Shadows cast by braziers strewn about the massive cavern gave them the appearance of dancing to a silent deathly tune that could be felt, more than heard. Low murmurs and chanting echoed faintly throughout to accompany the macabre visual that splashed across the walls and ceiling. Cloaked figures were knelt around a battered and clearly ancient altar atop 4 sets of cracked and dilapidated steps.

The altar held a figure that wore nothing but a simple white gown whose sheer material made the faint difference in her skin peer through. Bruises pockmarked her arms, knees and shins, small cuts across the abdomen and chest, were it not for the marks all over her body, she would no doubt be desired by many. Her shallow breathing caused her breasts to elevate and fall with the ever present rasping and nearly inaudible gurgling of each inhale and exhale that left her body, she was very ill.

She was put to sleep with herbs to prevent her from being awake during this awful ritual. This was all they were able to offer in solace. To any that was even mildly versed in magic could tell that the atmosphere was uninviting and at any second death himself would visit the large open cave to exact revenge upon those foolish enough to attempt this farce.

A language long since dead began to echo as the start of the incantation. The village had nothing else to lose. Repeated attempts to request aid fell on deaf ears and all the money sent to the Capital was never returned or amounted to anything. Five seasons of dead crops, unharvestable fields and the well yielding fewer and fewer buckets of clean water has led them all to attempt something viewed by previous Elders as the epitome of foolishness.

The current Elder, at the behest of every remaining villager recited the forbidden text to attempt the summoning ritual. If the nobles and Chanters at the Capital refused to help, maybe they didn’t need a hero, magician or a savior…but instead a demon!

Two cloaked figures at the base of the stairs below the altar embraced each other, the flicker of light gave them an almost skeletal appearance filled with despair and sorrow. The smaller of the two figures was shaking uncontrollably, tears flowing down her gaunt cheeks, eyes closed tightly as if to prevent what little fluid was left in the haggard body from leaving. Determination filled the eyes of the other figure, the one holding the smaller sobbing one. Lips pursed tightly, and even with his nearly skin and bones appearance, held a solid stature and appearance of one who is fully capable of taking care of himself.

How far would one go to stop the suffering of a loved one? How long would one be able to watch as those loved ones continued to die slowly, painfully and without any signs of ending? The small body atop the altar was the daughter of these two figures. The last living virgin female within the dying village. Many other females voiced their adamant willingness to be the sacrifice, but as with all forbidden rituals, the blood of one untainted by the “touch of man” was necessary to bring about the highest chance of success.

Unbeknownst to them, it did not matter with the spell they were trying to invoke. They were all going to die regardless, the choice was made to bring about her death perhaps that much sooner and less painfully than the unbearable sight and means that is starvation and sickness.

The Elder, the one closest to what you could call a Chanter, continued reciting from the book. With no formal training or even a modicum of understanding of what was actually contained in the book he recited word after word. The incantation was long and took all of the Elder’s willpower and concentration to keep from losing consciousness, it drained him so.

Further and further into the recital the words boomed through the open cavernous room. So much so that each word had begun loosening the rocks along the walls and ceiling. Panic began setting into the hearts of the villagers that were spread throughout the cave, each kneeling with hands locked together in devoted and desperate prayer.

A loud crack erupted, like the sound of thunder splitting the darkness causing rocks to plummet from the darkness above onto the steps of the altar and even atop some of the praying villagers. Typically this would illicit utter fear and a flight response, but the villagers had no more to fear from the falling rocks than what awaited them outside. A quick death from a falling rock, or a slow and agonizing death outside the mountain from starvation or sickness? They’ve steeled themselves and vowed that either this ritual would bring about their last wishes, or they would cease their all but fruitless attempts at living if it failed.

Rocks continued to rain down upon them as each line from the incantation was read aloud, over and over the explosive sounds shook the cavern. Multiple people have already perished from the rain of earth from the black ceiling of the cave, nearly finished with the incantation the Elder began to clutch his chest, each word pained him as he labored to recite them. A few more words and it would be over. A few more words and they will have won. A few more words and they would be able to stop suffering themselves and bring about their suffering on those that abandoned them.

“Bring about thine will! Shatter the earth! Darken the skies! Usher in your divine and terrifying reign so that all will tremble and worship at thine feet! World’s End!!”

As the Elder mustered the last of his life force to read the last portion of the incantation aloud, the small body atop the altar began to stir. Eyes were beginning to open, flutter and strain to stay open to see what just had been so loud that it would cause her to wake. She turned her head towards the sound of the voice and saw the hooded figure of the gentle Elder, one hand holding a very old and large book, the other clutching at his chest.

Two other figures next to him she could faintly make out among the haze of her lethargy and the darkness that began to engulf the cavern, one face covered in tears, the other’s eyes closed holding the smaller figure tightly. She tried to call out to them, but no voice would form, her throat sore, dry and felt as if she swallowed broken glass, as she attempted to move her arm out as if to grasp for those two figures a massive rock caused them to disappear from sight.

What was there were two people she knew and cherished, now all that stood there was more of the same that filled her life. Despair and emptiness. She looked up, tears streaming down both cheeks. She tried screaming, but again, nothing would come out of her small frail body.

Cursing her existence and wishing to anyone or anything that would listen she opened her eyes and stared at the inky blackness of the cave’s ceiling. Something glinted faintly, she didn’t know what it was, but she hoped it was her turn to disappear, to be swallowed by the mountain. She was wrong. What was plummeting from the ceiling of the cave was a large boulder unlike the rest, it was a shiny purple and black lustrous rock. It was almost beautiful, she would at least be able to leave this world after seeing something that resembled beauty.

The boulder slammed into the foot of the altar she was atop and shattered it, causing an explosion of rocks and debris. The force of the crash caused her body to be ejected from the altar and bounce from fallen boulder to fallen boulder. Her already broken and bruised body was thrown about as if it was a ragdoll and only added insult to injury to one that has already experienced nothing but pain and hopelessness. Her consciousness started to fade, after coming to a stop from the force of the falling boulder she stared up at the lustrous pillar of rock that was supposed to be her end.

There was something on it. Something that wasn’t rock. Then the darkness crept in, and all was still. The village that tried so hard to bring about some form of revenge was let down once again. The only thing they wrought was the decimation of the few remaining survivors and buried themselves within the mountain never to be seen, heard or missed. A sad ending to a sad village that was already forgotten.

*****

“Be sure the supplies are in order and secured on that caravan! They’ve been far too long without aid, I will not be responsible for yet another delay!”

The order was barked out by a large armored fellow that elicited respect just from his outer appearance. A towering build, all muscles clad in beautiful silver full plate armor. A large hand-and-a-half sword, better known as a Bastard Sword, fastened to his hip. A scar across one eye from his brow to just level with his lips, was further accentuated by the pale color of his skin in contrast to its reddish tinge. His thick but trimmed red beard grew in full across his face except for the area the cut ran along, his cheek and lip, as if the stubble was parting specifically to showcase the scar.

His features were sharp but not so rugged that it made him still approachable by the fairer sex. Most would find the scar unnerving and try to hide it, but not him, he took pride in his battle wounds. They were a testament of his valor and unwavering resolve in battle. He wore his hair short and shaved as close to bald as possible to prevent any potential of having it grabbed, hung up on or stuck during battle. Definitely a battle maniac through and through.

“You really don’t have to yell so much you know, Grandall.” Said a small, and in comparison, younger sounding voice.

“Yes, sir! But the men have a tendency to slack off if I’m not more direct in my commands!” he grumbled.

Grandall, the large gorilla of a man was the subordinate of the smaller figure that walked up from behind. Finishing the paperwork and signing the necessary documents with the clerk, he rolled them up and tucked them into a leather-bound tube bearing the seal of the Capital Knights. His armor, the same beautiful silver full plate, but not nearly as imposing, as Grandall’s. A shield attached to his back with the image of a Phoenix, the wings sprawled opened making the sides of the medium shield, it looked as if it was purely decorative and would not last a single hit in battle, but that would only be true for the untrained eye.

His sword was a simple long sword, a blue gem adorned the pommel, and the jet black leather wrapping of the handle looked both comfortable and allowed for exceptional grip in both dry and wet conditions. His hair was shoulder length and chestnut brown, thin and waved in the gentle breeze coming across the hills. A fair complexion and features that make him too much of a pretty boy to be a viewed as soldier or any type that would engage in combat. Definitely a lady’s man no matter how you looked at it.

“Right. Just try to remember that this is a relief mission that has little to no potential of actual battle. So if you could at least attempt to relax, the men would appreciate it. As would I. Your loud bellowing voice isn’t exactly music to my ears.” He said with a wry smile.

“Yes, Captain Lestith, sir! I will do as you command!”

Grandall stood at attention and brought his clenched fist to his chest and hit it making a loud clanging sound from his gauntlet striking the breastplate. Captain Lestith could do nothing other than gently shake his head and continue walking towards the front of the caravan where his horse was being held.

“Attention men! Everything is now in order and we will immediately begin moving out to the frontier village of Edgewood! Tis still a 2 days steady march, but these people are in desperate need of the aid we bring, so we will push hard and attempt to make it by morning! I apologize for pushing you all so hard, but tis for good reason!” Lestith sat atop his horse as he addressed the footmen and the caravan drivers, he looked each and every one of them in the eyes as he spoke.

“When’s the last any of you felt hungry? When’s the last any of you went without food for days on end while your child slowly withers away because of it? Yes, you will be tired. Yes, you will be sore. But you have been sore and tired before, you will live! The longer we dawdle, the higher the chances are this mission will be for naught. So, ride hard! Move out!!”

“Quite the speech, Captain.”

“What about you Grandall?”

“Me, sir?” Grandall looked perplexed.

“Have you been so hungry that your only thought was death so that you could stop the pain in your gut from taking what little sanity you have left?” Lestith asked solemnly, eyes filled with equal parts anger and determination.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot say that I have. I can only imagine th…”

“No, Grandall…you cannot imagine. Everyone has been hungry before. I’m not talking about being hungry. I mean going so long without food or any form of sustenance that your body literally begins to eat itself from the inside out to prevent you from simply passing out. Your mind begins to blur and the simple act of standing takes every ounce of willpower you have. I don’t mean hunger. I mean utter starvation and poverty.” His voice lost its original light heartedness and instead developed a slight gravel and his jaw tight from clenching his teeth. His fists were noticeably quivering while holding the reigns.

“I…I see, sir. My apologies.” Grandall didn’t know how to proceed from there. There have been times previously that Lestith mentioned something that he could only guess was in regards to his past. But he never once attempted, or dared, pry.

“No, no Grandall. Tis my fault. I did not mean to drag down what should be a mission of goodwill and a happy occasion for our movements!”

The soldiers marched in unison along the trodden dirt path west towards the farthest village in the charted kingdom. Edgewood was a frontier village that was built over two generations ago, but due to the distance from every other source of civilization and established farming community, supplying the village was costly and time consuming. The village they had just left was nothing more than a checkpoint than an actual village. There have been numerous attempts to make Edgewood self-sufficient, but to no avail. The soil that far for some reason was just not fertile, no amount of irrigation, fertilization or crop rotation would allow more than a meager harvest year after year.

Almost as if there was something that was draining the life force of everything around it.

The company marched silently for hours, the rhythmic thud of the footsteps and turning of the carriage wheels filled the air. It was well after the sun had set and following what remained of the trodden path needed to be lit via torches and lanterns atop the caravans. Once the noticeable trail had begun to wane, it was time to call it night and set up camp.

Raising his hand and giving the command to come to a halt, the caravan slowly came to a stop.

“We shall make camp here for the night! You have all done very well to have come this far, we have made much better time than I had anticipated, so rest well for the night, we shall depart tomorrow a few hours after sunrise to allow you all to rest more as reward for pushing so hard!”

Lestith dismounted his horse and tied it to a nearby tree along the side of the road and began to pull his knapsack from the saddle. He unfurled it under the same tree he tied the reigns and rest his back against it. Opening a small cloth wrapping he pulled out some dried bread and cheese and began to take small bites while watching the men begin to gather firewood and small stones to build a fire pit. Making camp in the still of the night was nothing new to the men so they didn’t break stride while getting everything taken care of. The fire was lit and already burning brightly within the ring of stones.

Another soldier could be seen wrapping a thin piece of twine over and under and over and under 3 large sticks at one end. When he was satisfied with the wrapping he took a small dagger and whittled small points into the opposite end of the sticks. Then taking each stick and sticking them into the ground just outside of the rock ring it was quickly propped up to make a tripod for various cooking pots they had brought with them.

During all of the preparation for the fire and the tripod, various other soldiers had already filled a pot with water, peeled some potatoes and carrots and cut them into smaller chunks and dumped them into the pot. Adding various seasonings and spices they made a very simple and quick soup. Having not had a chance to hunt, the soup had no signs of meat, much to the dismay of a few of the soldiers. But the food was appreciated regardless. Each brought out the same cloth package as Lestith, which was filled with cheese and bread and dished up the soup in wooden bowls and began to eat a late night dinner.

“Here you go Captain. Fresh off the fire!” Grandall handed a small bowl to Lestith, who graciously took it and began to dip the dry bread into the broth. He smiled as he took a bite, the broth was flavorful and soaked into the bread just right.

“Much appreciated, Grandall. It never ceases to amaze me at how quickly the men are able to put together a cooking fire. I remember as if it was only the other night gathering firewood was a foreign concept to some of them.”

“Some of the men come from upper class or even nobility, sir. So it really is no wonder. Some were born with a silver spoon in their ass! Assuming they know how to make a fire? Pft, would be quicker to teach a chicken to cook itself and jump in my mouth!”

Taken aback at the remark Lestith swallowed wrong and began to cough violently. Food shooting from his mouth which was trying desperately to stay closed. He began to hit his chest, eyes wide open in surprise and pain from the sudden coughing. Taking a quick drink of the broth from his bowl he slowly began to regain his composure.

“Grandall…please, if you would refrain from making such…colorful metaphors whilst I’m eating? It would do me a great service.”

“Gahahahaha! My apologies Captain. The wife always did say I spoke my mind regardless of the mood!” He said while rubbing the back of his head with a giant grin across his face.

Taking a deep breath, Lestith looked out from under the tree into the darkness of the night towards the west. Out towards Edgewood.

“How long do you suppose they’ve been waiting, sir?” Grandall asked absent mindedly.

“Long. According to Commander Braddock, they’ve sent numerous requests for aid both written and in person. But due to the distance and cost associated, they always fell on deaf ears.”

“So why is this time any different? It’s not as if the village is any closer.” He asked puzzled.

“The messenger. This time it was the messenger.” Lestith’s eyes closed slightly deep in thought and reminiscing.

“I’m afraid I still do not understand, sir. You said that they’ve sent personal requests before, was this messenger that special?”

“It was a child. A small child.”

“A child?! But…how could a child have traversed that far by themselves?”

“He didn’t. He was all that was left of a family that left the village together as a last resort, and promised the village elder to send aid. The father and mother died on the way from the village to the city. The only reason the child was able to make it, if you could call it that, was due to the parents giving the child their share of the rations they received from the village. Skin and bones. He was quite literally skin and bones by the end of it.” His eyes began to shimmer from the flame of the campfire in the distance. Closing them tightly a single tear fell from one eye and down his cheek, he breathed in deeply.

“The Commander was on a routine check of the outer guard when he saw a small body with birds circling him above. That’s when he found him. It was, tragic. I have never seen the Commander so helpless and angry. The boy had clutched in his frail fingers the letter. Immediately after sending the boy to the nearest temple for care he read the contents and demanded all available supplies be gathered and ready to transport before day’s end.”

“As expected of Commander Braddock! Such a noble man!” Grandall puffed his chest in pride at serving such a fine example of a soldier and man. “Forgive me again, sir. But these supplies have been ready for at least 3 to 4 days already have they not?”

“Correct you are, Grandall. As with all forms of military and government, Braddock was halted by bureaucracy. The nobility would have none of their supplies that could go to their citizens being wasted on a village that was most likely already dead. He argued for 2 days until finally they relented only by the sheer show of will that Commander Braddock displayed. He would not budge even an inch. He argued that the supplies gathered were already due to expire and be used for feed. So there was no harm.”

“It still took that many days of pointless bickering to send feed grains to a village in desperate need?!” he said appalled.

“Mm, does it really surprise you? The nobility need to have their say in all things, no matter how trivial. If only they knew of truly pressing matters they could get off of their pompous…!!” Realizing his mistake, Lestith cut himself off there and cleared his throat. “Ahem….forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my place. I believe that will be all for tonight Grandall, we should get some much needed rest for the final push to Edgewood.”

“Yes, sir!” giving his salute, he took the bowls in his hands and walked towards the campfire to relay the message to the men.

Normally he would take the armor, at least the breastplate off, before laying down for the night. But for some reason Lestith couldn’t bring himself to do so. There was something that weighed heavily on his mind, something he couldn’t describe or explain. He just knew that something was, wrong.

He lay there looking up at the tree canopy, his eyelids slowly getting harder to keep open. Each blink slower than the last until finally he closed his eyes and they did not open again.

The sound of an ear splitting explosion echoed through the silent darkness of night. The boom could be felt seconds after the initial sound. Lestith’s eyes shot wide open and in the matter of seconds he was on his feet, drawing the sword that was still on his waist, he was in a low stance ready for combat at a seconds notice. Placing his open hand upon the middle of his chest he spoke quietly into the night

“Pierce the darkness and give thy comforting presence. Highlight my surrounding and grant ease of mind. Illuminate.”

The area where he placed his hand began to pulse a dull steady light, spreading across his entire chest now, the light got brighter. Now wrapping around his back the light was at its brightest. His chest armor was imbued with Light magic, the beautiful silver full plate armor shimmered with a radiant brilliance that cast aside the shadows of night giving Lestith a clear view of his surroundings.

“Captain! What in the name of the Six was that!?” Grandall lumbered towards Lestith with a torch in his hand and his bastard sword in the other. Unlike Lestith, Grandall did remove his breastplate and gauntlets before retiring for the night, but still had his greaves on. Behind him the remaining caravan and soldiers clamored into positions, surrounding the supplies with weapons drawn and torches at the ready. Many hours must have passed due to the fact that the campfire was nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash now.

“I have no idea Grandall. But it shook me to my very core. I would be under the impression it be a high rank Chant like Hell Fire or Bombard, but I see no signs of fire or smoke. Whatever it was, it was just the sound.” He gripped his sword tightly and with his eyes focused west he narrowed them in concern. “It came from Edgewood…”

Grandall looked in the direction of Edgewood silently and wondered just what they would find there, and just what could possibly have caused that unparalleled sound that shattered the peace of the night.