just another thing she's forgotten. Around the pond are plenty of trees, bushes and hundreds of flowers. All of them heavy from the downpour, but all of them seem to be holding their energy for the promise of sunlight and strength the rain is giving them. The Angel takes another look at the cubbies in the Grove wall, and the darker shadows believing she may have missed someone.
“Your eyes will not find Him." Xerxonus says, “Nadrum has gone ahead to make sure our more permanent resting place is ready for you."
The Angel's eyebrows furrow, unsure if she should be worried about this news. Her initial feelings were fear, distrust and something deeper she didn't quite understand, but it was any better than the other two feelings. However, she didn't know what was real, or if any of the things she felt and was thinking truly belonged to her mind and body. Part of her was unsure if this body truly belonged to her.
“In time you shall know and understand why you are here." Xerxonus says, as if he read her mind. "Life is often unkind to us, but know we will keep you safe.”
The Angel was unsure if she liked his words, if the ‘keep you safe’ meant she was just something to protect. Something to keep guarded, something valuable.
“If you do not wish to speak, I suggest you rest. Your body was weakened from the magic." Xerxonus says, drawing his head back underneath her covering.
The Angel didn't really understand what that meant, but she had no desire to speak, so she turned over in her bed of furs and closed her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to speak even if she wanted to, even if she dared to ask what had happened to her. At this moment, the act of not speaking was the only thing keeping her sane, as if somehow if she didn't speak, the world couldn't truly be real.
- o - O - o -
Nadrum, as a powerful panther, runs through the trees of the forest. His slick fur covered body doing well to repel the downpour around him. The night is dark, no moon or stars in sight, but Nadrum the panther needs no guidance. The First Druid feels his way through every step, through every leap. He runs, as he is too weak from the night's earlier events. He cannot use his magic to open a portal from the trees and travel through their roots, he is not far from passing out. But Nadrum would never show it, nor could he rest. He needed to make sure his stronghold was safe for the Fallen Angel. Enchantments must be put in place to deter Miuryn from interfering, as if he is to break the rules once, who's to say he won't do it again.
The Panther Nadrum bounds through the last stretch of woods before he comes across a small clearing, still covered by the canopy above. The clearing might look normal to any being that passes by, but Nadrum knows just where to go, to find the entrance of his hidden stronghold beneath. He places his paw on the ground and the earth begins to swirl and open up beneath him as he channels his earth magic. He falls down, changing into a hawk as he does so. He circles downwards to the ground and changes back to his usual elven form right before he lands in a crouch. He stands and immediately begins to take a careful glance around the underground Stronghold. He was certain there was no one hiding in the entrance way, nor in the glowing mushroom patches surrounding it. But Nadrum does quickly notice movement coming across one of the nine rope bridges, which connects the central island to the other tunnels in the stronghold.
“Great Druid?" a figure calls, stopping at the start of the bridge.
Nadrum sees a lone figure, in a dark gray robe, holding a staff with a hanging bowl shaped lantern on tje end of it. The bowl lantern gives off a faint blue glow, similar to the mushroom growing around the starting island. “Who walks up on me?" Nadrum says, staring intently at the robed figure.
The figure immediately pulls back their hood and holds up their staff with the lantern on it, up enough to reveal their face. This shows a human woman with deep scars across her cheeks, chin and right eye. She has thick brown wavy hair and light brown skin. Her one good is brown, while the other is pure white. “It is Foraun, Great Druid.” She says, with as deep of a bow as she can manage.
"What of this place Foraun, is Ulgunstol still safe?” He asks, referring to this stronghold.
“Ulgunstol and all who reside felt the world shudder at the power of the Blood Moon and what you did this night.” Foraun says, straightening up again. “Please tell me Great Druid, were you and Endless Shadow successful?"
Nadrum pauses. “I am uncertain."
“Uncertain?"
“Now is not the time Foraun." Nadrum says, coolly. "Wake the Druids, I shall require their ability to fortify the place.”
"Yes Great Druid.” She says and runs off, her lighting trailing into the long tunnel.
Nadrum takes a deep breath in relief. He was uncertain if the gods would hold any restraint, or if the Divine Rule meant anything now the Ancient Ones have left. He then takes a seat right in the center of the entrance area. He connects his hands to the ground beneath him. Nadrum shapes the weave of nature around himself and imparts it into the world itself. That energy is converted into ancient protective magics that help ward off those that would attempt to locate or attack the stronghold.
Before long, Nadrum begins to tire, his body already weakened from before. However, he was satisfied with the framework he had created. Foraun and the other Druids emerge shortly after. There are twelve in number, most of them Tiefling's, dark elves and wood elves. They all rush in, showing concern in their Leader’s tired form, but Nadrum shrugs them off.
“Rest cannot come to me yet, I must return to the Nuvar Grove, where Xerxonus watches over Her.” He says, getting to his feet. "One of thee must send me there, then thou must all spend the night strengthening the bonds I have made.”
“Of course Great Druid!"A red Tiefling with large horn says.
"I shall send you there!” Another elven druid with red curly hair says.
With much praise and excitement at just a passing mention of ‘Her’ the Druids are alight, as their hard fought goals have finally come to be. The red haired Elf, walls ahead of Nadrum as they head down a hall, where there is a large pine tree, growing inside the cavern. They walk past the four guards posted inside the cavern. Who give a bow to the Elven Druid and a deeper bow to Nadrum as they walk by.
“I am to send the Great Druid back to the Nuvar Grove, where he is to reunite with The Endless Shadow and Chosen Angel." The Elven Druid says proudly.
“Keep that loose tongue of yours quiet." Nadrum snaps, his voice like a steel whip. “None of you in this are to speak of this until I have made an announcement to Ulgunstol.”
"Yes, great Druid!” They all reply, nervously.
"Now make haste in your spell Riuvyn.” Nadrum says to the red haired Druid.
- o - O - o -
Xerxonus stirs, never truly asleep, but his massive form turns to see a nearby tree trunk bend and quiver. The roots begin to dig themselves out of the ground and weave themselves into a large oval of roots and leaves. When they connect, a green energy swirls within the frame. Then only a second later, Nadrum steps through.
“Well met." Xerxonus says, as a projection of thought into his friend's mind.
Nadrum nods and asks “Is She still asleep?"
"She does, but not soundly. It's as if her own shadow terrifies her.”
Nadrum frowns and moves himself under the tree woven canopy with Xerxonus. "Then the ritual wasn't a success.”
"Indeed.” Xerxonus mentally says "But it was not a failure. I can see the power already trying to grow inside her, but drown among the fear and apprehension.”
"Is there a way to do something about it, can we cure her, or know what is causing it?”
Xerxonus pauses, taking a careful look into the Angel's mind once again. “I think neither you or I are at fault, nor the gods or Ancient Ones. I believe that this is who this Angel is at her core, once strong and loved, now fallen into uncertainty and fear.”
"She must be shown that love again then.” Nadrum says, closing his eyes and leaning against Xerxonus' flank. “I don't know if I am the one who shows her that love."
"Surely you can muster up the performance needed to beguile an empty glass with your words? When thou hath managed to convince hundreds, with many years to fill their glasses, to join our cause.” Xerxonus scoffs.
"The ones I convinced already had their cause. I just brought them to the conclusion that they were all the survivors of the gods wrath.” Nadrum sighs.
"Sleep Nadrum.” Xerxonus says. "I know this bump in the path will not bother thee when thou art rested.”
Nadrum only responds with a nod and rests in the comfort of his Dragon friend's side.
A man walks through the dimly lit halls of a subterranean tunnel that he dug out with his bare hand. Three individuals with robes of thick animal fur follow behind trying to keep unused to the rough terrain of the tunnel. But the man in the lead walks with perfect stride, standing tall and making no pause in his proud gait. The others would have to learn. If they couldn't keep up, they would soon discover what that would mean for them.
Soon in their travels, the way opens up to ruins. This ruin was once a temple to the early rulers of the world of Drenbor, before they had left after the two wars that destroyed continents. Now this large ruin was being washed in blood, staining the reliefs in the stone walls, covering the steps in the sacrifice of their enemies. It was nearly done; the once gray granite and white marble temples, lost to time. They have been transformed for the ritual and now all but the altar had yet to be stained.
“The Great Druid of Ruin approaches!" Shouts a sovereign voice as the leading, confident figure mounts the curved steps up to the altar.
“Well met and what news, friend?" Says a dry voiced man, with black hair and an even blacker cloak, with the texture of a bat's wings. Their eyes are sparkling red, with dark olive skin, and black shiny scales on their cheeks, chin and brow.
“Much of note, with success." The Great Druid of Ruin responds, his cold voice alight with vigor and relief as plans have come to completion. “The essence of The Dark One is within my hand," he says, pulling a black and rotting finger from within the confines of his cloak, still twitching slightly. The other onlookers, and even those scrubbing the ruins in blood, all stop and recoil from the finger as it's revealed. But the Scaled Man is unbothered and instead seems delighted in his friend's success.
“Bravo friend, thou hast done well. But what of the god’s eye?” the Scaled Man asks with curiosity. He steps closer to The Druid of Ruin and moves away from the fountain. This fountain wasn't just a fountain, but rather a place where a spout of holy water once poured out, creating a form of refuge and healing. Now, however, the font in the middle has been removed and the basin has been lowered to be over three feet deep. For the time being, the inside of the Fountain was left unstained by blood.
"Another successful venture.” The Druid of Ruin says, pulling out a wrapped bundle of thick cloth. Inside the cloth is a mostly round object which looks to be an eye, but much too large to be a normal mortal eye.
The Scaled Man smiles, revealing pointed teeth. “I never had a doubt," he says, moving to take the eye. However, the Druid retreats his hand with a look of hesitation and responds “Be wary, friend. While removed from that pompous fool, it still hath the ability to see. It nearly got us all ambushed and left to die by his followers' hands.”
“The bag shall remain sealed, until the moment of the ritual. Where his eye shall just get but a glimpse at his Chosen’s destruction." The Scaled Man says, with an evil and smug grin.
“Now that shalt be of most proper form of vengeance upon Him, even if slight in comparison." The Druid says, handing over the bag. The Scaled Man takes it and turns back to the Fountain.
“What of the girl? Is she ready?" The Druid asks, walking up to the Fountain edge, next to his friend.
“She is ready. But hesitant; unsure if she is worthy for such a task." the Scaled Man says, solemnly.
“Is that so?" The Druid asks and then turns to a cloaked cultist behind them. “You two, bring the Girl to me. But if even a single scratch on her is found, thou shall not live to see the ritual's completion,” he says, his ice cold tone commanding them. They rush to do as he said, not a single thought of hesitation in their minds.
They bring out a young girl dressed in nothing but a white dress, though the dress does little to cover her, as it threatens to slip off her unnaturally small, frail and sickly form. She is so sick that she cannot even walk or lift her head from the cot they carry her on. Her skin is a pale, ghostly white, her eyes a milky, light blue, unfocused and searching. Her hair falling out and a semi-translucent white. Any normal person would see this frail young girl and fear that the slightest bump would break every bone in her sickly body.
“Great Druid of Ruin, thou hath summoned me," she says, weakly but whimsically as she tries to lift her head. Her eyes dreamy and distant, her face curls into just a semblance of a smile against her bony cheeks, as her head makes it just a few inches off the cot.
“I summon you, as I hear thou are worried of thine duty. Please help me to understand thee,” the Druid says, his commanding tone softening for the girl, as he comes to her side. He grows vines out of his cloak of twisted ivy and branches that grow up underneath the cot to support the frail girl.
“Oh, that," she says, bashfully, her milky eyes struggling to focus on the Druid. “I just do not know if I am right to do this. I cannot walk, can only speak for a short amount of time and barely stay awake. What have I done to deserve this honor?"
The Druid listens so intensely to her words, the same level of dedication that a father gives his daughter. “You have a beautiful heart," he says, “But thou not need to worry. As where thou have failed in life, thou shall succeed in death." The Druid runs his cold hand through her hair, creating soft red roses through her hair.
She smiles softly and closes her eyes. “With such a simple phrase, I feel loved and wanted," she says with warmth in her voice.
“Your body will become the perfect host, and your sacrifice shall forever be remembered,” The Druid says, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her smile widens and tears roll down her gaunt cheeks. “Now rest and dream of what your reward in the afterlife is soon to be." And with that she is dismissed and brought back to her chambers.
“Always so well spoken; so intricate with your words," says a figure from the entrance of the chamber, a heavy broguish accent in their speech. Everyone turns. Some people scramble away. Thee of them rush the person with weaponsdrawn, only to have their heads explode with a wave of the figure's hand. They take a few steps forward, their shining bronze armor and green mantle sweeping around them as they walk. Their short brown hair crackles with purple energy. One green eye stares up at those at the fountain and confident rage shines on their face.
“Stop this madness now!" The Figure commands and sends a wave of powerful and deadly black energy towards the crowd of cultists on the ruin. However, the Scaled Man raises a hand, his eyes flash a brighter red, and the attack is dispelled to the sides of the cavern. The cavern shakes and a few rocks fall, but otherwise the attack is rendered useless. “You're alive,” The Figure asks incredulously. “But I watched my brother cleave you in half?"
“Sometimes looks can be deceiving," the Scaled Man replies ssimply. “I thought the young god of lies would've learned that by now?"
"I'll make sure to bring back your head as a gift to my brother.” The Figure says, rising into the air.
"Thou speak bravely, but thou are foolish,” The Druid says coldly, pure hatred laced into his frigid tone.
"Ah, the Great Druid of Ruin is in attendance. I can stop your terrible nature all at once,” the godly figure says, wind beginning to swirl around him.
A clap of thunder and shattering of stone is shot at the Figure. The Figure is forced to use the energy they were building up to block the attack. A powerful barrier of black power swirls around him and pushes the rocks around him safely.
“You dare speak arrogantly about my actions as if thou haven't destroyed countless lives and nations!" The Druid screams at the Figure. “Not only have you killed and mistreated the life on the world, you've brought hundreds of species and cultures to extinction!” The Druid yells, and with a final shout, the ceiling of the cavern comes to life; gargantuan hands of stone dig themselves out of the rock and lunge at the figure.
The Figure vanishes with a loud snap, like a branch being broken by a storm. He rematerializes behind The Druid and makes a swipe at the his face. The Druid makes to back away, but is too slow. But before the fatal blow of the godly figure connects, the Scaled Man grows in size, rapidly becoming a massive and powerful black dragon, his body becoming a shield for The Druid. The Black Dragon is still hit in the neck and is knocked to the side, but is able to survive the blow.
“You would defy your pact with the ancient ones to not directly interfere?" The Druid snarls.
"To stop your destruction of my mother's temple, absolutely.” The Figure responds.
“Then it is thou who bring more destruction to this world," the Black Dragon growls, and shoots a torrent of black flames that cover the entire right side of the cavern. The Figure comes away burned and is forced to teleport away.
“Thou will not win here, as thou have already spent too much time gloating," The Druid says, causing the ground to erupt in thorns around The Figure. The Figure slashes through them with summoned magical blades and he sends those blades towards the two, but the Black Dragon’s eyes flash red and the blades rebound back at The Figure. He teleports away again and reappears back towards the entrance.
A clap of thunder and an icy chill enter the cavern. The Figure looks up and yells in anger, seemingly at this new presence. He glares at the Black Dragon and Druid, hatred in his eyes. “You'll pay for this! You'll all pay for this one day!" The Figure shouts, not just at his two enemies, but the presence that caused him to halt. With a pained yell and a loud snap, he vanishes.
The cavern becomes silent once more as the dust settles. Then cheers and excitement come from the cultists, as they praise their leaders for once again resisting the might of a god.
“Calm your jubilee," The Druid says, raising a hand. “We have much to do and little time to spare. The blood moon is nearly upon us, and she cannot wait for us if we are late."
The cultists scatter and get to work with renewed fervor. The walls are finished being washed in an assortment of animal blood, while The Black Dragon clears the debris and the Druid makes repairs on the carvings destroyed in the battle.
The time draws near. The coldest and longest night of the year, but not just any year. This is the year the winter solstice produces a blood moon that only appears once every six years. The Druid and The Black Dragon fly up to the top of the cavern and use their magic over the earth and split the ground apart, allowing the bathing of red moonlight to cover the already bloodstained cavern.
The Black Dragon looks up in longing at the red moon, his similarly colored red eyes reflected in its visage. The Druid notices his friend's gaze and says “The Journey hath just begun, but do not worry. The time of her safety will come.”
The Black Dragon acknowledges his friend's response with a nod and a slow blink of his giant, red, dragon eyes. “I know it shall come to be, and no matter how long I must wait, I shall see it through,” he says, with a calm conviction.
The blood moon fully appears as clouds begin to roll in. Thick storm clouds, attempting to cover the moon. "An attempt from the elder two perhaps, or just poor timing?” The Druid asks, musing on the storm.
"It will not matter. Just pose a slight challenge for you," the Black Dragon says with a frown.
“Merely a trifle,” The Druid says. And such a paltry attempt from the two older godly siblings of the Figure they had just recently faced. "The politics of the gods forever baffle me,” The Druid says, stepping into a low stance in preparation to move the storm. "One century they tear the world asunder and the next they argue over their favorite toy to spare the world.”
"I believe they hope to redeem themselves for their actions, hoping to regain the favor of their parents,” The Black Dragon says, watching The Druid go through the motions of a dance-like ritual to move the storm. First a lower stand with legs wide. Then a lower lunge with one leg pointed forward. Then standing tall, arms outstretched. Then he spins twice around and raises his hands together above his head. He splits his hand and places them back as his side and steps into the starting lower stance. He repeats this process over and over again, until the winds begin to pick up and whip around them, the clouds begin to move and split, the moon slowly becoming visible once more.
“Come, we must hurry, friend," the Black Dragon says.
The Druid nods and they drop back into the cavern as the Blood Moon once more bathes the cavern in its crimson light.
“Bring out the girl!" the Black Dragon snaps, and immediately the cultists go running.
“Careful with her!" The Druid calls, “but hurry! The time is nigh!"
Soon, the frail girl is brought out, her white dress already looking stained with blood as she is carried out to the Druid. “Are you ready now, you gentle soul?" he asks softly.
“Yes, fully ready to fulfill my life's only purpose,” ahe says with a bright smile. Her face glows with the blood red radiance of the moon.
Meanwhile, the other cultists begin dragging out three large cages and several wagons from the cavern below, outside of the ruins itself. These carts are filled with dead bodies of humans, elves, gnomes, dwarves, and orcs, while the cages contain living versions of the same species. They beg and plead for mercy with tongueless mouths, but none is given. They are dragged to the top of the stairs where cultists hold them down and cut their neck, wrists, and ankles, letting their major arteries spill into the Fountain. They do this with well over two hundred bodies, living and dead, until the three foot deep basin is nearly filled with blood.
The Druid steps into the basin, the blood up to the middle of his thigh. The Black Dragon gently hands him the eye with his massive talons. He takes the eye and holds it in one hand outstretched. He takes the black rotting finger in the other hand and holds it out. He pauses, breathing heavy. His nerves rattle him, but he is determined to carry on. He can't falter. He waits. Then as the moonlight fully comes into the cavern, the bloodstained ruin begins to glow a bright, red light.
“In the name of The Dark One, behold this offering. In hope of blessings, we in turn bring ruin to those that wrong you!” The Druid shouts and drops the rotting finger into the pool. The blood churns and turns black for a moment before settling to a dark maroon. "In the name of mine enemy, taken by your hand we ask you to smote down the chosen one of their design and place them in this new vessel.” The Druid drops the eye into the blood It churns and turns a crimson color. The Druid turns and raises his hand up to hold the girl being lowered down to him. He lowers her gently into the blood. She looks afraid, but bites her lip.
“Do not be afraid. You are perfect," he whispers. She nods and takes a deep breath, and a calmness washes over her.
“Take the vessel and wash it with thine blood, oh Great Mother of the underworld. We vow to bring vengeance and freedom. To prove ourselves, we offer you fresh blood, of enemies, allies and thine own love.”
The Druid takes one hand and pulls a stone blade from a slot on his belt and cuts a jagged line across his palm. He winces and squeezes the hand closed, dropping blood across the face of Frail Girl. She does her best not to flinch, but closes her eyes. Then the blood in the pool begins to glow slightly. The Black Dragon takes a clawed talon and takes it across the side of his long neck. It falls into the pool of blood which now glows even brighter. The Druid looks at the circles of cultists all spread out around the edge of the fountain, the full space taken up by the forty cultists, all now unclothed and holding stone daggers in their hands. The majority of them are Tiefling’s and Humans, with a handful of other races. With a nod from The Druid, the cultists lift their daggers to their throats and stare up at the Blood Moon.
In unison they all chant, “Our bodies, our blood, our souls for the Blood Mother. Bring down the chosen light of thy enemy.” Then they slit their knives across their own throats and fall into the Fountain.
