"You know it's not an authentice Rubber Ducky report/comment if there aren't broken images"
-Persian-POW
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| Chapter 2 | | | Author: | | | IP: | ip68-99-XXXX | | Date: | 08/02/03 05:08 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 2, Max: 9, Min: 8
Lifetime Rating for Keanu_Reaver: 7.9200 |   | Collapse
Zacharim's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he tried to focus in on his brother, though unable to distinguish any details of his brothers physique. Jarius maintained his slow, entrancing walk towards his little brother, until finally he stopped, as if stunned, and stared directly at Zacharim. Without warning, Jarius' body crouched ever so slightly and, like a lion going for it's kill, dashed straight at his perplexed brother.
Zacharim choked as his eyes widened, not knowing at all how to react to this situation. Going on fear alone, he let out a shrill yelp and turned tail to run. But no sooner had he whipped his body around to flee then a tree root sticking out of the ground snagged his foot, causing him to violently crash to the ground, face smashing into the leaves with a muffled thud.
His fingers squeezed the soft green leaves and verdant grass as he struggled to fight off the haziness clouding his mind from the fall. He drunkenly rolled over onto his back as his brother stalked behind. His leg hairs stood on end as he felt his brothers presence no more than a few meters from his position. Realizing he had to act quick, he thrust his right hand down to his left hip only to find the soft green cloth of his robe.
I don't have a sword with me! Zacharim thought, realizing the magnitude of the mistake he just made shown clearly as the cold steel of his brothers sword made itself visible in the left corner of his eye. Quickly sitting up, he started scooting away from his brother, looking in vain for anything that resembled a weapon. But once again, the forest floor decieved him as his foot slipped on the dew covered grass, causing him to land roughly on his back. The situation was hopeless, and Zacharim knew it; he clasped his eyes tight, ready to accept the sharp edge of his brother's sword.
"Hey! Stop fooling around! We need to go to the chief's hut!" Jarius said, offering a much appreciated hand to Zacharim.
Zacharim's heart finally began to slow as he gladly grasped his brothers hand and pulled himself up. He looked his brother over intently, but smiled when he saw that familiar warm glow of life in Jarius' eyes. "Oh...I thought..." he started, brushing the leaves and twigs off of his robe.
"Thought what?"
"Oh...nevermind...I'm just very nervous, that's all. But why do we need to go to the chief's hut?" "Some stranger walked in, looked to be human, said he was going to the chief's hut and had urgent news for the chief. Thought it might be a good idea to see what's going on."
"I don't know...I dont feel comfortable without a weapon..."
"Ugh! We don't exactly have all the time in the world! Look, if you're that uncomfortable, you can take my bow, but we gotta go already!"
Jarius stubbornly handed over his bow and his quiver of arrows strapped to his back, then grabbed Zacharim by the arm and hastily started walking to the chief's house. Zacharim stumbled slightly, having to strap the quivers to his back, hold the bow, and try to keep up with his older brothers pace all at the same time. But after just a few steps, he was able to situate the weapons on his body and re-orient himself. He spitefully yanked his arm from his older brother's grip and continued the short walk. Jarius smiled at his younger brother (though Zacharim didn't take notice) before turning his head back to the path and donning the serious expression that usually graced his face.
After just a few more meters, the two were finally able to see the giant willow that served as both the chief's house and town hall. The two brothers anxiously darted over towards the willow and crouched down, looking for a suitable place to climb up to the window outside the meeting room without being noticed.
After a moments contemplation, they silently agreed upon their destination. They swiftly and gracefully hopped up on the first, then the second step of the willow before jumping up and grabbing a limb that stretched around the house. Keeping crouched, they stealthily slithered across that limb before dropping down to a rather thick limb that served as part of the foundation for the tree house, barely an Elves height above the ground. After a few slippery and difficult paces, they inched up to the meeting room window and gazed in.
Immediatelly they noticed Chief Byrtum was flustered. His quick and jerky arm movements and back pedaling also told them of a heated argument between the two. The stranger, on the other hand, was very calm and cool having very fluid and relaxed movements. He wore an all black suit with ruffled, lacy sleeves accompanied by a dark purple cape and had his arms folded across his chest. His hair was black and hung down to his shoulders which made it nearly impossible to tell exactly what race he was (though he was clearly either Elf or Human). And he was a fairly bulky person, atleast for Night Elf standards.
The two appeared to be in a hypnotic dance together. The stranger matched Byrtums back-pedaling in near perfect harmony with calm, yet threatening steps of his own. It became very clear that this stranger was not welcome but it was just as clear that Byrtum was powerless to stop him. Byrtum continued his anxious pacing backwards, still arguing with the stranger, before he finally hit the wall of the meeting room. The stranger came to a stop, arms still folded calmly in front of him, only mere inches from Byrtum's face. The stranger let his arms drop, an easily detectable look of fear crossed the eyes of Byrtum as he stared deeply into the soul of the stranger.
Suddenly, in one quick movement, a dagger appeared in the hand of the stranger and sliced through Byrtum's tender throat as if it were nothing more than warm butter, causing the two brothers watching to let out a shrill cry. As Byrtum's life-blood spilled from the mortal wound across his throat, an intense fire caught flame in Jarius' heart. The infuriated Night Elf drew his sword and stood up, his teeth clenched tight as he stared with deep animosity at the stranger. Zacharim feared the worst, he knew that a sword was no use here, so he quickly locked his arms around Jarius and held on tight. Jarius struggled against his brothers arms, the fire in his eyes glowing a bright red, wanting nothing more then to impale the stranger on his blade. But soon his terrible grief overcame his anger, and the fire inside his soul died down, leaving him weak and hollow. He slumped to the ground, still in his brothers arms, unable to hold his own body up. Zacharim could only stare on in horror, with his body shaking ever so slightly at the site of Byrtum slumped on the floor.
The stranger knelt down cleaned the dagger on Byrtum's robe, then sheathed it. He then stood up and stared pridefully at his work for a very short second before his head whipped around towards the window, looking straight at the two horrified brothers. The stranger's deep red eyes locked on to the boys, and it became very apparent that he was neither Human nor Elf. With cat-like agility and speed, he darted towards the window, causing the startled brothers to loose their balance and tumble from the security of the limb on to the now dead forest floor. Dead leaves and grass, already a dark yellow, crunched under their weight as the two brothers crashed in a heap at the base of the lifeless willow.
Clumsily making it back to their feet and re-orienting themselves, they looked around only to see the entire city had surrounded them with countless weapons drawn. Their faces were twisted and contorted, with what could only be described as wicked and demonic smiles painting their faces. Most had already raided the weapons willow and armed themselves with whatever they could find, but others armed themselves with shovels, hoe's, and even broken bottles which could have at one point contained various healing brews. Huge black circles under their eyes--a stark contrast to their even more than usual pale bodies--twitched as they mumbled something inaudible and incoherent, yet full of hatred and clearly directed at the two boys.
Jarius, on instinct, pulled his sword from its sheath and assumed a defensive posture while soberly backing away, but Zacharim, motivated by intense fear, was already frantically trying to find any means of escape. The towns folk, now completly void of any signs of life, began to slowly tighten the circle around the brothers.
Just when all seemed lost, an icy cold wind came upon Zacharim. His body became rigid as this wind seeped through his pores and into the very fabric of his soul. His vision became narrow and foggy and his limbs began to numb as the wind circulated through every part of Zacharim, leaving the boy struggling to keep hold of even the slightest conscious thought. Layer upon layer of haze folded over his eyes, and the once easily distinguishable towns folk became a blend with the trees as he tried in vane to hold on to his sight.
In mere seconds he could no longer feel his body, no words could escape his mouth, and he had no control over even the slightest of movements. The distant echo of his brothers voice was impossible to interpret, like the sound of an invading armies trumpet bellows in the distance, and even that began fading. After what seemed like endless hours of torture, he lost all feeling of his senses; his hearing fading to whispers of malice inside his own head, his eyesight diminishing to show nothing but endless black, his body having gone completly numb, not even the once wonderful smell of the forest could be taken in and enjoyed. Even his very thoughts were garbled and misconstrued, like that of an infant. It was as if his soul was being raped and cast aside by some malevolent force, leaving nothing but desolation in its wake.
Suddenly, a great flash of light appeared before his eyes. His breath was forced out of his lungs as his pupils, fully dialated, struggled to take in the beautiful images of the forest that had finally come back to him. Chills went up and down every inch of his body before a powerful hot flash came over him, causing his pale skin to blush a bright red and sweat perfusely as the rest of his senses returned. He had never been so happy to hear silence in his life!
"Wha..." Zacharim choked out, his throat burning from a lack of moisture.
"Zach! I thought you would never wake up!" Jarius said, placing a moist piece of torn cloth over Zacharim's forehead.
Zacharim's eyes blinked in rapid succession as his mind processed where the garbled voice came from. Enduring the burning fire coming from his neck and shoulder muscles, he slowly turned his head towards the voice, only to see his older brother sitting down in front of him. After a few seconds (though they seemed like hours) Zacharim was finally able to discern his and his brothers location, atop a very tall pine tree away from the town.
"Wha...what happened...?" Zacharim's voice was noticably scratchy and hoarse from the terrible fire, burning in his throat.
"The town surrounded us, and suddenly you went pale. Before I knew it, you were lying down on your back in a stupor and I was carrying you out of the town. We've been atop this tree since." "Water..."
Jarius quickly pulled out a leaf sack full of water from under his robes and tipped it up towards Zacharim's mouth, allowing the liquid to pour freely. The cold, refreshing liquid soothed the Night Elf's throat as it made its journey through Zacharim's distraught body. Feeling strength returning to him, Zacharim snatched the leaf sack from Jarius' hands and began guzzling the cool water as if his life depended on it.
As the water refreshed his body, so too did it refresh his senses. As a cool wisp of night wind tickled the hairs on his body, he heard the sounds of sharp crackling in his ears, it was like music yet a terrible omen just the same. Zacharim turned his head, his muscles now fully rejuvenated, towards the crackling only to see a great fire consuming both the forest and the dark night sky all at once. Though he was far from the fire, Zacharim knew what was burning, his home town of Padorim. The acrid smell overpowered him, and Zacharim grimaced as he turned his head back towards Jarius.
"They destroyed it...Padorim...it's all gone..." Jarius said, a slight crack of sorrow in his voice.
"Everything..." salty tears began streaming down Zacharim's his face.
"It has been three days since then, we were lucky to escape with our lives...thankfully they do not know how to climb," Jarius tried, unsuccessfully, to stiffle his emotions.
"Did anyone else make it out...? And who are 'they'?" Zacharim's hands began trailing his face, wiping away his tears.
"'They' are what the towns folk were turned into...and yes...one other did escape..."
"I did," the voice was comfortingly familiar, Zacharim recognized it immediatly whipped his head around to see Chief Byrtum.
"I thought you were dead!" Zacharim said, forgetting for a second of the destruction of his home town.
"To be a three-hundred and forty-one year old Night Elf, one must learn certain tricks to stay alive," Byrtum said, smiling for a second until his expression turned to a look of pain. Zacharim's eyes began tracing the Chief but stopped as soon as he reached the left side of the Chief's chest, where he saw bloodied robes and a mortal wound.
"Even the craftiest trick could not have saved me from that man's wrath..." Byrtum tiredly slumped down the base of the tree.
Jarius walked over to Byrtum and adjusted what appeared to be old clothes acting as bandages over Byrtum's wound. He then sat down beside Byrtum and shut his eyes, a look of incredible sorrow and exhaustion painted across his face.
"Everything is gone..." Zacharim's grief returned full force as a steady stream of tears trickled down his face.
"No...you are wrong..." Byrtum's voice was garbled and difficult to make out. "We still have hope...but this hope lies only in this tome..."
Despite the anguish, Byrtum reached into his heavy robes and pulled out the same tome he had shown Zacharim three days ago. He locked eyes with Zacharim in silence, as if to catch his breath, before finally placing it on the branch in front of the young Night Elf.
"Just as I rescued you from the powerful jaws of the enemy, I will protect you for the remander of this night. But I shall not be around for long, I can feel my very soul slipping away from my body, and when this happens, my magic shall no longer be a bulwark against the enemy."
"Chief..." Zacharim stuttered out, tears for Byrtum now filling his eyes.
"Do not shed any more tears, I have spent more than my fair share of years upon this world, but others have not, and they have been destroyed by the enemy. Do not let their deaths be in vain Zacharim, the fate of the entire world rests on this tome reaching the Night Elves in the Shadow Forest to the far west. You must take it there, it will be a long and arduous journey filled with adversity...but you carry the souls of all our people with you, take comfort in that."
Zacharim remained silent, even after Byrtum had finished talking to him. His mind swirling with a myriad of thoughts from the deaths of all those he loved to the journey Byrtum had stretched out before him. The only time he had ever left Padorim was with a group of other Night Elves, usually a fairly large group as well, and he had never even taken a single step out of the Windy Wood, which concealed Padorim. How could he possibly make the journey? A three day journey just to escape the wood, filled with the living dead, then another twenty days at the least to reach the Shadow Forest, and what horrors would that leg of the journey have in store for him? He would meet many Goblins no doubt, perhaps some Orcs...or maybe even some fearsome Gramn. But his friends, his companions, the people he shared his life with...they would not die in vain. Silently and soberly, Zacharim made up his mind. He knew what must be done, he would risk traveling through Goblin territory, escaping Orc war bands, and even braving the ravenous Gramn packs. He would avenge the death of everything he has ever cared about any way he could.
"Oh...How I hate placing this burden on your shoulders...But I am afraid it is what must be done, for us three are the only ones left and my life is forfeit. Do not fear, though, your brother will accompany you through this forest," Byrtum began breathing heavily as his palms glistened with sweat. "I will speak no more, take rest now for you will need all the energy you can spare, but heed this one warning: even the very trees are under the enemies control!"
Zacharim sighed and stared at the Chief in disbelief, though masking an incredibly powerful inner conviction to the cause. The chief, however, was drained of all energy, and soon his eyes slowly shut in exhaustion. Zacharim looked over at his brother, seeing he was curled against the base of the tree dozing off in slumber.
Zacharim laid back against the branch of the tree, staring longingly into the black void of the night sky and into the stars. He had never seen the stars before this night in his seven years of life, and he was amazed at their simple yet majestic beauty. They pulsed enigmatically, each one like a tiny glimmer of hope sacrificing itself into the opaque night sky, to create that small silver lining to cut through the deep blanket of sorrow, to offer that last little bit of support that even the most stalwart adventurer occasionally needs. Tears now flowed freely from Zacharim's eyes as he continued staring into the stars, each pulse of each star whispering silent words of comfort to him. He tilted his head down slowly, chest heaving rhythmically up and down, as the blanket of sorrow wrapped itself tighter around Zacharim's soul. He felt asphyxiated, as if the sorrow would choke the life from his body, but an unexplainable inner strength courageously fought back against the sorrow and selflessly protected him. Deep in his heart, he knew the strength came from those stars, those same stars that attempted to fill his heart with comfort were now valiantly protecting him from his deep sorrow and pain. He whipped his head up, face now sticky with innumerable tears, and offered a silent word of thanks to those tiny specks of hope embedded deep within the night sky.
Suddenly, a great fog covered Zacharim's eyes, and he knew the Chief had cast a sleep spell on him. He slowly relaxed against the the branch of the tree and shut his eyes as he slowly drifted off into slumber.
Dreams, like a window into a far away universe, can display what even the maddest wizard could never have envisioned. But from the hypnotic images of these fear-inspiring dreams can be gleaned subtle hints to the future, the past, the present, even the very fabric of reality. Yet to snag these images from the deep recesses of the mind, it requires the patient reach of one who does not fear the very core of terror, one who has already died...
Zacharim's mind was wracked with such dreams that night. A great shadow loomed over-head, a shadow of death and decay, of unmerciless slaughter and unfathomable power. A shadow that sought the blood of the defenseless boy. All he could do was run, to somehow escape the nightmare chasing him, but despite how fast he ran, how far he swam, and how high he climbed, he could not escape this shadow. It left a ruined world behind it, decaying the very fabric of life in its wake.
Only on a great cliff did he stop. A cliff above the clouds, covered in ice and snow, a deserted cliff where no life could be found. The cliff shrunk around him, he knew not how he got to it or how he could get down, or if he even wanted to get down. He tilted his head down, only to see a deep white mist covering a bottomless descent. He need not turn his head up, nor to either direction, for the cliff had shrunk around him leaving only enough room for his two feet to remain planted. Nothingness was around him, the mountain that bore the cliff had escaped into oblivion, all that remained was this tiny cliff, the shadow looming before him, and a bottomless descent into a black void. The shadow encircled the tiny cliff, suffocating Zacharim with the rotten stench of decay, until finally consuming him in one fell swoop.
Zacharim was tossed from this hellish nightmare with no witness to his distress but a thin line of persperation coating his body. He opened his eyes to see the night had passed, and his brother climbing the tree with two sacks filled with what is probably the last bit of food left in the entire Windy Wood.
"Bout' time you woke up! Come, we must go at once!" Jarius shouted as he jumped up to the branch Zacharim was on, tossing his brother a sack fashioned from old clothes.
"Wha...?" Zacharim blurted out, still very much disoriented.
Jarius hastily strapped his sack to his shoulder and motioned with his head over to the Chief, who was silently lying against the base of the tree. Zacharim's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach as he realized the elderly chief had died in his sleep.
"Run now, cry later. I do not know how long the Chief has been dead, but I do know I do not want to be around when the enemy captures the body of such an adept wizard!" Jarius had already started his quick descent down from the tree.
Zacharim slowly stood up and strapped his sack to his shoulder, not once taking his eyes off the Chief. Even the now wide-spread fire could not take Zacharim's attention from Byrtum's lifeless body. Memories of the Chief flooded in, both of his unending love for his people and his battle-worn callousness. He wondered how such a powerful wizard could be gone, just like that, how powerful an enemy he must be facing that could take the one person who was seemingly untakeable.
Another call from Jarius quickly broke Zacharim's grief ridden trance, and Zacharim acknowledged with an uninspired nod. He took one last look at the beautiful cerulean sky before finally hopping down, knowing he may never see that sky, or its counter-part, the stars, again. | |
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