Melodies of the Fallen Angel

The chosen Angel of the god Miuryn is knocked out of the sky and has her memories wiped, by dark forces. This is a high fantasy story of adventure, intrigue, tension and love.

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 8: Anything for Love

Naorell wasn't one to cry easily, that's not to say she hid her emotions away. But when it came to crying, it was hard to set her off. Even when the love of her life was sucked through the ground itself and out of her reality, and her angelic body was shattered to pieces, only a few tears stained her cheeks.

   Even when her god Miuryn begged for his godly siblings for aid, to let him have an exception to their vow to distance themselves from the mortals. Only to have Margot and Neearth turn him away, she didn't feel tears well up inside her.

   Not when she was the only person who could console Miuryn’s tears, and had to listen to pathetic apologies.

   No, Naorell only felt anger. She despised all three gods, she wanted more than anything to tear Nadrum to pieces, and that foul Dragon... She felt that Dragon should deserve a fate worse than death.

   There were no tears even when Naorell began to work on sending mortal followers to find Nadrum and Xerxonus, only to be unable to find them.

      However, one night in her private chambers, that she used to share, now all alone. She looks in on her love. Naorell looked in as often as she could, even if she couldn't find her, she still wanted to know she was okay. But what Naorell saw that night broke her heart. She saw that her love had completely forgotten her.

   Naorell wept, as powerful of an angel as she was, she felt useless. If she couldn't fly to her love, what good was her powers?

   Naorell knew what she must do, she had threatened it to Miuryn before, but as much as she feared the idea, she was willing to do whatever it took to get her love back.

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 7: I Can't Recall

   Lyra climbs down the final ring of the tree, all on her own. She was sorely out of breath, but her feet were squarely on the ground.

   Nadrum leads around the bend of the lake, back towards the little encampment, with Xerxonus walking alongside her.

   “I will address the tribe, announcing you have awoken," Nadrum says, looking over his shoulder at her. “They will get to know you as a leader, as a speaker, one that will fan the flames of their rebellion against the gods," he finishes.

   “What am I to say to them?" Lyra asks, suddenly very nervous again.

 "Only something small,” Xerxonus says, putting a gentle clawed hand on her shoulder. "Something that will put them at ease, and something that relieves them of the anxiety of your slumber.”

   ‘Anxiety,’ She thinks to herself, ‘that is how I'm feeling aren't I?’ 

   That nervousness and uncertainty, as well as the utter feeling of dread Lyra was constantly feeling clicked to place as anxiety, as soon as Xerxonus said the word.

   Lyra nods in response to Xerxonus, after a moment. 

   Nadrum stops them, after they have walked halfway around the lake to the closest spot to the town. Nadrum walks a few more steps forward and does an elaborate hand motion and causes a rock to push him up onto a platform as he pounds his fist in his other open palm. He then takes his right hand and puts his middle finger on the left side of his neck and his index on the left hinge of his jaw. On the right side he places his thumb on his neck, then his voice rings out amplified and echoing through the cavern for all to hear.

   “Druids of the Shadows, hear me and my word,” he booms. "Our angelic guardian has awoken from her extended slumber with renewed vigor. Behold!” Nadrum exclaims, lifting Lyra up carefully with vines to join him on the platform.

   "Our savior!” He shouts, gesturing to Lyra. 

   "Our savior" the crowd of hastily gathered Druids repeats.

   Lyra looks down at them all many feet below her, but she still felt small in front of their crowd of forty plus.

   She tries to bow her head, to curtsy, to bow, or to even wave. But in her anxiety she chooses nothing and the cavern becomes a deafening quiet. But for only a moment, as seemingly just seeing her was enough for the crowd to take her in and cheer.

   They clap, they cheer, some even chant “savior" and some even weep tears of joy.

   Lyra is knocked out of her silent stupor, into a stunned disbelief. They didn't even know her, they didn't even know how weak she really was, how little she actually knew about helping them. Yet just seeing her awake, was enough to move them into a maddening jubilee. There was also a slowly creeping feeling of familiarity climbing up her spine. It was similar to the feelings of fingers or a brush through her hair, but much less personal. Like many people have cheered for her before. She wasn't able to feel what or why, but it had definitely happened before.

    Lyra raises both hands up and the crowd cheers and laughs, as a wide smile crosses Lyra’s lips. She puts them to her safe and bows deeply. All of the Druid's bow in response and instantly become quiet.

   “W-while my slumber was lengthy my recovery has been immense,” she begins shakily at first. "With your two skilled leaders I will guide thee all to salvation." 

   The crowd cheers once again before settling down slowly.

   “Back to your posts, there is still much work to be done," Nadrum’s still booming voice rings out.

   The Druid's of Shadow begin to disperse and return to their business excited and renewed by Lyra’s words.

   Nadrum looks at Lyra, with an odd look on his face, "It seems thou only needed a crowd,” he says as he slowly lowers the platform.

   “I think you're giving me far too much credit, I only said a few words." Lyra says, bashfully.

   “Yet those few words have done all this” Xerxonus says, gesturing to the happy and exuberantly working Druid's in the nearby town. Some laugh and make jokes all while preparing food, or mending clothes. Some patiently work on enchantments and protective wards, while some farm the glowing mushrooms, or go off to spread the news.

   Lyra looks out, stunned. But a proud smile gently spreads across her face.

                                         -o-0-o-

   Nadrum and Xerxonus lead Lyra through the town, introducing her to the other Druids. Many of whom tell Lyra how much hope she has brought them, especially the older folk who lived through both godly wars. While all the words were kind and encouraging, they frightened her greatly. The weight of responsibility to right the wrongs of oppressive forces were being placed on her shoulders more firmly with every conversation she had.

   But she tried to remember she wasn’t alone, Xerxonus and Nadrum were with her every step of the way. Lyra was also getting to meet the lifeblood of the Druid’s of Shadow. There was even an elderly man named Kyreos that managed to make her laugh with a story about growing up in the early lands of Drenbor.

   Lyra came out of the camp feeling still anxious, but very inspired to begin the journey.

   The three made their way back around the lake towards the trees, but Nadrum stops at the bank, just by the edge of the water. There he takes a seat, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees. He says nothing, and takes long measured breaths.

   “Come, meditate with me Lyra,” Nadrum says finally.

Lyra obliges his request and sits. She finds it difficult to sit the way he is, so she decides to sit down on her knees next to him.

   “Meditation is an act of nothing,” Nadrum says, eyes closed “or a practice of clearing you mind from the stream of thoughts that attempt to invade it.” Nadrum takes a deep breath in through the nose and then back out through the mouth.

   “Focus on the thy moment in front of thee,” Nadrum says, with another deep breath in.

   Lyra sits and tries to close her eyes and let all her thoughts slip away. For the briefest of moments she was at peace, she was at a beautiful underground lake, with soft moss beneath her, and she was safe.

   Then doubt creeps in.

‘Was she really safe, were there people that wanted her dead? Even if not Nadrum and Xerxonus with their people, what about the gods and the people that worshiped them? Would they now want to hurt her?’

   Nadrum places a cold hand on her knee, catching her breath that had quickly started hyperventilating with her vivid imagination of horrible possibilities.

   “Calm Lyra. Calm” Nadrum says, gently.

Lyra’s lip quivers, as that anxiety courses through her. But something about how steady, how grounded Nadrum was helped her. Nadrum brought her back down to reality.

   “Try it again with thine eyes open this time,” Nadrum says, letting go of Lyra and sitting back.

   Lyra nods and looks out over the lake, where dancing magic mushroom spores dance, and reflect off the water in a multi-colored light show. Some drift into the lake and fade out, or are eaten by fish. While other spores drift upwards and mingle with the magical orbs of false sunlight, the natural light combines with the bioluminescent colors with the spores. On the opposite side of the lake, Lyra can see the Druids working on their various tasks. Within the Druid camp, she hears a bell begin to ring faintly. She begins to see them all gather for some sort of meal around a big pot, over a flame. They line up one by one, each of them getting a bowl of some sort of soup or stew. She can see their faces in great detail, despite the distance. All of them are respectful and grateful to the one who served them and the food they were given. From what Lyra has been told, she assumes that gratefulness comes from how much has been taken away from them already.

   Lyra couldn't say how long it took, but she noticed Nadrum's eyes on her again, watching her closely. “Am I doing something wrong again?" She asks with a nervous laugh.

   Nadrum smiles, “No, in fact I think that thou are doing well," he says, “Now take all the things you just saw and don't just see it, but feel it too. Feel it and connect to the ground around you.”

   Lyra takes a deep breath and nods, despite not fully understanding what Nadrum meant.

   She looks out over everything once again, the lake, the spores, the lights, the camp and its people. But she didn't feel anything.

   She takes her hand and digs them in the moss, and focuses on feeling everything as hard as she can. But nothing more comes to her as a few minutes pass.

   “Start simple child," Xerxonus says, from where he stands in the back, watching over them.

   Lyra nods again and feels the soft moss around her fingers. She can feel that it almost has the feeling of being damp, without actually making her fingers wet. She can feel the damp moisture coming from the gently moving lake, as little ripples come from the ravenous cave fish breaking the surface of the water. She feels the mushroom spores gently floating away from its host plant, hoping to find a new space to grow. She feels the power from the magical lights, perpetually floating and giving life to those that need it.

   She feels the sturdy tents and small structures of the Druid's, how they are small but give the Druid's a sense of safety and shelter and most importantly a sense of home.

   She feels the hope and excitement coursing through the Druid's, as they converse and laugh.

   She also feels the massive trees behind her, that shoot up and through the ceiling of the cavern into the world above.

   Lyra feels the cold hatred of the gods from Nadrum, and the sense of justice he hopes to achieve.

   She also senses Xerxonus, his essence of pure darkness and shadow. But within that darkness, there is a longing and melancholy. That one day he'll be reunited with someone he loves.

   ‘The one he loves... I have someone I love too, right?’ Lyra thinks to herself, but she couldn't remember. That memory is gone now. It had become so distant it was like remembering a dream within a dream.

   After a moment of dwelling on forgotten memories, Lyra notices a glow around her. A radiating pale golden glow.

   “What is happening?!" She exclaims, alarmed at the glow.

   “You are perfectly safe Lyra," Nadrum says, turning back towards her, “You have taken in the energy of the world around you and have formed a bond with the magic." 

   "What does that mean?” She asks, panicking slightly.

   "It means that magic comes from the world around you, and you have harnessed some of it” Xerxonus says, reassuringly.

   "Now what do I do with it?” Lyra says, standing up and trying to back away from the light, but to her dismay, the light is centered on herself.

   "Magic, in theory, can do anything. You just need to understand it and have enough power behind it,” Nadrum says, standing up as well.

   ‘Anything? But what exactly do I want?’ Lyra thinks to herself. She remembers there was something she desperately wanted, but she can't recall. Then she remembers something she said, the first time she spoke to Nadrum.

   She imagines big golden wings and focuses into the magical energy surrounding her.

   The light begins to mold and shift until they form the shape of two golden wings. They are small and semi-translucent, but they are there.

   Lyra smiles and laughs, something about them felt natural and wonderful, even if she can't put her finger on why.

   She flaps the wings a few times, before the magic gets away from her and fades away, and with it, so does Lyra’s smile.

   “Magic does have an appeal doesn't it?" Nadrum states, more than asks.

   “I want to fly,"  Lyra states, flatly.

Nadrum smiles, finding a drive in her for the first time.

   “Good, then we shall spend this day teaching thee to harness magic quickly and show thee what we know,” Xerxonus says, coming and putting a gentle hand on Lyra's small shoulder.

   "I-I would like that” She says, sheepishly.

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 6: A Horrifying Revelation

There she was, left alone once again. Now dreading the painfully long seconds as each one passes, and drifts closer and closer to darker thoughts in her mind. She laughs softly to herself. No where was safe for her, alone she was in torment. But around others she felt judged for every action she did or didn’t take. She couldn’t even feel at ease in the very skin she wore. She screams, a sudden anger rising within her and before she realizes it she grabs and smashes a plate onto the floor. The sound of shattering glass fills the room, then silence. As the Angel looks down, stunned at her own emotions. She was in shock, at first unable to comprehend why she did it. Perhaps she was just tired of crying and being angry was the only other solution she managed to find.

Despite her best efforts she slowly felt the tears well up inside her and she sinks to her knees with her hands over her face. She wanted it all to go away. In the midst of her tears, she comes to the realization that she only feels this way, as there is that nagging feeling of loss. She wonders if she filled her mind with new memories and those old ones would go away. Even if that idea did work, she was unsure if she was truly willing to forget the love that she felt.

She inhales sharply as she goes to push herself back to a standing position. The Angel has put her hand down on a piece of the shattered plate, and now has a jagged piece sticking into the base of her palm. She grits her teeth and continues to breathe sharply. The sensation wasn’t new to her, but something about the bright red blood mesmerized her. With a cry she pulls it out and a small gush of blood comes out with it. Staining her green dress with the splatter. She holds it tight to her chest, feeling a heartbeat within it, as well as beating within the throbbing pain in her palm. Despite the pain, there weren’t any tears. This pain was one thing she understood, one she knew the solution to fix it.

With her other hand she picks up a different jagged piece of glass and holds it up in front of her face. She sees her golden eyes staring back at her. She looks longingly at those eyes as a horrible solution crosses her mind. The blood she has spilled already could be just the beginning. She could make all of it go away.

She grips the glass tightly, drawing more blood and puts it to her opposite wrist. She breathes in and out rapidly, psyching herself up to do it. She closes her eyes and tips her head down in a final act of preparation. However, in the act her hair tumbles down around her, reminding her of the beautiful sensation of love and care that someone has given her in the past.

Was she willing to give up that chance of getting back that love, even if the odds were slim?

The Angel lets the glass fall from her hands. It hits the ground and thuds gently. The answer was no. No matter how bad it got, she couldn’t give up like that. Knowing there was someone out there that loves and cares for her.

She looks down at her hands, both of them now bloody as well as her dress. The thought of what Xerxonus and Nadrum would think crosses her mind, but it doesn’t bother her much. They seemed intent not to hurt her, and while she was still terrified, she was ready to discover who she really was.

                                        -o-0-o-

The Angel struggles over the last rung of ladder to get to Nadrum and Xerxonus’ chambers with her injured hands. She tried to rip the hem of her dress and wrap them in the cloth, but even without injured hands, she was unsure if she would be able to tear the fabric. But with a final pained heave she makes it to the top of the platform. She looks back at the trail of blood marks she had left behind and grimaces. She bashfully turns and walks up to the curtain of leaves that hang in the entrance way to Nadrum and Xerxonus’ rooms. She takes a deep breath, but stops. Was she to announce herself, or knock? Was she expected to just walk in? She was invited by Nadrum to come over when she was ready. But she did remember it was their personal space, and she didn’t want to be rude.

Fortunately her anxious thoughts were interrupted by Xerxonus calling out to her, “You may enter child.”

Nadrum smiles at the Angel and was about to say something in a form of greeting, but instead exclaims “Good heavens and hells, what has happened?” Nadrum and Xerxonus both rush over to her, noticing the blood.

   The Angel internally panics and finds herself at a loss of words once again.

   She is led over to sit at a table where Xerxonus pulls out bandages, while Nadrum starts grinding together a natural salve in a mortar and pestle.

   “Doth thou have words enough to explain?" Xerxonus asks softly.

   The Angel catches a nervous lump in her throat and managed to stammer "I just dropped a plate and cut myself on it.”

   Nadrum comes over and takes the wrist she nearly cut. He noticed the faintest beads of blood in a straight line in the base of her wrist.

Nadrum lingers on that line of blood for a long moment, before applying the salve he had made to her wounds. 

   He says nothing, but the Angel notices several emotions and thoughts ever so briefly float to the surface, then vanish beneath the surface of his ice cold mask. She saw anger and panic, but mainly confusion. As if Nadrum couldn't fathom the reason why anyone would do what she contemplated.

   "While the injuries are most unfortunate, it is good to notice that thou still had strength enough to make it to our room." Xerxonus says, shifting the mood.

   The Angel nods, partially distracted by the honey-like sensation of the salve that was being applied to her hands.

   After Nadrum finished, Xerxonus began firmly but gently wrapping the bandages. First around her wrists, then over the palm, then between a few fingers and then back over the palm and wrists. It gave her padding over her injuries and some stability on her wrists.

   “With the right training, there's a very likely chance that thou would be able to heal thine injuries." Nadrum says, setting down the salve “If thou have arrived here to have thine questions answered, come and make thyself comfortable" Nadrum says, leading them over to the sitting area not far from the table.

   “Perhaps a change from the defiled garment should be arranged." Xerxonus says, preparing a bit of magic before they could sit down. Only a few moments later the Angel saw a new simple white and gold dress form in front of her eyes. It also looked like it would be much closer to her size, unlike the green one she was already wearing.

   "Is this to thine liking?” Xerxonus asks.

The Angel nods and gives a small smile and then says “Yes, thank you," as if remembering she should speak.

    Xerxonus smiles in return and hands her the dress "Doth thou require aid?” He asks.

  She inspects the dress, it seemed simple enough. It's just a long robe, with a golden skirt piece and a sash that can be tied at her waist. "Perhaps just a little help with the lacing in the back, if that wouldn't be too much trouble?” She asks, indicating the crossing of two leather cords to cinch the back of the dress to her small shoulders.

   As she undresses, she notices Nadrum turn away. Only then does it dawn on her the nature of undressing and how at ease she felt with Xerxonus’ help, despite his eyes being able to wander over her body. But his eyes didn't wander, they were set on the task at hand. He helps the Angel pull it over her head, lace up the back for her. 

    To keep himself busy, Nadrum finds a piece of wet cloth and after the Angel had finished getting dressed, he wiped the small bits of remaining blood from her.

   “I would assume thou feel better now?" Nadrum says, gently wiping the last few specks off her cheek.

   The Angel looks down, still nervous to speak to him, despite the fact that her opinion of Nadrum had improved slightly. "Yes it does, thank you,” she says softly.

   A gentle pause falls between, but unlike the uncomfortable silence that have befallen the three before. This time, it was as if Nadrum and Xerxonus were giving the Angel space to breathe.

   The Angel looks up at them, her hands tightly clasping the sides of her dress for a brief moment before her bandages remind her of her injured hands. “What..." She trails off. “W-where-" she stutters.

   “Start simple” Xerxonus says, "More questions will reveal themselves as we converse.”

   "Come sit, there is no need for thou to focus on thine body when thou are thinking upon such serious matters," Nadrum says, graciously helping her to a chair.

   She sits and anxiously brushes her fingers through her hair to help soothe herself. ‘Did she really want to?’ She couldn't help but wonder. ‘Would knowing make it worse, or would it give me a purpose? Would it allow me to return to the one I love?’

   The Angel takes a deep breath in and a shaky breath out, "What is my name?” She says, starting simply.

   Nadrum and Xerxonus look at each other, caught off guard by the question.

   "I'm not sure if there's a direct answer to that question” Xerxonus says, softly.

   "I suppose thou would be allowed to take whatever name thou wish” Nadrum states, putting a hand up to his chin in contemplation.

   "But you both said that I was an Angel, did you not know theirs- or I suppose my name?” The Angel asks.

    "We knew of you, but not well enough to know thine name." Xerxonus says coolly.

    The Angel looks down and nods, feeling like her first question was a waste of time.

   “The girl of which thine presence is hosted, was named Lyra," Nadrum says, gently. “If thou wouldst like, thou could carry that mantle." 

   Something about that idea made the Angel uncomfortable, a person existing in the body before her. It made her skin crawl even more than it already was, but then again. This person did give her life up to help her people.

   "What was Lyra like?” The Angel stammers nervously.

   The Angel watches as Nadrum’s eyes get a little distant and a little misty when she says that. "She was a troubled girl,” he begins, "but so pure of heart, and so full of good. Yet the world did not want her to see any of it." He pauses, a real moment of pain and quiet anger washes over him. But then Nadrum forces those emotions back down inside him. “Lyra wanted everything from the world, not because she was greedy, but because she found joy in every single thing she was able to see. She wasn't able to see much as our world holds so much darkness, so she gave her life in the hope that thou would bring back the light." 

   The Angel finds tears well in her eyes, as she watches Nadrum fight back his own tears. She stands up and goes to his side, taking his long gruff hands in her small and bandaged ones.

   “She sounds like a wonderful person" The Angels says tearfully, “I would be honored to carry her name into the light.”

   Nadrum gives her a small sad smile, then gently wipes away The Angel’s tears. "Lyra renewed and reborn in thine light and thine image." 

   The Angel, now Lyra moves back to her chair and sits down. She felt a little better oddly, she still didn't know quite where her path was headed, but at least she had a name.

   “What else would you like to know Child?" Xerxonus asks, after a short moment. 

   Lyra had almost forgotten that there was much more to ask about, after the emotional display from simply asking about a name.

   “What is my purpose now that I'm here?" She asks, after a brief moment to think.

   This time Nadrum speaks right away, seemingly a more expected question. “Thou art to help guide our people with our aid," he says, gesturing to himself and Xerxonus, "and to help us release a powerful ally that can help deliver justice and vengeance to the corrupt gods.”

   "Thou will help us locate this information and help us break the seals that hold this ally away from us" Xerxonus says, his eyes intently staring at Lyra.

   "Who is this ally which can fight against the gods?” She asks.

   “Tethys, the goddess of demons" Xerxonus says, flatly. 

   After a small pause of stunned silence, Lyra nervously says “Who would've thought an Angel would help save a demon."

   “The only people who are under constant watch. by the gods are the angels. Therefore they never had to worry about someone's betrayal" Xerxonus says.

   “Until now" Nadrum states, with determined vigor in his voice.

   “But what have the gods done to deserve all this?" Lyra asks, beginning to feel overwhelmed by this rather intense conversation.

   “That is a long story, even for me" Xerxonus says, leaning back in his nest of a chair.

   Nadrum stands and begins softly pacing around the room as he speaks.

   "When the lands were new, created not by these heatheness gods, but by their predecessors, the two Ancient Ones. Their power is absolute and their word is law" he says, a zealous passion building inside Nadrum with each word. "They created the gods to watch over this world and the people they had created. For a time they did good under the Ancient Ones’ watchful eye, they even created my kind the elves. As well as many other creatures and things in nature. But then they grew in confidence and began to disregard the Ancient Ones’ teachings. They went off and created monstrous creatures of vile nature. Beings that would bring about war and danger. Even still this was still not where they went wrong, as they were always there to protect the people. It was only when the three gods created a being that they all loved so much they neglected the rest of the world's people. The monsters they created tore many of us asunder, and for the first time we knew loss, we knew death and we felt our mortality. The sheer helplessness of it all nearly drew us all to madness.” 

   When Nadrum was speaking normally, it was usually quiet and plain, if not downright dry and cold. But when he spoke with this zealous fire beneath him, there was an entrancing rhythm to every world and every step and hand motion that went with it. Lyra found herself enthralled and clinging to every word.

   “We came to the gods we loved and respected, humbly asking for their protection. They denied us, put us to the side and took our words as danger for their new favorite. Instead of helping us they created a being of flame and true power to protect their gentle toy” Nadrum says, pure venom in his voice.

   “They told us, to gain our own strength, that they would not fight all of our battles. So we did, we got stronger. Some of us unlocked the magic within nature within the world itself. But those that did not, or could not were still slaughtered. So we made walls and places of refuge. Some went to the mountains, some went to the plains and some made their walls beneath the surface. But even so, many still died. We went to the gods again, told them that our power was not enough, that we still needed their help to fight the monsters they created. Their anger showed their true colors, but with time and the right words we persuaded them. But we did not get what we expected. Instead they turned some of us into new creatures, minor gods they called them. Or for many others, dragons.” Nadrum looks over at Xerxonus and gestures lovingly towards his friend. 

   “Xerxonus is the first of two dragons. There was Exaltus, the dragon of Pure Light and Xerxonus, the dragon of Endless Shadow. Other dragons were created as well, of varying colors and abilities, but Xerxonus and Exaltus are the most powerful." 

   “But now that title solely belongs to I, as Exaltus only lazes around with the gods in their holy realm" Xerxonus says, distastefully.

   “Along with the dragons, there were the beings chosen to become minor gods, of insects, of time, of nature, of many others, as well as Tethys, our ally." 

   “The goddess of demons" Lyra responds quickly.

   “Indeed she is," Nadrum continues “While the gods created these new powerful beings, a dark force, so deadly and evil I dare not speak their name. That Dark being snuck in and killed the thing the gods cared about most. Their favorite creature, despite the fiery protector they had made. They declared war on the Dark One and brought along everyone. Even the Ancient Ones came to help, as the world was nearly torn asunder. We formed a unity once again with the gods and managed to strike down the Dark Enemy. Many lives were lost, and the world was changed. The world at the time was always nice, not too warm with pleasant winds and mild storms. After the war was over we experienced the land masses drifting apart, terrible rumblings in the ground and in the clouds above, as well as mountains exploding the tops off with lava pouring out. The oceans were a torrent of violent waves and all the animals who were up until this point, kind to people, became aggressive or scared of us. The world was drastically changed due to all the power the gods and the Ancient Ones used to defeat the Dark One. The Ancient Ones departed from this world and left it in the hands of the gods. They warned the gods to be careful with how much power they used, as doing so could risk setting the Dark One free.”

   "They didn't kill the Dark One?!” Lyra asks, shocked.

   "No being as evil as that can truly be killed, just weakened and locked away for a very long time,” Xerxonus explains.

   “The world was changed and so we're the gods. They rejoined us in the world and with our unity we created amazing civilizations and powerful nations. However, this change did not last” Nadrum says, sadly “The gods began to fight with the minor gods." 

   “I believe it started primarily between Miuryn and Tethys, after he decided she had gained too much power.” Xerxonus says, with a disgruntled look on his face.

   “She was able to turn people into demons, as part of her powers,” Nadrum explains, “Tethys could give a person a bit of her own powers to make them more powerful, which turned them into a demon. But if that person became more powerful on their own, then Tethys would grow in power as well. Miuryn saw it as a threat and took steps against her. Which in turn caused the minor gods and gods to take sides against each other. This also caused many of us mortals to be swept up in this and take sides as well.” Nadrum, at this point was practically shaking, as rage filled memories were spoken aloud once more.

   “The actions of the gods were reckless and petty, brought upon themselves by self importance and vanity. Because of this senseless war, an entire continent of people was completely wiped from the face of this world” Nadrum shouts, angrily.

   “Then the gods came out victorious,” Nadrum says, softly now “They took their victory and finally opened their eyes for the first time. The sacred lands of the Ancient Ones, laid to ruin. They decided to distance themselves and work through those who would worship them instead. They took their most devout as angels into Neearth’s holy realm, while Margot took the evil demons into hell.”

   Nadrum slumps back into his chair with a sigh, “That was ten years ago, and during that time I have led like minded people who demand the gods right the wrongs they committed, to free the minor gods and ease the loss of those they killed with the reckless abandonment for mortal lives.” Nadrum finishes, sitting forward with his hands clasped to ease the shaking.

   Lyra was stunned and even Xerxonus was looking at his friend with melancholic admiration.

   “I h-have very little words right now” Lyra begins, shakily, “but I will do what I can to learn and help you right these wrongs, with the new life and new perspective you have shown me” she finishes, gracefully.

   Nadrum nods, and gives another sad smile, but for once says nothing.

   “Is there anything else thou would wish to know about Child?” Xerxonus asks, sitting up as Nadrum sits back in his chair.

   “I would not say I have many more questions, other than wanting to know where we shall begin?” Lyra asks.

   Nadrum smiles fully and turns towards her.

Xerxonus stands and takes Lyra’s hand, “I will take thee to where we shall begin.”

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 5: This Given Form

The Angel stumbles through dark hallways, unable to tell if she was chasing someone or something was chasing her. But it felt as if heavy iron weights were on her feet, or she was sinking into the ground itself. She wanted to try to call out for help, but no sound came out. Shadowy figures come out from junctions in the hallway, reaching for her, trying to pull her back. Each time the Angel runs from them, even though she feels she should recognize them. Eventually she comes to a dead end, trapped as the shadows close in.

“Child. Wake from your slumber.” Xerxonus says, gently rousing the Angel from her nightmare.

The Angel sits up and looks around sadly, always hoping she would wake up to something different. She didn’t know what that difference would be anymore, but hoped for anything else.

“Art thou hungry?” Xerxonus asks, gesturing to an array of foods on a table nearby. They had put out fruits and nuts, most commonly eaten by elves who do not consume food from living creatures. But also meat, as they did not truly know what angels ate, if anything at all. Xerxonus studies her as she looks over at the food, taking in the smells as her body wakes.

In truth, the Angel didn’t quite know what he meant by hungry, but she knew what food was. However, none of the options looked overly familiar. The idea of it being poisoned or a trap crosses her mind, but she tries to dismiss it. She doesn’t know why they would go through all the effort of obtaining her, only to poison her not long after. She stops her inspection of the food and looks out the open round window frame in her canopy dome. Not that it did anything to help her know what time it was, but it was only a short way through the day when she had laid down to rest. But that rest had felt somehow longer. She debates asking Xerxonus, but stops herself and looks down at the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, her nervousness and fears were too overwhelming.

Xerxonus, who was already carefully inspecting her. Takes all of this in with his ancient insight and wisdom says simply, “You’ve been asleep for quite awhile Child.”

She looks up at him, embarrassed at how obviously he had read her thoughts without even entering her mind. She anxiously kneads the fabric of her dress and tries to bring herself to ask him. “H-how long have I b-been gone?” She eventually manages to squeak out.

Xerxonus tilts his head in surprise, not expecting her to speak yet. “Thou phrase thine question as if thou hath not been here all along.” He says, with a smile. “But thou hath been sleeping for a fortnight, hence why I offered food for thee.”

‘Two weeks?!’ the Angel shouts in her mind. Then the Angel immediately thinks how angry the Druid must be. Surely she had ruined all his plans.

“We were all quite worried about you, but you do seem all the better for it.” Xerxonus states plainly and leans back in his chair.

The Angel looks down at herself, her pale skin now has a small tint of color. Her arms are weak, but it doesn't hurt to lift them anymore. Her lifting her arms up suddenly causes her long rose gold hair to fall past her shoulders and stop just past her chest. She puts her hands up to her face, trying to get an idea of what it must look like. She could feel her face had rounded cheeks, but a slightly pointed chin. Her nose was slightly upturned and small, but her eyes were large and seemed to sink into the eye sockets.

Xerxonus chuckles softly, before standing. “Thou should eat and fill thine stomach and I shall fetch a mirror so you may see thine self.” He says, and quietly walks out of the room.

      Xerxonus pushes aside the curtain of leaves and exits the chamber, but as he does he smiles. He notices the Angel tentatively start poking at the food. He walks only a short distance around to the other side of the tree house platform and up the ladder to his and Nadrum's rooms. Xerxonus finds Nadrum resting in his usual meditative trance that many elves participated in instead of sleep. Xerxonus enters quietly, not disturbing his friend. Despite being told to rouse him as soon as the Angel woke up. Xerxonus sits in his usual chair, a big round one made of woven wicker strands and carved wood to hold it upright. Then inside the bowl-like concave portion of the chair sits a number of soft pillows and red fur blankets for him to lounge in. After Xerxonus is nice and comfortable he takes his finger and scrapes his nail across the wood. While the sound wasn't loud, Nadrum immediately woke up. 

      “She has risen from her slumber?" Nadrum immediately asks.

      “Indeed." He says, spiraling a hand in front of himself lazily, forming a magic bond with each movement. “She wakes and eats, as well as speaks." He says, giving his friend a look.

      Nadrum returns that look with a noticeable moment of surprise that crosses his usually stoic face, “Then that slumber doth seem worth the wait. I shall hurry to her post haste." 

       "Hold thine passionate nature, friend." Xerxonus says, holding up his other hand to Nadrum. “Give the Child a moment of quiet and rest before you bring the storm."

      “Hast she not slept enough?" Nadrum asks, annoyed.

      “I promise thee friend, thou shall find just as much success in pushing this one, as you would forcing a boulder up a hill.” Xerxonus says, putting a kind hand in Nadrum's. “Teach her that same passion you brought to all these people, good friend." 

      Nadrum sighs and nods, as Xerxonus finishes his lazy magic spell and in front of him sits a simple round mirror, that's just a bit bigger than a dinner plate.

      The Angel was quite perplexed at the array of foods presented to her as well as the flavors. None of them were overly welcoming to her, but she didn't find any of them distasteful either. The food given to her, while common to most, wasn't even something she knew the names of. She ate it all, quickly understanding what Xerxonus meant by hungry.

      Then the Angel found herself left to her own devices. This was something she thought would be a welcome change of pace, from the ever present watch of either Nadrum or Xerxonus. But the Angel found this quiet was even more uncomfortable, as she only had her thoughts to accompany her. The constant spiral of searching for something that wasn't there, threatened to drive her to tears in a constant spiral as she sat there at the table, looking up and the still leaves and gently shifting magical lights.

      Slowly a strand of hair slips off of her shoulder and glides down her arm, snapping the Angel out of the spiral. Something about that sensation was so familiar to Her that she sits up and takes her fingers and tentatively brushed them through her own hair. Her breath catches in her throat as she fights back a pained noise. Without a doubt in her mind there was someone who did this for her, someone she loved and now someone she lost. The Angel couldn't take it, she falls onto the table, her arms underneath her. She cries because she can't even remember who this person was, or how to see them again.

      “Why doth thou cry Angelic one?" Nadrum's voice calls, as he steps through the entrance way, followed by Xerxonus. 

      She sits up frightened and embarrassed, and quickly wipes away her tears. She puts her hands in her lap and sits up straight, but doesn't utter a word in response.

      Nadrum looks at her for a moment, the Angel sees an attempt at a kind expression appear on his face. “Would you like to see?” He asks, holding the mirror out to her, but at an angle that does not give her a glimpse of anything but the ceiling.

      The Angel looks at him nervously, assuming that he'll only accept a verbal response. However, she still chooses to only nod. But to her surprise he takes a few steps closer and holds up the mirror for her.

      She sees her own face staring back at her. The Angel can see smooth skin and a round face but with her jaw coming to a soft point, with bright golden eyes that always seem to reflect the light. The eyes are framed by her thin but straight brows that taper at the end. The Angel stands and backs up slightly, giving herself a better view of her shiny and practically magical looking rose gold locks that tumble down in voluminous waves to her mid back. She was thin, far too thin for anyone to appear healthy, despite it being partially hidden under her long green gown. She was conventionally beautiful, but she can't help but frown in distaste, as she steps right up to the mirror. Her eyes shine gold, giving off their own light, but beneath that light rest dark circles that remind her of the horrors she had seen already. She practically presses her slightly button shaped nose to their mirror, seeing that there are faint scar lines of intricate detail around her eyes and thin lips. Unless you were up close you would never see them, but they were there. She frowns again, hating who she sees. It was someone weak, small and frail, but it was her. 

     She puts her hands up to her face and neck as Nadrum says, “those will fade in time, Angelic one."

      She jumps slightly, almost forgetting that he was the one holding the mirror. 

      “The scars you mean?" She asks, after a moment of hesitation.

      Nadrum nods and gently places the mirror down on the table. “The being this body belonged to before you needed to be made ready for you to inhabit. She, like many others, gave their lives for you." 

       "Why, why am I so deserving of this?” She says, taking a step back from Nadrum. 

       “In all honesty, you're not." He says, closing his eyes in concentration for a moment before Nadrum's eyes look directly into Her. “But we had no choice.” He pauses, “the gods of this world threaten our way of life and tear loved ones and families from us." This was the first time the Angel believed he spoke with truth and conviction. She gasps in surprise as his face contorts into a pained look of passionate anger. 

      “This world has been used by the gods as a battleground for too long. Their jealousy for one another, hath only brought irresponsibility and caused ruin with those who only sought to aid the gods. With each passing battle, our world was burned and scarred.” He says, ramping to a near shout, but then he pauses and turns away.

      Tears from in his eyes as he continues in a softer tone, “My home, my family, my people have all nearly been wiped off the face of this world, lost and crumbling into the seas. An unfathomable amount is dead to their incompetence." Nadrum falls to a knee, shaking slightly.

     The Angel watched stunned, perhaps she had misjudged this man.

     Xerxonus comes up to Nadrum and puts a hand on his back, "There there friend, let us not fall to tears now, there is still much more to explain.”

      "You are right, I have lost myself.” Nadrum says straightening up. “But I feel it only fair to ask thee Angel. Doth thou have anything you must know now?" 

      The Angel is stunned by the emotion that had come from such a stoic man and then such an open question, she didn't know what to ask. 

      She sits back at the table, with her legs to the side. Nadrum slides over and puts his arm on the table, taking one her hands gently in his own. “Perhaps, we will give you some time?” He says, with a slight smile. 

     She nods and looks at him in his eyes.

“Come to our tree, just around the way when thou art ready." He says, straightening up once more.

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 4: Fighting Fears

"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..."

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 3: Unwanted Reality

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.

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 2: Horrified Beyond Words

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.

[purplebot-stories]

Chapter 1: The Darkest Ritual

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.

[purplebot-stories]

Act 1: Wings

“The world was falling, soaring past me as if the world was being sucked into a black hole. Everything was wrong, everything I knew was being torn apart. I was being torn apart. The last thing I saw was a hand outstretched, trying to save me from the darkness that was rapidly claiming me. Their wings miss their mark, their eyes blink away a contorted look of anguish, and their hand misses mine. But that was a lifetime ago.”