Sci Fi & Fantasy / Prologue (Analysis)
After years of self-imprisonment in this decaying elven body, the sorcerer would finally be able to shed his skin. He had murdered one of the Royal Guards to the House of The Kathatan. Then after disguising himself in its body, he made his way into the Prince’s chamber, where he removed one of the prince’s locks of hair whilst he slept soundly. After having the needed component, he transformed the elven guard’s body into that of the Prince of Kathatan. It was the first key to the success of his quest.
For almost half a century, he then searched for the book, and now it was in his grasp. He would return to Hellnor victoriously, having put all the time he had to good use. He would give the book to her and she would mark it so he could carry on with the mission he had been given. He would redeem himself for his actions in the past.
”You must not fail me,” she had warned. And he hadn’t. He had come through at last.
The task of entering the gate under the watchful gaze of Sanden Tower and its inhabitants of a few hundred various forms of hardy magicians yet remained. It would probably prove less difficult than it would for any other. Blessed by his goddess, he had been able to travel the Death Sands unchallenged. She was watching his every move, and with success of his mission so nearby, she was surely lending him her full attention.
The thought of ridding himself of his disgusting shell filled him with what passed for joy. Any sorcerer of decent strength and determination could have been picked to do what he had done, but she had picked him personally. The Dark Goddess had to have known that he would pass this test. She had not sent him away for the sole purpose of showing her distaste towards his failures, but as a way of testing his faith and reminding him that in the quest for the greater good, rank is no bar to sacrifice. The sorcerer had sacrificed much. Temptation had kicked dirt on his doorstep at more turns than he cared to admit during his quest.
He passed over the last dune to find the uppermost portion of Sanden Tower sprawled before him. The building’s top eight floors doubled as a watchtower to spot those who might attempt to get too close to Hellnor. It rose above the surrounding dunes and peaked in an open roofed enclosure with barricades carved straight out of the tower itself. The only being other than a human to have ever set foot on the tower’s roof was himself.
The thought brought a small smile to the corner of his lips. The day he had been on that roof was one of the high points for his army during the Underthian Wars. It seemed like yesterday. Right now, if he was in his proper body, he could probably take the whole damn place and stand up there once again.
His smile turned to a displeasurable frown as he recalled how Sanden Tower had been stolen from him. Pushing the matter aside, he refocused on the task, and made his way closer to the tower.
Sanden Tower was unique in that the upper eight floors were above ground, seventy more floors existed below and each floor branching off into thousands of passageways. Only one of the passageways led to the Gate of Hellnorn, the doorway to the Nine Helnors and the very gate that he and others like him had been coming in and out of for as long as recorded history could say it was so. It had been almost fifty years since Heshmunn’s brothers and sisters had sealed Hellnorn, which had ended the Underthian Wars.
How she had managed to send his spirit forth through Hellnorn all those years ago, he was not sure. His body remained enclosed in a tomb somewhere in her castle in the Ninth Hellnor. That was his destination. His part of the bargain was complete, as far as the first leg of the mission was concerned. As soon as he stepped through the gate, the mortal flesh was to burn away and his true physical self would re-emerge.
Five Druids awaited him at the entrance, lined up across the doorway. They were dressed in tan robes, which in the desert would seem like a bad idea. However, being masters of their environment, Druids hardly felt heat or cold. They blended with their surroundings very well, thanks in large part to their enchanted cloaks. From a distance, they were virtually impossible to spot.
This is where his mortal shell would come into great use. Heshmunn had said that the guise would prove most useful and early on in his journey, it had become very apparent that she was right. This, however, was the final test of its usefulness. If it did not work now, it was all for naught.
The Druids had not budged. They obviously did not feel threatened by him, which would have been far from the truth had they known who and what he really was, but since they didn’t, the Druid standing in the middle of the group merely removed the hood from his head and nodded in greeting.
”Welcome to Sanden Tower, young Prince of Kathatan. You may enter.”
The elf of whom he spoke was probably sitting in silk robes in his forest kingdom playing Sarin-Oriti, the board game based on the strategies of the battlefield, but no one but the being under the skin knew that.
”Thank you, Reymur. Everything is well, I trust?” The irony was sickening.
”Of course, sir. I do find it odd, though, that anyone, much less royalty, should be wandering about this part of the world alone.” The Druid was inciting something, but it wasn’t what he should have been worrying about. “Are you well, sir?” he asked.
”My mother decided to test me,” came the carefully worded the somewhat truthful reply. ”Just a small test of courage that she thinks I don’t have anymore.”
Reymur ducked his head apologetically. “I see, sir. It was a bit suspicious, that’s all.” There was a moment’s pause and the Druid stepped aside. “Please. Go ahead, sir.”
The elf prince patted the Druid on the shoulder as he passed as though they were old friends and stood before the closed door of the tower. Seconds later, the door opened, and with a triumphant grin, he stepped forth, into Sanden Tower.
Suspended in the air every hundred feet or so were enormous, flaming chandeliers. They were connected to nothing but air. They lit the tower’s wide berth very well. Looking up, he could see the roof and the door that led to it. During the war, he had walked up the same winding staircase without a soul to get in his way. Now, every stairway and stone bridge had someone on it. Hundreds of Druids milled about. Fortunately, stealth was not an issue, so as he made his way down the stairs he did not attempt in hiding himself from the others.
The looks he received were of surprise and curiosity, but no one got in his way or even attempted to speak with him. Down and down he went, floor after floor. He did not have to reach the bottom. The real path to the gate of Hellnor began on the thirteenth floor. He had a ways to go yet, he did not tire.
Finally, he reached the thirteenth floor and walked with an air of command surrounding him. He peered round at the guards whom were standing around the base of Hellnorn. The gateway was nothing but a sealed stone ring, cold until the spell that would bring it to life and the toll of five souls was paid. He sneered at the six guards that stood at the base of the portal. Their expressions changed from curiosity to surprise as the skin of an Elven prince sloughed off a skeletal thin frame robed in darkness. His eyes glowed yellow from their sockets as he stood to his full height of six and a half feet. Valmont stretched his taught muscles relieving their ache of being crammed in the shorter Elven body.
Quickly the druids tried to call to mind spells and hexes but they were too late, a skeletal arm raised and pointed a knobby finger. The voices of a thousand dead souls came from the leather tight face, wailing the three words of the sacrificial spell. The druids burst into blue flame and their chanting desperately grew louder and more intense causing Valmont to second-guess himself. However, he had come too far to be defeated he planted his feet and shouted the words again. The blue flames brightened to pure white heat. The chants became screams of pain and terror. Valmont smiled and cast the last four words of the spell that would open the portal and send the souls to Hellnor.
The stone ring burned red then white as the six bodies that stood before continued to wither in pain and agony not allowed to find bliss in death. The center space of the ring became red molten lava and then opened to reveal the abysmal space known as Hellnor. Valmont flicked his wrist and cast the six souls to their eternal torture at his hands. Five tolls paid and one for pleasure, he thought as the bodies of charred flesh landed on the grey ominous landscape.
He collapsed. His body weakened immensely from the wear and tear of the cast spells and his self-imprisonment in the Elven body. He rose up slowly as he heard shouts coming from the staircase. He had to hurry; he was losing time and energy with every ragged breath. Blood speckled his lips as he began to cough violently climbing the Gateway’s pedestal. His thin black hair was blown back in the heat of the portals ring, its roots beginning to tear from his scalp and blow away. His robes began to tatter and tear as he stepped closer to the portal. He raised his hand and grasped the ring of white heat. He sucked in hot air to keep from crying out and stepped through the portal. Instantly the stone cooled and the rings space became empty as a score of druids already murmuring spells and raising their hands to cast entered the empty room. Nothing showed of the battle except for the charred cloth of druid robes and the remnants to seared flesh on the cold stone rings inner side.
The desolate plains of Hellnor stretched out like taught leathering hide as Valmont made his way from the closing portal and towards the hideous castle that was home to his Goddess Heshmunn. Hellnor shifted and changed as he walked, his strength renewed by the returning of his soul to the Nine Hellnors. His wasted body and withered muscles flourished into the powerful man he had been on Uuraun before Heshmunn had brought him home. The land never stayed one form but many variations of warped and destroyed fields of chaos. The sight was extremely beholding and Valmont smiled in pleasure of being home once again in the physical representation of the lands mistress. He watched as demons and archangels tortured the helpless souls of those whom had failed to please Heshmunn in the servitude or had displeased her in their afterlife. Bodies hung from hooks and chains that were bore into the air itself. Blood, gore, entrails and unidentifiable things that baffled even Valmont.
He made his way through the torture fields and into the haven where loyal souls worshipped and served the Dark Goddess. They turned and bowed as Valmont walked through them. Revered Son of Heshmunn, he was their Head Priestmage. The right hand of Heshmunn, or at least he had been before he had failed her. He had shown his weaknesses but instead of punishing him, his Dark Goddess had sent him on his quest. Now that he had returned with the spellbook, he was not sure if Heshmunn would reveal the remainder of his quest to him or if he would be ordered to wait until the time was right to resume and until the return to his duties of Head Priestmage.
The spires of black onyx rose against the purple skies of Hellnor like the jagged spikes on a hellhound’s spine. The fortress was magnificent, beautiful, shocking and hideous all at the same time. The home of death herself loomed before Valmont. However, as he got closer to the fortresses portcullis, a figure merged before him from thin air. The figure wore a robe of enveloping black, its hood hiding the face in shadows. Darkness seemed to flow off the figure and the air grew cold with the chill of night. An aurora of death and majesty shrouded the figure.
Valmont fell to his knees in reverence. “My Queen, Dark Goddess of Hideous Beauty, Lady of Death and Torture, I, Valmont, have returned to The Nine Hellnors with the spellbook I was sent to recover. With it your faithful servant and Head Priestmage wishes to prove his love and devotion to you and no one else. May it please your Unholiness and bring her more power and strength.” With the humbling prayer, he laid the spellbook in front of him not daring to look up as the robed woman stooped and bent over to retrieve the book. The darkness intensified and pressed down on Valmont like the weight of an ocean.
“Rise up, traitorous being,” came a beautiful, calm voice that spoke with dignity, majesty and grace. Valmont’s head snapped up in shock and curiosity as he realized the figure he had just pledged his soul to was not his Unholy Dark Goddess. He stood up in wonder as to whom he had just given over the spellbook and with it his soul and eternity.
“Who is it that dares to trifle with Heshmunn’s Head Priestmage? Who risks their soul to attempt to claim my quest and sacrifices for their own? Who are you, you blasphemous bitch?”
“It is not I that has just renounced his devotion to the Unholy Darkness and placed it instead falsely in the worship of a mere mortal. Now who is the one who utters blasphemy? I am only retrieving what is rightfully mine and destroying the traitorous being that should have killed me when he first met me. You failed your Dark Goddess by bringing me to the Nine Hellnors and not destroying me, but for some unknown reason the Lady of Death forgave you and gave you a final chance to redeem your soul. Once again, I have been your downfall, for not only did you proclaim your devotion and eternal service to me but you have handed the spellbook to me instead of the destination of your quest, Queen Heshmunn’s hands.” The robed figure said as she untied her sash and let her robes separate revealing a beautiful woman wearing silver mail and bone armor. She lifted the hood and let it fall to her shoulders. She wore no helm and her black hair framed her face enticingly. Her lips full and red, her eyes a crystal blue that pierced Valmont’s soul.
He snapped out of her trance and snarled. “You are a mere girl, barely in womanhood. Do you really expect to beat me? Even with the gifts of your powers, you are untrained in the arts of harnessing them. You would not stand a chance against my wrath. No one will stop me from fulfilling my return to my Goddess, nor rob me of my triumphant return. Stand down or die.”
“Oh but you forget. You have returned to the one you have deemed your Goddess. I stand before you and tell you that I am not holy nor am I of Godhood, but I am the punisher of blasphemy and betrayal. I am the iron fist of Heshmunn and will show you where the true powers of evil lie.” With a flick of her wrist sent Valmont tumbling backwards across the abyss.
He landed in a crouch and shot a beam of green energy from an outstretched hand at her as he stood up. She deflected it with a flick of her wrist and sent the same spell at him. Energy surged around Valmont’s body, protecting him from the spell. It flared brightly as he roared in irritation.
The child had power like none he had ever known. While on his quest for the spellbook, he had discovered a great presence whose magic had come almost close to matching that of his own. He tracked it to a small cottage and murdered the only two present inhabitants, but the power still lingered in the air with a static intensity that buzzed in Valmont’s ears. He searched the rooms and found the fourteen-year old girl huddled under her bed sobbing. The buzzing had gotten louder with each step he took and as he raised his hand and called a death spell to mind, he heard the words of his Goddess.
She told him to bring her to the Nine Hellnors for Valmont to take in as his new apprentice.
During the week he had spent in break from his quest, he had soon discovered that the girl had the power of a mage far beyond her years. She could cast spells without knowing what she was doing. It was pure emotional energy. Most mages went through three levels of casting. Wandcasters were the novices that could only harness the power of a spell by waving a wand as they cast their simple incantations. Staffmages gained a harness to their powers through the help of the crystal that sat upon a wooden staff. Then there were Handmages, who had learned to harness their gifts and cast them with the power of their own will.
Most mages never surpassed that level but there were few like Valmont who grew into the levels of magic that could not be measured. The powers of magic bent to their will and some could cast without gesticulation or with out speaking and even a few who cast with their thoughts alone. Magic got very dangerous after you reached Handmage. The powers could consume you if you were not strong enough to control them. The magic could possess you, drive you mad, or worse.
Now he stood in a battle of honor and the Lady of Death’s favor, with the young girl whom had aged since he had last seen her. Along with her maturity, her gifts had strengthened and it seemed she had surpassed the abilities of Handmage.
Valmont held up his right hand and five blue bolts shot from his fingers. They flew through the air crisscrossing and spinning as they closed in on their target. They hit their mark sending dust and debris into the air. A sly smile spread across his lips, she was powerful but a young fool. What a shameful waste of magic. The dust settled and Valmont’s jaw dropped. There was no body, no gore, and no strewn pieces of flesh or cloth.
A chuckle came from behind him as thorny tendrils of black rose vine burst from the barren earth and snaked up and around Valmont’s legs and arms. She walked around his entangled body and looked him in the eyes. Even in the predicament he was in, Valmont was struck by the way the young girl had grown in power and beauty. He wondered what his real prison was, vines or her entrancing presence. A thin dagger was held in the girl’s fist. She stepped forward and raised it to his throat. However, as she opened her mouth to say something, thunder clapped as a bulkhead of clouds rolled across the sky.
Lightning rained down from the ominous clouds, earth charred and burst into the air where it struck. Then a powerful bolt landed behind the girl, and both captive and captor were blinded momentarily. As their vision restored, their Unholy Goddess stood before them.
The young girl fell to her knees in worship. Her forehead touched the ground at Heshmunn’s feet. The Lady of Death’s dress flowed around her ankles like a seductive shroud of decay. Despite being the Unholy Goddess of Death, Heshmunn’s figure was enticingly beautiful and voluptuous, no mortal man could ever resist the temptress if she chose his soul for her desires. She walked past the young woman at her feet and stood before the entangled sorcerer. His eyes wide in hope, he began to snivel and grovel, explaining the treachery and misguided blasphemy.
Heshmunn eyed Valmont with a look of disgust and belittlement; growing tired of his excuses, she silenced him with the back of her hand. He spat blood onto the ground at his feet. His Queen wiped a trickle from his lip and sucked it off her finger. “You bleed once more, Valmont. How does it feel to be mortal again? Do you feel it? The hunger and thirst? Or worse do you feel the want for it from the souls whom you once ruled?” A rush of despair and longing entered the pit of his stomach like curdled milk. He felt the cobwebs of their lifeless fingers and icy touch, his skinning turning blue where they touched and then returning to its pale pink as their death left to be returned by another begging soul. “Do you feel the envy? Do you feel their jealousy and hate? You have the very life blood running through your veins that they once new and loved. All your ambitions, hopes and dreams have returned. They no longer seem like they are an inch from grasp, taunting you, haunting the nightmare that was your reality when you reigned here in Hellnor.
“Only one other here feels what you feel. Sasha, my newest Head Priestmage has lifeblood in her veins but the Lost Souls cannot touch her. They bend to her power, my will, and my commands that she orders them to act out.” Valmont’s eyes went from Sasha to his Unholy Goddess as he realized what she was saying. “Ah, so you are not as ignorant as you sometimes portray, Valmont. Sasha filled in as my right hand whilst you sought my spellbook. I began to train her as you were supposed to when you returned, initially hoping to quench her thirst until you returned. Nevertheless, she progressed remarkably and soon I find myself looking forward to each lesson, watching her grow in power, strength of mind and will. She exceeded both our expectations and as you have found out first hand has come to overpower you. Therefore, I have named her my Head Priestmage and you her final test. She has passed wouldn’t you say, Valmont?”
“I can not remember when I did not serve you my Queen and I have proved my love, loyalty and devotion to you. I have been your faithful servant, I have spread your word, and I have commanded your armies, both living and dead. I am your High Priestmage.”
“You were her High Priestmage. It is a new era Lord Valmont.” Sasha spat his previous title at him as she interrupted his effort to apologize and redeem himself. She had rose to her feet and now stood at her Unholy Goddesses side. “I am the High Priestmage now. I will take my Mother’s armies and bring more followers to her; those that deny her will pay at my hands. I will succeed where you have failed and with the powers of the spellbook you attained for me, I will bring the lands of Uuraun into the loving and unwavering embrace of Heshmunn. They will see her love and the errors that the other Immortal Gods and Goddesses have bestowed on them in return for their faithful worship and servitude.”
Lord Valmont glared at Sasha as she announced her plans to take over the very mission that he had been set out to accomplish. His dreams, his power, his glory, and his honor were being stripped from him before his very eyes. His love and worship to his Unholy Goddess had been for naught. His fury welled up inside him. He wanted his hands around Sasha’s throat, to the choke the life out of the one who had stolen everything from him. He lowered his head in an attempt to calm himself, but it was too late his vision was rimmed with red and thunder sounded in his head.
With a roar, the vines encasing Valmont burst apart in a blinding flash that even made Heshmunn shield her immortal eyes. Dust cleared from the explosion and Valmont stood before them free, his body was glowing a soft red. Sasha’s eyes went wide as her former prisoner’s hands shot out swiftly as he sent spell after spell into the young girl’s frail body. With each spell, he took a step closer to his victim. He laughed hysterically as she collapsed to her knees, blood coming from her mouth. He was upon her now. He lifted her up to her feet, hands clenched tightly around her airway. He squeezed tighter as he lifted her off the ground cutting off blood flow to her head.
“Look into my eyes as you die little bitch. It is a shame, I had wished for you to join me but instead you became power hungry. If only you would have been strong enough to hold onto your puny dreams. A shame, a damn shame.” Valmont tightened his grip.
Instead of the final gasp or last effort to break free as he expected, Sasha began to laugh hysterically. She reached up and grasped his wrists. His blood turned black and congealed in his veins as her spell took hold. He screamed and released his grip but she held hers. The spell would through his veins and up his arms. As his blood blackened, his skin lost life and began to wither and wrinkle. As the spell reached his heart, she dropped him. His heart took over from there, pumping rapidly, dispersing the death through his body. In seconds, Valmont had aged into the old man he had never been. But, it did not stop there, as he stared down at his wrinkled hands, his hands began to die where the spell had began. It spread up his arms, his heart still beating as his body died and decayed.
Valmont screamed and withered in agony as the violent spell killed his body but left his heart and mind alive. He felt every crackle of skin, felt his muscles melt and body ooze. He lay in a pool of his own decay, staring up at his murderer. He cursed and damned her, with his last breath of life. His entire body was now a pool at his soul’s feet. He smiled at Sasha. He was free now, he thought to himself. Once again, Sasha proved him wrong. She lifted her hand and shouted a commanded, and a wave of pain erupted through the soul of Valmont, that was greater than that he had felt in life. His soul began to crack and then shattered before her. She caught it in an elongated ruby, Sasha turned and kneeled in worship to her Unholy Goddess, her head bowed low.
Heshmunn walked up to her faithful High Priestmage, smiling in pride. Sasha stretched forth her hands; palms upturned displaying the elongated ruby as a token of homage. ““My Unholy Queen Heshmunn, Dark Goddess of Hideous Beauty, Lady of Death and Torture, I, Sasha of Rhuldis, present to you the shattered soul of Lord Valmont of Tower Ivenora. With it your faithful servant and Head Priestmage wishes to prove his love and devotion to you and no one else. May it please your Unholiness and bring her more power and strength.”
“Rise, Head Priestmage Sasha of Rhuldis.” Sasha did as instructed, her back straight and her shoulders square, she looked deep into her Goddess’ piercing eyes, her hands still offering the encased soul. Heshmunn took it up and enclosed it in a fist. The dark ominous clouds began to rumble and blink with power as lightning began to rain down from the skies once again. A large bolt struck the ground at the Dark Queen’s feet.
Sasha covered her eyes from the intensity of the explosion. When she reopened her eyes Heshmunn stood in front of her, a tall staff of Blackened Oak in her hands. At the top of the staff, imbedded in the top of the staff was the ruby that encased the soul of Valmont of Ivenora Tower. His image flashed briefly into view in one of the gem’s many facets and was gone so fast Sasha wondered if she had imagined it. Her eyes twinkled with delight as Heshmunn held it out to her.
“This I give to you as a symbol of your devotion to me and my love and power that has been given to you. With this staff you will rule under me. You will guide my armies of both The Nine Hellnors, and those that remain on the planes of Uuraun. You, my dear will be the one responsible for the fall of the empires that “rule” Uuraun and the conversion to one religion in which I reign supreme.” The bulkhead of clouds grew darker with each word and thunder rumbled while the green lightning flickered in and out of the clouds threatening to strike the barren lands. “Now come my child, we have much to discuss and plan to prepare us for this time of change.”
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very interisting and kept my atention the whole way through.keep writing cause u have got my attention.you should submit this for publication.keep writing.i am very impressed
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i thought this was good.. sory i couldn’t read it all i ran out of time… but this is very interesting
VERY FRESH PERSPECTIVE, ALTHOUGH YOUR INFLUENCE ARE EVIDENT YOUR STYLE IS STILL YOUR OWN. THE COMMENTARY BETWEEN CHARACTERS IS GREAT AND YOUR CLOSING WAS VERY POIGNANT.
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