New story

So I decided not to continue that other story. It was horrible. It was merely fandom, that became "how can I kill Alex today?" So instead, I actually attempted to write something I wanted to do. So yeah here it is. I actually spent some time on it. Well, today really. I actually wrote this one out before typing it, so read it and comment. Any feedback is appreciated, I guess.

Prologue-Part 1

There was an obvious tension shimmering through the crowd. One look into those expectant eyes and you knew that a momentous event was on the horizon. Sadly, this was not a joyous occasion. Well, maybe a certain few individuals were elated at the present circumstances, but the majority, well, the human majority, was severely dreading what was to come. It was the type of dread that comes right before an execution. That feeling of absolute horror and disgrace accompanied by the unexplainable desire to be witness to such a memorable event. Such a feeling is widely justified in this situation, for it is to be expected. This was an execution after all.

It was a bright and extremely hot day, the kind of day that makes one envious of that lonely hermit in the desert, who, normally pitied and often mocked, at least has the wonderful shade of the lone palm tree, where he currently takes up residence. Instead, this unfortunate crowd was gathered in the town square. This square was once a prideful part of every Palman citizens lives. The mothers of Palma would visit this square daily to visit the many merchant’s stalls. Along with their groceries, these housewives would then indulge themselves in the daily gossip, for it is common knowledge that women of small villages love to gossip as much, if not more than their city counterparts. The children, let loose amuck, when not performing some devious prank, as children normally do, would venture towards the middle of the town square, where old man Percival, sitting on his high stool, would indulge them all in stories of trolls, ogres, elves and the like.

He would tell them the stories of Sean Aldieb, the Knight of Lions, who, along with his merry band, ventured across the Shadow Mountains and vanquished the Dark One centuries ago. He would weave the tale of Marcus Grinwald, the Phoenix Fire, who journeyed to the Shadow Wastelands and exterminated the threat that was the Dark One Reborn. He would overly exaggerate the heroism of Rincewind Doyle, who single-handedly, supposedly, killed the Dark Lord. Now yes, it has been widely accepted that all the names of the dark entities that tried to rule the world are pretty bland and horrid, but what else is to be expected. Even though all these oppressors had the ingenuity and power to have control over the world at some point in time, none of them had had the foresight to declare their name to the public. So the population itself was forced to create a name for them. Of course, without an official recognizable name, each region had created names entirely different from one another. The one known as the Dark One in Palma, was commonly referred to as the Night Reaper in Motavia. The Dark Lord was often called the Night Crawler, now these names actually have some sort of meaning attached to them, but in Palma, a desert town, reported as the most distant town from the country capital, this meaning was lost. No one here had actually had any run-ins with the Dark Ones or their minions. Today was a different matter though.

The square once bustling with commotion had become barren except for the people gathered. All the decorated stalls had been torn to shingles and disposed of. The stalls are what had given life to the town, and now it was dead. In the middle of the square where old man Percival’s stool once stood was now erected five pillars, each easily thirty feet high, higher than any other building in this desolate town. Each pillar was an eerie crimson red, each giving off a faint octarine glow, clearly announcing it’s magical construction. On each pillar, five feet above the ground, a person was suspended, arms raised over their heads. From a distance it seemed as if each were floating of their own accord, but on closer examination, that was clearly not the case. Each person’s arms and legs were bound by a seemingly insignificant twine of thread, but this thread gave off that familiar octarine glow. This magical thread was far stronger than any steel binding that could be found in the capital palace’s dungeons. Once you were caught in this thread, there was no way you were getting out with physical force. Of course an understanding of this thread would lead to the question of why they don’t use magic to escape. Well, each individual was wearing something resembling the shape of a flu mask, and it very well may have been, but this mask gave off that familiar octarine glow. This mask served more of a purpose than merely halting speech. If that were the case any normal item of gagging properties could have been utilized. No, this mask prevented any incantations, whether it be verbal or nonverbal. As such, these prisoners could not escape either physically or magically. They were true prisoners, unlike those in the palace dungeons who oft-times find themselves in broken restraints giving them ample time to attack the guards and escape. The pillars, the thread, and the masks complete the octarine triangle, for it’s common knowledge that all magic is performed best in threes.

The five individuals suspended in the air, were easily recognizable by all who had heard the stories. The one on the far left was surely Cecil. No on could mistake that clear water tone cloak that even in this situation, draped elegantly around his body, or that wondrous staff holstered on his back that had the engraving of Mistress Alys who personally blessed it. To the right was Aryl, the bright green hair a dead give away. No one truly knew how she had green hair. It was speculated she had some elf blood in her, but these aren’t the kinds of people you would wish to impose upon by asking such personal questions. Her mastery of the bow hoisted on her back supported the elven theory, but no one could truly be sure. To the far right was Ivan, the supposed prince of a far off country. His lineage still hadn’t been determined, but it was decided that such a matter could wait until his journey was over. The rapier he carried proved that some in the high council of his country believed him, for this rapier was once of the royal treasury, the symbol of a raven clearly inscribed upon it’s hilt. To the left of Ivan was Maia, the spell casting prodigy of Motavia, the wizard capital. Unlike most wizards, Maia hates the uniform draping robes and pointy hat. Upon first glance upon her visage, her role seemed best suited as a thief, the only hint of wizardry being the wand sticking out of her coat pocket. In the middle was suspended the clear leader of the group, Adan. His plate armor arguably the best of current times, unfortunately, is unable to hold it’s weight in comparison to past legendary armor, such as the armor crafted by Nigel Argwin, who created Rincewind Doyle’s armor that was with him throughout his whole journey unscathed. Adan’s armor on the other hand, already had well defined misconformities. Clear indentations on all sides, and a tragic hole, though slight as it may be it’s still visible, through the breast plate.

The crowd looked on upon these five in absolute remorse. If listened to intently, one could pick out the separate conversations within the crowd. There were the children, unable to grasp the concept of their heroes downfall, still hopeful that something would happen to save them all. There were the mothers futilely trying to persuade their children to go back home where it was safe, even though under these circumstance the houses were no more safer than the current position. There were the fathers arguing with the mothers that it’s better for their children to learn the truth of the world now, that you can’t rely on strangers to save the world. There were the young men, all trying to resist the urge to run up and try to free the prisoners, but knowing they don’t hold the power to perform such a feat and that if attempted they would surely share the same fate as those above. All became silent though as the hooded figure entered the crowd.

The only visible clothing besides his black hooded robe, were his black buckled boots. Inside the hood of the robe was pure shadow, no visible face in sight. It was said that if you stare into that empty space for too long your body would turn to stone, which would then crumble to ash. As he walked through the crowd, rather; he seemingly glided, the townsfolk all averted their gaze, obviously trying to avoid befalling a death of petrification. Even with eyes averted, they all felt the shiver throughout their whole body when he passed. This shiver made you think of one who was fishing in the northern ice waters and fell in the water. This shiver made one think that fellow got it lucky.

The crowd quickly moved out of the path of this hooded figure, but no one escaped the shrill cold. And so it was, that the shadowy figure was standing in front of the five pillars, townsfolk gathered around, at a distance of course. This figure then addressed the crowd in a voice that made one miss the shivering cold felt earlier. This voice sank deep into one’s bones and with every word, the bones would reverberate as if one’s own body was speaking through a secret language composed of vibrations.

“Today is a momentous occasion. Today marks the beginning of my true reign, free of these rebels. Today marks the loss of hope for the world you cling to. These fools who dared amass an army against me, these cretins who charged into my palace, these heathens who barge into my throne room, shall set an example for the world. Here in Palma, hometown of their leader, these rebels shall be punished for treason against their absolute ruler as shall all….”

In a flash of white light an immense ice wall emerges between this shadow and the pillars. It’s more than just a wall, it’s an ice barrier surrounding the pillars. The shadow, infuriated by this interference, starts to chant, completely nonsensical to the on-looking townsfolk who have never witnessed true magic before. The shadow holds out it’s arms or what should be arms, the sleeves of his robe are far longer than any normal human arm would be, so it’s still indefinite if there’s even a human in there. From his sleeves erupt a massive cloud of smoke and onyx fire which completely immerse the ice.




Adan feels the magical restraints start to loosen. A few seconds later, the once binding thread seemingly melts away, leaving a small puddle behind. With the restraints gone, Adan falls off the pillar, landing on the soft sand below. He quickly glances to the sides to see his comrades safely on the ground as well, but there’s one more person here he’s unfamiliar with. A young man stands in front of him, facing the ice wall in front, a silver staff with an octarine glow in his right hand aimed at the ice wall. That stance of concentration, this man must be the one maintaining this barrier. He also must be the one who had freed them.

Adan could feel the multiple questions he had for this stranger on the tip of his tongue, but he knew better than to verbalize them. The harsh beratings from Maia had permanently ingrained the concept that he should never interrupt a spell caster’s focus, especially if said spell caster was in the process of saving his life. So it took him by surprise when this man spoke to them.

“None of you say a word. I don’t have much time so just do what I say so we can all get out of here.” Adan unconsciously nodded his head in agreement, even though his savior’s head was turned in the opposite direction and couldn’t see him. He then listened intently for his instructions, eager to escape this place. I need all of you to gather around and form a circle. Link arms and two of you grab my arms as well. If I move from this stance the barrier breaks and we all die.”

The five obligingly form a circle, Adan and Ivan grabbing on to the stranger’s arms. “You’re going to get really dizzy, but don’t let go no matter what. There’s no telling where you’ll land. It’s best if you close your eyes. If you see what’s happening the effect will only be worse.” Still silent, the five comply, all knowing that trusting this stranger is the only way to survive.

Adan closes his eyes and tries to hear what’s going on outside the barrier. All he hears though is the sound of the magic hitting the barrier. Though it should instill some fear into him, he finds it a bit soothing, reminiscent of a waterfall. Starting to visualize the cascade of magic bearing down upon them, he feels himself suddenly swooped into the air. Unable to control himself, he opens his eyes to see the universe rushing past him. All he sees is a blur of flashing color superseded by more flashing color. Upon sight, a rushing headache and nausea instantly plagues him, far worse than any night of drinking Troll Beer. For those not in the know, trolls have a far higher resistance to alcohol than humans, as such, in order to become even slightly tipsy a troll must concoct his own brew of alcoholic beverage far more potent than any human drink. One sip of Troll Beer will bring a human as close to death as possible without actually dying. What Adan is feeling now is far worse than even that. Forcibly shutting his eyes, in a hopeless endeavor to relieve some of the pain, Adan finds himself feeling as if he’s now spinning in the air, which only adds to his current ailments. So intently focused on his own condition, Adan barely realizes his one true order throughout this ordeal. He was supposed to hold on tight. His fingers had unknowingly already started sliding off the arms of those nearest him. Feeling completely infuriated with himself for not even being able to remember such a simple task, he takes a strong grip on the parts of arm still in reach, issuing a yell of pain from a body connected to one of the arms.

You know that sound a tree makes when it falls to the ground? Well this was nothing like that. This sound was more resembling of a pillow landing on a soft bed. Very subtle, but there. It was definitely a landing, of sorts, there was a feeling of hitting hard earth, but it was more like falling from only five inches off the ground. Upon feeling the earth underneath their feet, the whole party collapses in a daze of swirl and flashes. Evidently even though they were warned against opening their eyes, none could resist the natural instinct to want to see what’s happening. So it wasn’t odd that the party had collapsed in a state of absolute nausea, what was weird though, was the fact that the stranger collapsed as well.