Exodore Praxis walked down a cavernous corridor in the burrowed dwarven city of Olrigar. Torches were placed set into the walls and mirrors were carefully placed throughout the tunnels to reflex the light. Vents in the ceiling allowed the smoke to drift up out of the caverns. The dwarves had grown accustomed to perpetual darkness, and Exodore was finally getting used to it himself.
He wore only a thin pair of pants, and his upper body, solid and muscular, was clothed in a thin layer of sweat. His black hair was combed to one side, and a single knot of hair on the back of his head fell to the nape of his neck, bound by two dark leather cords. His master sword now hung at his hip. He had mysteriously gained the sword, and his past was as dark to him as the darkest reaches of Olrigar. He would have had his heavy sword on his back, but the day was too hot to wear it.
Groups of dwarves walked passed him. They were squat figures with large hands, and their bodies didn't look proportional. The males all wore beards, their hair a reddish-orange color. The women were also short like the males, and wore their long hair in multiple braids. Many dwarves worked mining out rooms and caverns. Some were assigned the task of hunting in the mountains or in Tanglewood. After a hard day of work, the dwarves would sit around and drink; their favorite pastime.
Exodore, however, spent most of his time with the other mercenaries of Olrigar. The dwarves accepted him and the other humans, but they preferred conversation with their own kind. He was hired mostly to hunt and work, though he had run errands for the king between dwarven cities. Common pay was food and gold, but iouns were also rewarded. The magic stones were either hated or loved by the mercenaries. Teyla loved them, because she could use magic and the iouns. Exodore could not use magic, but enjoyed collecting them. He knew that some could be used without the aid of magic.
A dwarf in red armbands made his way toward Exodore down an otherwise-empty corridor. The armbands signified that the dwarf was in the direct service of King Khararm Ironfist. Exodore stopped, and, as was customary, held out his hand, touched fingertips with the dwarf, and then bowed. "Has King Ironfist have need of me?"
"He does, Mercenary Praxis. Please follow me." Without another word, the dwarf turned, and walked back the way he came. Exodore followed. He had been summoned by the king multiple times, as well as the other mercenaries. It was not seen as a weakness that the king used mercenaries. The city was made up mostly of long tunnels, and some of them were cool and refreshing, while others were terribly hot.
They quickly reached the two huge doors of Khararm's throne room. Exodore's escort knocked four times on the door, in a specific rhythm, and the doors were pulled open from the inside by muscular dwarven guards. Dwarven guards in armor and red armbands lined the walls. A dwarven messenger stood before his king. The king sat majestically on his throne.
Khararm was clean-shaven and his red hair rested under a golden and silver crown adorned with gems. His hands, like all dwarves, were massive in respect to their bodies, and his squat body only reached a height of about two paces. He, too, wore only pants, and his chest heaved with the heat provided by the crown. To his right stood Olgcer, a mercenary like Exodore who was paid to protect the King.
Olgcer's forehead also sweated. No one could escape the heat. The Tarian Islands were of volcanic origin, and even though they were near the Ice Wastes, the temperatures in the mountains were soaring. In order to see so far below the mountains of Tanglewood, lamps needed to be burned, and that didn't add to the cooling efforts.
The dwarven messenger that now stood before his King bowed. Exodore knew why the dwarf was here. News of his return had traveled through the city. Khararm had been waiting impatiently for the last six days for this report. The dwarf spoke after his bow.
"The spies have not returned, and we have no messages from them."
Khararm did not reply. If the spies did not return by now, twelve days since when they were supposed to return, it either meant them dead or captured. Khararm hoped for the former.
"We have had reports from our travelers that Calderia is under attack by Cremoria again. A Death Knight leads them. He now seems to be the Varal War General and goes by the name Papal Sabbath."
"Thank you for the information," Khararm replied surprisingly coolly. "You may go. As may you, Olgcer. I must speak with you, however, Praxis."
Olgcer and the dwarven informer left, and the guards shut the heavy stone doors on their way out. Ironfist now stood and faced Exodore. "I have a mission for you. Don't worry. I will pay you handsomely."
"What is it?"
"I need you to travel to Cremoria and find out what's happening. I want you to discover who this new War General is. I want to know what happened to my spies. Find out everything. You will be paid when you return."
"I think I'll need some payment up front. To interest me." After a moment, Khararm nodded. He understood his mercenaries. "When do I leave, then?"
"Tonight."
"Idiot! Do you want us to lose warriors?" Sinastion Vari bellowed.
"No. I want us to have a permanent foothold in Tanglewood. Perhaps from there we can penetrate into the dwarven stronghold, Olrigar," Papal Sabbath explained.
"I did not appoint you War General to kill our own men!"
"I do not kill them. I order them. If they die it only means that they are not fit enough to serve in the Cremorian army."
"I am not afraid to demote you, Papal."
"No, you aren't. You are just afraid to promote someone else," Papal sneered.
"Out! Get out!" Vari hollered. His guards, made up of Voices of Caliban, had their swords and bows ready. The Cremorian Crown pointed at the door and stared threateningly at the Death Knight. His temper had been released. "Go!"
"Yes, my lord," Papal Sabbath said mockingly, giving a weak bow and exiting the chamber.
The corridors that he walked through lead to his own chambers. The building was built of bricks and was covered with vines. The Varal Elves could not support a forest on the island, and so thought that they would practice their magic inside the palace walls. The only non-elves in the empire were the Death Knights, as Caliban's Voices were commonly known as, and slaves. Some were also lucky enough to be imp breeders. Only elves could hold the Crown and only elves could be the Keeper of Caliban. The Keeper of Caliban was an elven warrior who owned C'ren, the impish dragon half-breed that was a gift from the deity Caliban the Devourer.
Papal was one of the few people of Cremoria that did not believe or trust in the seemingly demonic deity. As a Voice of Caliban, the Knights were taught to fight for Caliban's coming into the world. Each Knight was given armor and a helmet. A horn-like projection shot up from the front of the helmet. Embedded into the horn was a crystal, which contained magic. With Papal's touch, his crystal would cause an opponent's body to weaken, and even fall, giving enough time for Papal to kill him. The Death Knights numbered in the fifties, for only few actually made it into knighthood, and the rest kept trying until they died. Papal had no friends among the Knights, or among the officials of the city. He was independent. After years of hard work, Papal had become the Varal War General.
The Varal Elves, in building their empire, had wiped out the vegetation of the island of Cremoria centuries ago. Some of the elves had kept a small forest, and some had helped with planting, but the Cremorian Empire was weak in resources. Papal lead attacks against Tanglewood to obtain minerals and wood. The elves held a temporary base at the northern coast of the small island, nearest to Cremoria. The elves could use green mana, but also used black mana, which brought the Calderian Empire to think that they worshipped demons. The elves thought that their abilities in black mana allowed them to be vassals who would empower Caliban when he would come so that he may devour the unworthy in the world. The Varal elves were as religious as the Azurewing-praising Calderians. Papal held very little faith in Caliban. He trusted only himself, and so he had nothing to live for. Except personal gain.
Papal had just returned from Tanglewood to request more troops and impish slaves. The forces of the forest were striking against them. Papal believed that wizards or some such inhabited the forest. No forest could have such a complete defenses that it could wipe out a third of Papal's army. It was impossible for him to send a reconnaissance mission, for the forest grew into place, not allowing any passage. Papal had ordered his troops to cut down the trees and mine for minerals. He would slowly beat back the forest. When he had left Tanglewood, he left General Jirok in charge. The elf was talented in green magic, and so could touch the forest and at least give a warning to his troops when the forest decided to revolt with its forces, whether it be choking vines or pollen that caused drowsiness or even poison insects. Since he got Vari angry, Papal figure that he would not get reinforcements. So he came up with another plan.
Papal exited the huge palace, which was covered with beautifully flowered vines, instead of returning to his own quarters. Even though the land would almost bear no fruit and it had no real mountains or forests anymore did not mean that it wasn't beautiful. Flowers and flowing architecture could be seem everywhere. All of the used resources from the island of Cremoria did not go to waste. It was constructed mainly of stone, but the Crown's Dome was made of gold and Caliban's Chamber was built of opal to the left of the Crown's Dome. To the right of the Crown's Dome were the emerald spires of Caliban's Sanctuary, where the Death Knights trained. The religious Palace of Caliban was at least as tall was it was wide. The huge palace was surrounded by the immense city of Charion.
The streets boomed with merchants and venders and pipers who would play on street corners. The Cremorian empire was not a depressing place. Elves made up most of the population, and Caliban's Voices were usually humans and the slaves were imps, which were sometimes called Caliban's Teeth. The imps were no higher than two paces, and usually less. The ones that had leathery wings were used as messengers, and the rest were used for labor. No more than twenty died each day. The imp breeders kept a steady supply, and no imp, other than C'ren, lived more than a year, whether its cause of death was old age or perhaps an "accident" while working. It was not uncommon to see a taskmaster lead a band of about ten imps through the streets.
Papal did not care for the city, and as he stormed through the streets, all shied away from him. In the sunlight, his dark armor was like a void that sucked in light. His crystal on his helmet shimmered purple, and his cape was also a dark purple. The sword at his hip was made of one piece of metal, like all of the Death Knight's swords, and was made of the strongest minerals of Cremoria. He did not let any guards follow him into the city for two reasons. He was a Voice of Caliban and was capable of self-defense. His title gave him the "privilege" of a guard, but he was shunned by some of the Death Knights for his limited faith in Caliban, and he did not wish to be surrounded by those who found him unworthy. Papal had business and wanted no part of the city. He had recently been orchestrating raids on Calderia for crops and wood and minerals. The Tanglewood campaign was slow going, and the raids on Calderia were easier. The humans and their Empress Kira wanted nothing to do with the "demon-worshipping Cremorians."
He would soon be out of the inner city and at the docks, where he would have his troops board and head for one of the Calderian Isles.
Hot blood splattered across Jirok's face as he cleaved the leaping beast in half. He howled in pain as the creature's claws ripped at his arm. He screamed at his troops to continue the battle. Birds dove out from behind the wall of trees. Volleys of elven arrows raced through the sky. At least half of the birds fell, while the others made suicidal dives toward Jirok's troops. Huge panther-like beasts hunted the elves and were cut down with difficulty. The remaining imps ran toward the diving birds and once the birds hit, whether the ground or a warrior, the imps were on the birds, devouring them.
Jirok's vision blurred and he shook his head. He gripped his bleeding arm with his sword-arm, and tried to ignore the pain from the gashes. The four-legged beast he had cleaved in half laid to either side of him, with it's insides spilled on and around Jirok. He watched his troops loose the battle to animals. From the trees came a huge yellow cloud. Poisoned pollen.
"Gyhet!" Jirok ordered with all of his strength. "Send it back!"
The elven wizard cast a sandstorm, throwing up dirt and bodies from the ground. With a thrust of his wiry arms, Gyhet sent the dirt cloud at the pollen. The two masses met, mixed, and then dropped to the ground.
Gyhet now stood besides Jirok, his robes covered with dirt and blood. "Gyhet, burn the forest."
"We came here to get the lumber!"
"I did not come here to die. Send troops into the forest and set fire to it. Maybe it'll scare the beasts from attacking us. While the forest burns, I want the trees closest to us felled." With that, Jirok dropped. As he fell, he let go of his arm, and scarlet blood stained the dirt ground. Gyhet kneeled by his side and called for any soldiers nearby. One soldier came to his aide and Gyhet ordered him to burn the forest from the inside and cut down the trees closest to them. Gyhet sent the stunned elf away with a wave of his hand. Jirok was dying.
"You . . . in . . . ch-ch-charge . . . ." Jirok whispered to Gyhet. "You know magic . . . secure the . . . f-f-f-or . . . est . . ."
Jirok coughed up blood, fell back fully onto the ground, and died. His arm was torn open. He had died from loss of blood. Gyhet knew nothing about commanding. He was a wizard. No one would listen to him. He held no sway in arguments. Something purred besides him.
The elven wizard turned his head and faced a feline with pointed ears and black fur with red stripes. Its eyes were a greenish yellow and its claws were quite intimidating. It's hind legs supported it's huge body, and it look as if it's forelegs were used for killing. It was an eyrar, and it was Gyhet's. His magic enabled him to link to some animals. Using his link, he called his four others to him. There were only two other wizards like him in the army that came to Tanglewood. He had seen one die in battle. The other one was no where near has talented as he. Isque had two birds and one eyrar. Perhaps the presence of these beasts would help him to lead the army. If he kept the link strong and obtained the beasts' loyalty, he'd be able to read their minds and discover parts of the forest unknown to him.
The battle was, surprisingly, over and the remaining elves carried the dead bodies away from the trees. Then he saw smoke arising from the forest. The elves had listened to him. Things had gone smoothly so far, and Gyhet hoped events stayed this way. An officer, decked in armor and blood, came up to him.
"Where is the General?"
Gyhet pointed to the corpse in the pool of blood at his feet. "He claimed me as general of this mission before he died. You may address me as you would him."
"You know nothing!"
"Yet my friends do," Gyhet said, gesturing to the five menacing beasts around him. "Start cutting down the trees for lumber."
The officer stood there for a moment until one of the eyrar growled. "Yes, mage Gyhet."
Exodore Praxis walked down the empty road, surrounded by empty, open plains. A dwarven vessel had dropped him off at a Calderian port village on the closest Calderian island to Olrigar. He was given gold by Khararm for his pay, and was also supplied with food and free transportation from Olrigar. Word of an attack on Tanglewood by the Cremorians had scarred the ship's captain, and they had taken a longer route. He now wore a white shirt and brown pants, with a belt around his waist, which hung pacets of food and sacks of coin. His mysterious sword was held in place on his back. He was surprised how cool it was above ground. It was nowhere as hot as it was below.
His back sweated, though, with the weight of his sword. He had not purchased or won his sword, so he did not know where it came from. He had simply found it next to him. His past was shrouded in mystery to him. He remembered waking in a cave, which he later discovered was a dragon's den, with his sword next to him. He had only been clothed in a loincloth, and had climbed down the mountain. He knew how to speak and walk. When he had reached the nearest town, he discovered he was on the volcanic island of Danesi. He took a job as a laborer for a ship, and would sail with it. It's captain was an elf, and he later learned that the crew worked for the Crown of the Cremorian Empire. He had been to Cremoria twice, and hated the place. Mercenaries were paid to kill in some of the worse spots in the empire, and ugly, pig-like imps, which also resembled monkeys, were used as slaves.
Exodore left the ship after having to spend two weeks on it with a load of smelling imps. With his gold that he earned, he bought his own belongings and began life as a mercenary. He would not take jobs that caused other people direct harm, and was interested in magical trinkets instead of gold. He did not want to get rid of his sword, however, because he could feel that he was linked to it. He knew that it was magic, and for all he knew, he could be a creation of magic. As he learned about the Tarian Isles in which he was trapped by the Great Barrier reef that surrounded the islands, he remembered more, so he figured that he was originally born on one of the islands. His interest in magical items had gained him a huge collection.
Some were stones and amulets that his employers said possessed magic. Exodore could tell when something was related to magic, but he himself was no sorcerer. As he walked down the Calderian road, he felt for the stones in his pouch. He did not take everything with him, but he tried to carry what he could. At his ankle was an enchanted knife that could be used to light a fire if he handled it the correct way. That was always useful.
He paid close attention to his surroundings, looking for the Calderian city of Iglare. He needed no map, for he was told that the road would take him there.
"Aye! Traveler!"
Exodore spun around and looked at the rode behind him. There was a skinny old man jogging toward him. He wore black pants and a green tunic, with a glittering blue and gold cape. He held his ornately carved cane with both hands has he ran to meet Exodore. The man's hair was as white as the snow of the Ice Wastes, and his eyes as blue as its waters.
"Aye! Stranger," the man said, nodding his head in greetings to Exodore when he caught up.
"What do you want?" Exodore's question was almost a threat.
"No harm, no harm. I, too am a traveler. Derel by name. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
"No, I haven't. Should I've?" The two were now walking side by side. Exodore was about a hand's length taller than Derel.
"I'm known as the Wanderer. I am a storyteller, but with real stories. I am well known throughout the Isles. I also do a few tricks." Exodore did not see where the brightly colored balls came from, but Derel juggled the balls quickly in his hands, with a grin across his face. Just as quickly and mysteriously, they disappeared.
"Nice trick."
"Thank you. I'm also an adventurer, but I don't do anything too dangerous, now."
"I see." Exodore obviously wasn't enjoying conversation. The dwarves were never talkative, and Exodore was not used to friendly conversation. He never was.
"My friend, you know my occupation and name, but you haven't quite told me anything about yourself, save that you have a job to do, have a sword and aren't afraid to use it and that you want me out of the way. I did not follow you for no reason."
Exodore spun toward the old man and gripped him by the collar of his tunic. "You followed me!?"
"Yes, sir, I did." The smile didn't fade from the traveler's face.
"Why?"
"You looked to need help. Come on, now, I know a lost soul, or, in your case, a lost body when I see one." Exodore let the man go, and continued to walk. The old man quickly caught up again, oblivious to Exodore's anger. "You should have bought a horse. You have another good two hours to go."
Exodore shot a glare at Derel.
"Why is the city so far from the water?" Exodore asked. He hoped to get the man talking on some other subject before he could delve deeper into his doings.
"To discourage Cremorian assault. Or any other, for that reason."
"I see."
"Well, I happen to be traveling to Iglare, also, so, if you don't mind, you name please?"
"Exodore Praxis," the mercenary replied, with an edge to his voice. The old man had gotten his name out of him.
"Interesting. I also find your sword interesting. A little bit of a wizard are you?"
"Absolutely not. The sword was given to me."
"By whom?"
"Are you a wizard, old man?" Exodore asked, ignoring the question about his sword.
"No, no. I am a traveler and storyteller. I'm quite well-known."
"You've mentioned that."
"Yes, well, perhaps we can travel together, then, Master Praxis?"
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to have a local."
"I'm no local. And I'm no guide. Just a friendly soul. What business do you have in Iglare? You are obviously not moving there, for lack of possessions, and you seem to have a purposeful gaze and gait. I imagine you are either a servant of some dwarven lord, by the looks of you, or perhaps a mercenary?"
"Why not a Calderian or Cremorian servant or spy?"
"A Calderian servant would know more about his lord's empire, and a Cremorian spy would either be an elf or smell like imps."
"Maybe I bathed."
"You would not have come here on a dwarven ship if you were either Calderian or Cremorian, and so you must be a mercenary from one of the cities of the Dwarfhavens."
"Maybe I just visited the dwarves, or was a captive."
"Maybe, but unless you're here to raise an army to crush the dwarven stronghold, there is still the question of you gait. I'm too good at this game. Perhaps just tell me your business?"
"I was hired by the Dwarven King to learn about the Cremorians and why our spies have not returned."
"Our? Your words forsake you. You are in the position of the king's official something-or-other?"
"I am a mercenary hired by the king."
"He trusts you?"
"Why not? Olrigaran mercenaries do clean jobs and are paid well."
"That answers a lot, my friend. Hopefully you'll become more friendly and talkative as we travel."
Exodore and Derel reached the outskirts of Iglare with the sun just beginning to dip in the sky. Another few hours before nightfall. They reached the stone houses of Iglare's outskirts, as well as a battle. The stone houses were abandoned, and a few people ran through the streets to escape the attackers. The streets were like the road Exodore traveled; dirt. The battle was another pacet away, and Exodore ran unthinkingly into the fray. Derel followed him, with speed to match his. Exodore pulled his sword from its scabbard on his back, and turned a corner, to leave him staring into the eyes of an elf. He swung his blade and lopped off the head of the stunned elf. Blood spurted up, and Exodore shielded his face and ran away from the corpse.
He was getting first hand information for Khararm. He'd have to insist on more pay.
Derel was no where to be seen, and Exodore didn't care. He swung his mighty blade once again, and cut through the elven soldiers. The Iglaran guard and troops were outnumbered. The battle must have started recently, and they were waiting for reinforcements. The Iglaran guard seemed to be loosing. Exodore hacked at the elves, splattering blood all over himself. He wore no armor, and did not want to risk dying if he stopped to pick some up from a fallen warrior. The sword glowed white-hot and cut right through the armor. He knew that the sword had magic! The Iglaran troops were stunned to see an unarmored man dispatch elf after elf.
The troops surprisingly rallied around him, their officer most likely killed. One of the troops held Calderia's banner, in Iglare's colors, blue and yellow. Exodore saw blasts of red light off to the side, and noticed Derel holding his glowing staff. He lied! He said he was not a wizard! A line of Iglaran troops formed in front of Exodore, allowing him to stop fighting for a moment. In that moment, Exodore noticed how tired he truly was from his walk to Iglare and swinging his sword. He put his hands on his hips to rest, his head and eyes always darting to make sure he was safe for the moment.
A glowing blue web flew into the air near Derel and expanded, covering about twenty enemy troops. Derel's hand glowed red, and the web exploded in color while it dissipated. The troops went down, but Exodore couldn't see whether or not they were dead or just wounded. He saw smoke off in front of him and rushed through open spots in the battle to see what was happening. He was so far unscathed in the battle, and hoped to stay that way. The smoke came from a burning building. The Cremorian elves had decided to burn the city.
An elf charged him, and after a few thrusts and parries, the elf fell in a pool of his own blood. Hot blood covered Exodore. His weariness was overwhelming him. The fire spread through the thatched-roof house. Exodore bent forward and rested his hands on his knees. His pouch of magical rocks and amulets happened to be loose and his right hand pushed them against his leg. He felt a tingling sensation, and one of the rocks in the pouch crumbled. After a few seconds, Exodore's vision blacked out, but returned just as quickly. He felt false strength from the amulet that crumbled. It's magic momentarily filled him.
Three of the Iglaran guard were near him, fighting off the few elves that were near. Over his head, a small blue glow shot toward the burning house. The glow hit the flame and radiated from the house. A growing blue sphere extended toward Exodore. In mere seconds, it passed him, and everything in his vision turned different shades of blue. The spell covered many of the warriors and houses. It suddenly blinked out of existence, and Exodore fell to the ground from his heavy clothes, that were soaked with water. It must have been Derel again! That lying fool!
Exodore looked around and got up when he heard cheers and a chant. The elves were fleeing the outer city, pursued by Iglaran troops. From the rush of warriors came Derel, toward Exodore. When he was about arms-length away, Exodore lifted his sword at Derel's chest.
"Liar! Fool! You don't know magic! What else have you lied to me about?" Exodore demanded.
Derel touched the flat of the blade and pushed it down. "I did not say that I didn't know magic. I said that I was no wizard and that I had a few tricks. I did not know that the sapphire would cause that big of a water shield, however."
"And the magical blasts?" Exodore didn't know what else to call them. Even though his sword rested against the ground, his face was red, not only with blood, but with anger.
"I had my staff enchanted. I'll be quite useless for a while now. I, like you, like to be paid in trinkets at times. I still have a few more tricks." Derel smiled. "You did not tell me you were such a warrior."
"I didn't know."
"Need helps in passing the barrier of reality."
Exodore looked around at the bloody mess on the ground. He and Derel were the only two in sight. Peasants hid and the soldiers were chasing the retreating Cremorians. Houses were splattered in blood and various body parts. The scene sickened him. Exodore became lightheaded, and he heaved up anything that was in his stomach. He had added to the carnage. His weariness once again overcame him, and, with no amulet this time, he fell unconsciously to the bloody ground.
