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LAD 1

I’ve been working on this for a long time. It is naive, it is searching, and I am terrified to release it. Ariel has finally given e the courage to set it free. Here is the real Legends of the Ancient Dead in its entirety.

Legends of the Ancient Dead: Campionne and the Forces of Light

Once, the world of Ell shone as the brightest jewel in the cosmos. It had fostered one of the most advanced planet-wide civilizations ever achieved, and did so with one of the rarest forms of power, pure Magic. The men and women capable of harnessing the various energies and powers of the arcane arts had gradually turned their world into a wondrous paradise of enlightenment and grand adventure.

Magic had been discovered millennia before by the unearthly and coldly sensual women of Soltern known as the Oracles of Twisted Desires. They wielded magic, like a force of nature, in order to please their barbaric masters, the Pya. This depraved combination of sword and sorcery proved undefeatable, and the hordes of the Pyan, Maldor the Damned, came to rule the world of Ell.

As time passed, the rulers of Ell grew soft and lazy from the tedium of absolute power. One High Priestess of Soltern had even taken to keeping a handmaiden at her side at all times. This maiden witnessed the rites and ceremonies her mistress performed on a daily basis. Over the years, every spell and conjuration became burned into her memory. Day after day, the young slave waited, while for her eventual escape. When freedom finally came, the secrets of Magic slipped out into the world.

For many centuries, the Pya sought to destroy any trace of Magic growing outside of their control, but in the end, the laws of Magic became widespread knowledge among the people of Ell. After many long and painful struggles, the once all-powerful Pyan Empire splintered into oblivion.

Among the rubble and ashes of the Pyan Empire, a much kinder society began to flourish among the people of Ell. The almost limitless bounties wrought by Magic slowly transformed Ell from a cage of harsh cruelty into a wondrous, shining cathedral of joy and enlightenment.

Eventually, a mighty cabal of immortal Wizards known as the Ancient Ten became godlike beings who learned to harness almost all of the mystical energies of the universe. They used their power to build an advanced civilization. Ell became a fairylike kingdom of spiritual enlightenment and peace, which lasted for over ten thousand years.

No one knows exactly when or why the Fall began. Dark places started to appear amidst the bright lights of the cities. Tales of strange sights and sounds became common topics of conversation among polite society. Rumors circulated of terrible creatures from ancient mythology taking on solid form and stalking the periphery of civilization.

Then the idyllic crystalline wilderness capping the North of Ell became a savage wasteland full of prehistoric beasts. Public officials began to decry the Ancient Ten. They bemoaned the impossible had come to pass, and for some reason the Ancient Ten were leading the course of civilization down a dark and terrible path. By the time human sacrifices began to take place in the city of Subell, the human race turned on the Ten and began to fight back.

What had begun as an invasion of Subell soon became all out global war. The Ancient Ten continued to turn on mankind and released an unending series of unimaginable nightmares whose purpose could only be to destroy paradise and enslave the human race. When this failed, the Ten focused their almost limitless power on the destruction of humanity itself.

Every great civilization rests on some ephemeral thread of gossamer structure it relies on to continue and grow. In this case, it was the almost limitless power of Magic supplied by the Ancient Ten. When this power turned against humankind, civilization quickly melted away. The nightmarish high tech battlefields marking the beginning of the war gave way to the age-old gruesome specter of minor Magic and hand-to-hand combat.

Those of Ell who survived the initial onslaught united and marshaled over two hundred million soldiers to drive back the forces of darkness. In the end nine of the Ten had been defeated, but at an immeasurable cost to humanity. No one knew exactly how many had survived the holocaust, but it was just a fragment of population before the war. Those left scratched out a meager existence in scattered pockets throughout the world, while living amongst the ruins of a once proud civilization.

The remainder of the once innumerable Forces of Light marshaled together for one last great crusade. Campionne, the greatest warrior to fight for the Forces of Light, led them toward the subterranean city of Subell in order to defeat Saracon, the last of the Ancient Ten.

They numbered one hundred thousand. Twenty years of fighting every form of Magic and insanity imaginable had chiseled away anything in their collective soul not of the moment, or important to the cause.

Those in front, atop a wooded ridge, stared down into the shadowy depths of the nameless valley. Deep within this empty abyss death smiled back. Behind them, in all directions for over three hundred leagues, hoof-trodden mud was all of what remained a mystic empire, which had created, nurtured, and then destroyed the world.

Campionne, Knight of Air, Chief of the Windriders, Triumverant of Ellenridge, and General to what remained of the Forces of Light, looked out at the vast sea of troops and horses covering the surrounding hills. His mystic, white armor shone brightly in the morning sun. He looked over at Blight, last of the great Air Wizards. Blight was a name given to him by his enemies and now used affectionately by his own troops. Blight, whose tattered saffron robes fluttered in the morning breeze, held out a tall staff,. The wizard’s pet eagle, Aubur, who sat on his shoulder, stretched her wings and looked down into the valley.

“You ready, old friend?” Campionne asked.

Blight’s neck bones cracked when he swiveled his neck to loosen it up. Aubur rustled on the leather perch strapped to Blight’s shoulder. The Air Wizard let out a breath which puffed his cheeks. He looked at the surrounding troops and rubbed a hand over his face. Every eye stared back at them. He turned to Campionne and nodded.

Campionne raised his lightning sword towards the heavens and blue fire flashed down to cover him in a bright aura of mystic protection. The clear, deep tones of a lone battle horn broke the stillness of the barren wasteland. In reply, the muffled thunder of countless hooves slowly twisted their way down the rocky slopes to the valley below.

The lead riders had to lean back in their saddles to compensate for the steep slope of the valley walls. A few hundred meters into the descent, a black fog began to rise from the ground. Demon-like images swirled within its mists. Those unfortunate enough to inhale its intoxicating fumes laughed wildly as if from some unspoken joke; and then began to scream incoherently as the monsters of Illusion swam into their minds and entrapped them in an endless nightmare. Blazing sunlight burst from the red staffs of the Fire Magicians and the snarling darkness screamed as the divine light drove it from the world of mortal man.

They had been through this insanity many times before. Campionne watched as his men slew their afflicted comrades before the Magic induced madness drove them into a murderous rage and they became bent on destroying everything in sight.

An old cook was waving an ax at some imaginary nightmare and screaming at the wind. A young warrior raised a sword and rode towards the afflicted chef. Campionne turned his mount and rushed the young man, knocking the warrior from his saddle.

Campionne never missed a beat. He rode up to the old man and leapt off his mount. The cook turned in his direction, swinging the ax with deadly accuracy. Campionne ducked and ran his sword through the old man’s chest. The cook fell, clutching at his chest. Blight, Campionne’s constant shadow, turned as the young warrior rode up behind the Air Knight. Campionne shut the old man’s wide staring eyes. The young warrior dismounted. Blight put his hand on the young man’s shoulders. “You wouldn’t have stood a chance,” he explained.

Blight stood there for a few more moments and then said, “Come on, Camp. We’ve got to go.”

Carefully winding his way around the fallen bodies, Campionne rejoined the march,

Campionne looked at the landscape ahead. The rocky slopes were giving way to forest vegetation. Blight raised his hand. Campionne grimaced and signaled the march to a halt. He gripped the hilt of his sword a little tighter and pulled up on his reins.

Campionne looked around and noticed all the Gifted, those who had a talent for Magic, were sitting stiff in their saddles, and staring into the forest ahead.

“What is it, Blight?” Campionne asked.

“The forest. It’s speaking to us.”

Campionne squinted at the trees ahead, “What’s it saying?”

“It’s telling us to turn around and go back. It says if we do not, it will destroy us.”

“What do you think?” the Air Knight asked the Wizard.

Blight tipped his staff forward. “I think we’re out of food and water. I think we really don’t have any choice. I think we’d better stop standing around and get this over with.”

Campionne raised his hand, and the war horn sounded once again. The vast army encircling the forest began to move inward. Campionne’s sword began to crackle with blue fire. It was a sign somewhere nearby powerful Magical forces were at work.

Suddenly, a vine ripped from the ground, and wrapped itself around the back hoof of a Chestnut roan. The robed rider turned in her saddle, cupping her left hand as the horse whinnied in protest. The vine began to slither up the horse’s flank. Taking on a yellowish translucent hue, the rider’s hand glowed and the vine halted. Another frightened tug from the horse and the animated vegetation shattered into a mist of tiny fragments.

A tree limb lashed out at Campionne. One sweep of his razor sharp blade quickly dispatched the thorny branch. The wisest thing would have been to stop and clear out everything living between them and the bottom. Unfortunately, the last of the food was gone, and the water would soon follow. Their only hope lay in resolve of mind and swiftness of action

The ground exploded in a shower of dirt and rocks when a bright green column erupted a few meters away from Campionne. It lashed out cord-like tendrils toward the soldiers. Something whirled past Campionne’s helmet. The resounding clang of metal on metal sounded when writhing tendrils emitted small flying razors, which became the target of countless swords, shields, and staffs. One of the Wizards raised his wand, and a small tornado uprooted the living booby trap.

A man on his right screamed out. Campionne looked over to see a soldier quickly swallowed alive by a sea of ants. The swarms of creatures swarming into his mouth cut short his screams. The ground under his mount gave way and both disappeared from view. The Windrider grimaced and fleetingly remembered the soldier when the fallen comrade had been a boy of fifteen. Campionne had found him shivering in the remains of an old barn. The rest of the soldier’s family had been slaughtered by some nightmare the boy had never spoken of. It had been five years ago.

“Camp,” Blight shouted. “We’re never going to survive this!”

Campionne slashed another attacking branch. “I’m open to suggestion, Blight!”

Blight stopped his horse, and Campionne did the same. The Windrider signaled his herald, and the others brought their mounts to rest as man and beast paused from the battle. Blight rubbed what remained of his left ear while surveying the surroundings. He looked into Campionne’s eyes, dug around in an old leather pouch, and produced a small crystal ball. Blight’s unfocused gaze was a sign to Campionne the wizard was no longer entirely in this world. After a few minutes, Blight looked up at Campionne and said, “Every beast has a heart. This forest is no different.”

“Which way?”

Blight pointed to deep within the forest. “There.”

Campionne raised his sword and lightning traced a jagged line from its tip into the heavens. The war horn sounded again and they began to charge forward. The forest became a living nightmare, an organism bent on their complete destruction. The air was full of the sounds of combat as man and beast charged into the macabre spectacle of botanical nightmares.

Blight rode up beside Campionne. Aubur flew beside the mage. Blight held the staff of a willow tree in his upraised right hand. The eagle screeched. Great gusts of wind accompanied the lightning flashing from Campionne’s sword as the riders gained an even greater speed.

It rose from the ground so suddenly there was no time to stop. Blight swerved to the left so quickly his mount went down in a horrendous spill, and he went bouncing along until rider and horse ended up in a tangled heap together. The eagle cried out and dipped to the right.

It was as if the forest itself had reared up to face Campionne. It cast angry eyes of swarming insects, and opened a dark, gapping maw, which would have swallowed twenty men at once. Campionne rode into the jaws of whatever cruel spirit now possessing this once peaceful land.

The inside of the beast was a suffocating, crushing throat full of needle-sharp thorns and brambles. Campionne could hear the screams of his mount, feel its pain wracked body thrash, and twist against the cruel torment it suffered as they slid further and further down the dark, spine-filled passage.

Another man would have been torn to bits in moments, but Campionne wore the mystic Armor of Air, one of the few remaining relics still holding special power, bound for all time to the Source. The horse was not so fortunate. Its struggle had ceased and it whimpered softly into his ear.

He struggled with all his might until he had worked his sword between him and the valiant steed. In a moment, the horse’s pain ended, and Campionne relaxed, which caused him to slip deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast.

His feet hit something viscous, and he began to struggle in earnest as he slid into a pool of cloying, syrupy liquid. There was no light at all. Lightning flashed from his sword and he could feel its crackling energy all around him, but the opaque digestive juices of the beast kept him in total darkness. The liquid dissipated the electric charge making the lightning sword useless against the forest demon.

The air against his skin was hot and moist from the heat of the armor, and a burning sensation worked its way through his lungs as the lack of oxygen started to take its toll. He began to swing his sword wildly in all directions. It caught on something, and he heaved with all his might. The sword tore through the beast’s stomach lining. Ooze, pouring out through the opening, carried him along with it.

He felt a massive pounding above his head. The lightning sword flew upward, with all the strength he could muster, towards what he hoped was the beast’s heart. He struck over and over again. Spots of light danced around his eyes as bright pain shot its way into his brain.

Campionne looked up quickly, suddenly panicked, but too exhausted to move. The old Wizard was staring down at him.

“Blight,” the knight heaved.

Aubur, perched on the leather pad the Wizard wore, screeched at the warrior.

“You’ll live,” the Wizard replied wryly. Aubur turned her head and looked at Campionne with his right eye. When the bird shut its eye, Campionne had the distinct impression Aubur was winking at him. Blight helped Campionne to a sitting position. Someone brought the Air Knight a battered tin cup. He lowered his head, raised his faceplate, and took a sip of lukewarm water.

Blight nodded toward the cup. “That’s about the last of it,” he remarked. Campionne handed the cup back to the Wizard and slowly rose to his feet. He stomped and shook his left foot. The mystic armor was a little tight around the left knee, and his lower leg tended to go to sleep if it remained in one position too long. A small price to pay for the countless times it had saved his life.

The forest had grown quiet, since the destruction of the forest. Campionne looked about at the troops. Men and women were resting on the ground. Water Wizards were healing the troops as best they could. The low murmur of quiet conversations drifted about as friends tried to console each other and bolster confidence.

“Sorry about Clyver,” Blight said.

“Damn good horse,” Campionne replied. At least some of the men would eat tonight. That is, if any men were left by nightfall.

“How many?” asked Campionne.

“A few thousand gone. Could be worse.” Blight replied.

Screeching howls filled his ears. Lizards the size of horses came flying up from the floor of the valley on leathery wings. An acrid smell burned his nostrils when the lizards dived at the troops while spewing a rain of acid on the men and women in the front ranks. The stricken warriors screamed and thrashed about as they melted into the ground.

#LAD 1

i just saw slow mo gavin on "science of stupid" trying to hit a golf ball

#im crying with laughter oh man #lad 1 #gavin free #slow mo guys #me