Impartis
Imp starred in front, his eyes locked onto the crystals that lay before him. He had discovered this room months, or perhaps years, ago. It was the first room he found once he had become the master of the first tower, Kelborn.
The tower of Kelborn, also known as the tower of knowledge, received its name, much like the Artificial Intelligence that guarded it, from its creator, Dorothy Kelborn. It is said that out of the race of bohemians, a race who had a close connection to the Aether, she was the first to combine technology and magic. This tower is her legacy, one that others later try to follow by creating their own towers.
Kelborn had seen the potential of these towers and created an organization to oversee them. This organization, which would later be called the seekers of knowledge and power, was known as the Aethers hand.
Kelborn had envisioned her tower being the center of all knowledge, and for a time, it was just that. When the first War of Races began, however, the tower creators were destroyed. For many years after, the towers hung suspended above the sky's of Xeno-Movia, waiting for the day their new masters would appear.
One day, a young human by the name of Palik managed to make his way inside the towers. He managed to become the master of the tower of Kelborn, renaming it the tower of knowledge, but hadn't been able to become the master of the others. This caused the towers to break apart for a time, until others who were able to pass the tests set up by the creators, became the new masters.
Together, they revived the organization that Kelborn had managed to start, renaming it the seekers of knowledge and power. During the second War of Races, the Casarn managed to infiltrate the towers, killing the masters and all who resided inside. This was not done out of jealousy, like most had believed in those times, it was done out of fear. The towers, a place meant to house and nurture knowledge, was turned into a weapon that could have ended the war in the blink of an eye.
Palik, the last survivor of the towers, had barely managed to take control of the other four towers and, with his dying breath, seperated the towers. Sending them to the far corners of the globe to prevent the Casarn from using such powers on the Gods.
Imp took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Much like most who lived now, he had no memories of the second war. Where to most, that would be common, the second War happening hundreds of years prior, but Imp was different. He had been a boy when the war was raging. He sometimes gets the vague feeling that he had known the masters of the tower during the second War, yet his memories remain blank.
The earliest memory Imp has was a week prior to meeting with Tyril and the others. He had taken the job only because he heard that king Tyril could restore his memories. When the job was completed and Imp asked for his memories to be restored, Tyril just simply shook his head.
"I cannot repair what was never there." Was Tyrils response, and when they found this tower, something inside Imp had told him to become the master of it. To take the tower for his own. He was the only one worthy of the power, the knowledge it possessed.
Imp closed his eyes trying to imagine Grall or Adrian, the two that were with him when he discovered the tower, trying to master it. Grall may have been able to master the tower of Kelborn, but he wouldn't have been able to master the others. Adrian wouldn't have been able to master any of them, his magic being near nonexistent at the time.
As Imp thought about this, images flashed before his eyes. A red haired woman who was of pure Pyroniam blood. A boy who carried a book that predicted the future. A bohemian, possibly the last of his kind, creating a mess everywhere he went. These three turned to him and called him something he had never been called before.
Imp opened his eyes and stared into the crystals where those faces stared back at him. Something wet dropped onto his hand. Imp looked down at the water droplet and realized he was crying.
Imp stood up, wiping the tears from his face. "This is silly." He turned from the crystals and began to leave. Imp paused in the doorway and glanced back at the three crystallized figures. "Maybe, it's not too crazy after all."
Drillohiem
Drillohiem paused just outside the gates leading to Whitewater town. Something felt off, something abnormal was about to happen. Drillohiem began to look around, searching for the source of the abnormality.
"Drillohiem." A gruff voice shouted, startling Drillohiem. He turned to see Grodak standing in the open gate. "I see you found Gralls armor."
"Yes," Drillohiem glanced down at the dented armor. It had several holes where Grodak had pierced through it with the Green Sword. "That's not all, my lord. I have also found his sword, Oathbreaker, and was returning to inform you of such."
Drillohiem had not wished to give up his fathers sword, the only item Grall had cherished more than his life, and originally was going to hide it, but he could not hide it from Grodak now. Begrudgingly, Drillohiem withdrew Oathbreaker from its sheath and took a step forward. An orc, twice Drillohiem's size, stepped between them, snarling at Drillohiem.
"Holt, stop." Grodak stepped forward, shoving the orc out of the way. "If you wish to offer this sword, your fathers sword, up to me, then forget it. I wish to have nothing to do with that foolish brother of mine."
Drillohiem was taken aback, he had thought Grodak would have wanted Gralls sword to add to his collection. This sword was able to easily tear through his armor like paper and posed no threat to its wielder. Was he giving Oathbreaker to Drillohiem, and if so, why?
Drillohiem dared not voice his opinion, and instead sheathed Oathbreaker. "Why are you out here, my lord?" Drillohiem asked, his eyes going to the weapons Grodak carried. Grodak had two swords, one of which gave off a green glow, strapped to his side and a spear of sorts strapped to his back.
"I didn't come out to meet you, if that's what you're thinking." Grodak placed his hand on the hilt of the green sword and recoiled, as if in pain. "I came because of that." Grodak pointed to the sky and Drillohiem followed.
A hole had appeared in the sky, tentacles thrashing around it, and a bright white orb appeared in the center. The creature, for there was no name for what this thing was, used the tentacles to pull itself out of the hole in the sky and fell with tremendous speed to the ground.
"What in the name of the Gods is that?" Drillohiem asked himself. The creature stood twenty feet tall with over a hundred tentacles surrounding its body.
"Does it matter?" Grodak answered, he was already reaching for one of his swords. "It's here to attack Whitewater and that means it must die."
Grodak charged at the creature, swinging his sword in precise strikes, dispatching the creature's tentacles with ease. Drillohiem quickly took to the walls, climbing it nimbly. As Drillohiem reached the top of the wall, he peered down at the creature.
Drillohiem had a sense that his father once did this before. Just as Drillohiem was thinking this, the memories of when DarkWater appeared in the sky came flooding in. The core, Drillohiem realized, it's the creature's weakness.
Grodak swung his sword at the creature, but the creature managed to block his attack and sent his sword flying out of his hand. Grodak reached for the green blade but hesitated, memories of the pain he felt when simply strapping the sword to his side stopped him. Rethinking which weapon he should use, he began to pull the halbern off of his back, only for a tentacle to send it flying. The halpern tip piecing the wall beside Drillohiem as he readied a bow.
Drillohiem stringed an arrow and leapt from the wall. Drillohiem drew the string back, aiming for the core, and let loose an arrow. As he approached the ground, Drillohiem couldn't help but wonder if this was how Grall felt with every battle.
As Drillohiem hit the ground, the arrows hit true, piercing the core of the creature. Grodak, letting loose curses under his breath as his men fell one by one in front of him, reached down and grasped the green swords hilt, pain burned through Grodaks veins, almost causing him to drop the weapon. Grodak gritted his teeth as the pain moved along his body and drew the sword.
A bright green light shone in the area. Grodak lifted the sword above his head and began to slice desperately at the tentacles. He begged the Gods to give him the strength to continue his attacks and managed to cut a path to the core.
Drillohiem stood up, and began to follow Grodak through his path of carnage, assisting where he could and firing arrows at the core. As Grodak raised the green sword, ready to slay the creature in front of him, a pulse went through his body causing Grodak to fall to the ground vomiting blood.
Drillohiem tossed the bow he held and grabbed the green sword, immediately he found his mind assaulted by those of the swords. Drillohiem had little care for what they had to say and commanded them to quiet theirselves. To Drillohiems surprise, they did as he commanded.
Drillohiem moved swiftly and brought the sword down on the orb-like object, shattering it. Shards sprayed out hitting Drillohiem in the face and temporarily blinding him. As Drillohiem hit the ground, belly up due to his loss of sight, Grodak, still doubled over from the pain, stared at Drillohiem in disbelief. Grodak couldn't help but think that if he wasn't so weak, he would have attacked Drillohiem and took the green sword away. As it was, he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open.
"How... ugh.." Grodak winced as the searing pain caused his body to twitch violently.
"How what?" Drillohiem, rubbing his eyes, asked with a tinge of fear. He couldn't recall the last time he felt such fear and recoiled at the thought.
"How... ugh..." Grodak tried again, vomiting blood in the process. "Did you.... manage to.... wield... agh... the.... sw... ord..."
While Grodak spoke, every word causing him intense pain, Drillohiem's eye sight started returning. Drillohiem turned to look at his uncle, who was now in the fetal position with his hand clasped over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself from vomiting.
Drillohiem lifted a hand towards Grodak, reaching out to him in an attempt to help, only to find Grodak gone and replaced by a green spector. A sharp numbing pain shot through Drillohiem's hand and up his arm. He recoiled from it, scared of what might happen if he continued to touch the spector and the pain made its way to his heart.
"What the...!" Drillohiem leapt to his feet and began to look around. There wasn't just one green spector, but many, many, many more. Drillohiem estimated that there must be over a million of these things surrounding him, and if just one of them caused him such great pain, he did not want to find out what this number could do to him.
Jarada
Jarada was lounging in a bar when the creature hit the ground. He hadn't bothered to move from his seat when the warriors insisted all civilians should evacuate. He didn't even bother looking up from his mug of ale when the barkeep tried to strong arm him out.
Jarada was fine where he was, after all, he knew Grodak would keep it busy long enough for him to finish another ten or twenty mugs of beer. If Grall or his son, what was his name? Driloli? Drillop? No, none of those sound right.... Was it Drillohiem? After all he is part elf and part orc and Grall does love to be eccentric in his naming.
Drillohiem, a mix of elven and orc. The Drillo being orc for war and Hiem being the word for Gods, together they mean War of Gods. It sounded right but Jarada still wasn't sure if that was the right name.
"Hey, barkeep," Jarada said looking up from his mug, "have you seen an half-orc half-elf boy wandering around, claiming to be the son of Grall?"
The barkeep's face was flushed from exertion, the entire time Jarada had been pondering Drillohiem's name, the more Jarada thought about it the more it felt right, the barkeep had been trying to move him outside the bar to lock up. "Just because I'm an orc," the barkeep said in a rasping voice, obviously angry but too exhausted to express his anger, "doesn't mean I know every orc or half-orc in this kingdom."
"Oh," Jarada said, realizing just how this question could be construed in the eyes of others, "I apologize but that's not what I-"
"I know what you meant," the barkeep straightened his back, stretching to relieve the aches and pains that assaulted him, "and besides, if there was a halfling that was saying that, they would already be dead."
Jarada smiled, the thought of Drillohiem being killed before he had the chance to what Jarada, The Source, had planned for him was almost unthinkable. He knew when a soul entered the spirit realm and when they left, and Drillohiem had yet to return. Jarada knew very little of how the future will play out, but he knew one thing, the day Drillohiem returns to the spirit world is far in the future.
"Get me another mug of your strongest spirits, my friend."
The barkeep scoffed and was about to raise his hand to Jarada but at that moment, the sounds of victory echoed in the streets. Begrudgingly, the barkeep returned to his bar and poured another mug of spirits for his only customer.
As Jarada stared into the mug his smile turned sour. "I pray you make it out with most of your soul intact, my dear War God."
Adrian
Adrian was a few miles away from Whitewater when he felt the tremors. Adrian turned to Starlight, his dragon companion whom he had raised from birth. "What was that?" Adrian asked her, she had sharp senses and always could detect where such troubles came from.
Starlight turned her head and motioned behind them. Adrian followed where she pointed and saw a strange creature similar to the one Grall and Grodak described back when DarkWater landed and felt a sense of fear take hold of his being. Adrian wasn't prone to fear, he had always seen things he feared as a challenge. This, however, almost sent Adrian into a panic.
Shaking himself, forcing his fear to subside, Adrian looked at the creature in disgust. He wasn't going to allow himself to fall prey to his fears, nor was he going to allow this creature to command his emotions. He stared at the creature for a long moment, forcing himself to submit and conquer his fear.
Once Adrian was comfortable with the fear, he turned from the creature and continued down the path he was headed. Starlight stared after him in confusion causing Adrian to pause in the snow.
"Starlight," Adrian said as he rubbed his hands together. The snow and cold didn't bother him as much as it did the others, but even he could only take so much. "We can't return. Even if we turned around now and started to head back, Grodak would have finished it off long before we arrived. That would be a waste of time, and time is the one thing we don't have enough of."
Starlight huffed, a puff of smoke drifted out her nostrils, and pawed at the snow. Adrian sighed and, after returning to Starlight's side, patted her shoulder.
"I know, girl." Adrian smiled as small scales, Starlights baby scales, came off with every movement. "I don't like that he's keeping all the fun to himself as will. When we get back, we will need to challenge Grodak's soldiers to a spar once more. Would that make you happy?"
Starlight stared into Adrian's eyes for a long moment, as if to contemplate if it was a good trade or not, before finally nodding her satisfaction. Adrian knew she would agree, she had been wanting to fight the children she had played with when she was small since finding out they had become adults.
"Lets go. The final demon lord waits for no one after all." Adrian looked to their destination, a field that once held life, but now was covered in snow. It was where the last remaining demon lord had appeared, and it is the final resting place of Grall.
"Who knows, maybe he will grant my wish."
Tyril
Tyril staggered over the corpse of a dead demon, his body feeling weak and his mind damaged. It has been six years in hell since Grall, or perhaps it was The Reaper, tore through hell and threw Tyril in here. Tyril had just barely survived the fall, finding luck in the fact that the final layer had the kindest demons.
They weren't so kind as to make sacrifices for humans, or in his case, wraiths, but were kind enough to nurse those who fell down there back to health. Tyril mused how these demons reminded him more of humans then some that lived in the material plane.
When he was healthy enough, Tyril began to make his way to the upper levels, expecting them to be clear of demons. According to those in the lowest layer of hell, Grall had killed all those in the upper levels. Sadly, it was just Tyrils luck that he would miss a few hundreds.
Having experienced their cruelty first hand, Tyril knew better than to trust these demons, especially while a war for the next demon lord was going on on all the upper levels. Tyril had been forced to hide in caverns, kill to eat, and fight his way through to the next layer. A journey that should have taken him maybe weeks to complete, turned into months, then years as both his body and mind began to crumble.
At first, Tyril hadn't really noticed it. His hand would cramp up when he swung his sword and his back arched. He just figured it was a sign of finally getting old, he was over eight hundred years old after all. Then the worst happened, in the middle of fighting back a demon from one of the demon lord candidates army while protecting a group of young demons, his sword arm went limp.
This was when his mind began to break as the wretched demon shoved past him and killed all of the young. He tried to force himself to get up and fight, but his body refused.
More events such as this happened, tearing Tyril apart mentally and forcing him to face the fact that he was in hell. There was no exit. No one was going to save him. No one cared about his insignificant life. It was all meaningless.
Tyril slammed his sword hilt into one of the demon lord candidates throat. He had known for a while where this monster was and slowly picked apart its forces, making sure it felt the fear that it made others feel. This monster wasn't even worth killing, it hides itself away behind its men and never comes into the open.
Tyril knew the best way to force it to, he knew it would come out if it thought he was captured. He had played it off as both of his arms could no longer hold his sword. Oh how the demons loved the idea of seeing him on the ground as they took delight in torturing him.
It didn't take long for this beast, this grotesque monster to get wind of his capture. Of course the bastard came to see for himself. Came to see if he was really captured and subdued as the others told him.
He was so surprised when Tyril not only moved his off arm, but his sword arm as will. He was even more shocked to find his personal guards were no match for Tyril as he tore through them with such force, you would believe he was the demon and they were the human.
As the former demon lord candidate opened its mouth, ready to call reinforcements, ready to hide behind more of his men and reap the benefits that came with it, Tyril slammed the hilt of his sword into the pathetic creature's throat. The monster fell to its knees, clutching at its throat, trying desperately to gasp for air. Tyril smiled, or maybe it was a frown, he had spent so much time in hell he doesn't even remember what a smile felt like, he just knew that this was more satisfying then killing this demons men.
Tyril raised his sword and with a savage cry of satisfaction, he brought his sword down on the back of the monster's neck. The head came clean off and rolled a distance, stopping only when it hit another demon's foot.
Tyril looked at the other demon, behind him stood thousands of demonic soldiers ready for battle. Tyrils shoulders sagged and his head fell to his chest. His shoulders began to convulse with great tremors until finally, he threw back his head and let loose a savage laughter that chilled even the strongest demon's blood.