Chapter 1-4
It was a bleak morning, with a gray sky looming overhead. The piercing sound of Baldwin's voice abruptly woke Desmond and his father Jarald from their slumber. An air of tension filled the tent, as if something momentous was about to happen. Baldwin chuckled, implying a deeper meaning behind his words. Time seemed to hold no importance for him, a High Elder with powers beyond comprehension. But for Desmond and his father, mere mortals bound by the constraints of time, every second counted, and Baldwin was wasting it.
Outside, the bustling camp came alive with a whirlwind of activity. The sky gracefully transformed, its delicate shades shifting seamlessly from a gentle, pale blue to a captivating, fiery orange. Footsteps reverberated through the air, their echoes dancing amidst the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds, particularly carrion birds, survivors of Morgan's curse that had ravaged the land. Unfortunate casualties were spared from being thrown into the camp's cook pot. The invigorating scent of morning dew lingered, serving as a revitalizing reminder of the dawn of a new day.
But there was no time to savor the tranquility. Morgan, the menacing figure who ruled over the camp with an iron fist, was on a rampage. The news had spread like wildfire - fifty more Villagers had vanished, ten guards lay dead, and a handful had deserted. The day of reckoning had arrived - the camp would uproot and move. The task at hand was arduous: dismantling tents, loading supplies onto wagons.
It was a task that fell upon the guards, as the Villagers had dwindled in number for some reason as Desmond and his father yawned from another night of barely any sleep. The tasks of rescuing the missing villages and dealing with the tragic deaths of ten guard members, who mysteriously perished while engaged in a futile battle with swords, left them in a state of complete oblivion. The part that they didn't mind so much was truly fun and enjoyable. Desmond and his father found solace in the knowledge that the missing Villagers were safe from Morgan and Hess's grasp. The whereabouts of the missing remained a mystery even to their captors. It was a bittersweet truth, like a double-edged sword.
Instead of a "Dragon Wing messenger" delivering the message, Baldwin took charge and delivered it, while the other one stayed silent and would disappear once the message was delivered. The other would not vanish as quickly, and liked to be a thorn in one's backside, but least you could have a two-way conversations with the messenger, so you take what you can get and be glad other than the fact he was wasting your so-called precious time. Time they didn't have with Morgan breathing down your back with a constant reminder of how little your life matters to him. No, today was just another day here in Morgan's not so big Dark Army as it used to be. Thanks to Desmond and his father Jarald being a real big thorn in his backside. Now, it had diminished to almost half its original size since Desmond and his father became involved. The good news was he stayed oblivious to it, for if he did they would have been long dead in the worst possible way Morgan could imagine.
However, today was a good day to die. According to Baldwin, Morgan was ready to do something other than continue to watch his army dwindling down to its former glory. And his men and captive villagers disappear into the night, and the further decay of his master Hess who refuses to die, not that he or Morgan haven't tried, but the curse wouldn't allow it. Poison didn't work, a stab through the heart did nothing as they watched it heal in a matter of a few minutes. The poison might as well as has been cough syrup, or strong nasty tea, for both had very little effect, they contemplated chopping off his head, but that didn't go so well as the ax or the sword disintegrated the moment the blade touched his neck. It was a mystery to why the man just couldn't die, just rot, and smell that was so deplorable that you had to cover your mouth and nose from the very stench. Morgan tried to laugh, but it was no longer a laughing matter. They needed to kill or capture Hess and place him inside the Cross Bone Gate Prison, which was designed for wizards like him and other notorious criminals, whether magical or not.
Morgan asked one last time if he was ready to go to his fated doom, as he goes over the list of people that are left in his Dark Army, choosing the ones Hess and he could trust. Now, Morgan contemplates the concept of "Trust" as he evaluates all of his men, who have earned reputations as cutthroats, thieves, and notorious killers. That are willing to sell their own mother or even their child for a bag of gold. "Loyal" too was another word that wasn't what implies. No, obedient and willing to do whatever if the price was right. Morgan cringed, knowing his coffers were going to feel the pinch. But what choice did he have? He would have to steal more once he was free and unburden of his master and this accursed Dark Army and the problems it gave. He couldn't even remember when the last time he even had a goodnight sleep. He was beyond exhausted, it was pastime to do something even though he didn't like it, well mostly didn't, because he would be his own master, it will be a very long time, perhaps a century maybe two depending on where you're at, before the boys he needed would be born. Not that he didn't have plenty to do during that time, but would be worth it when he becomes a God and Time will mean nothing. And when he is finally able to rule over everything, including time, this will be but a bad memory.
Yes, it was pastime, Hess looked over the list of men adding Morgan's two favorite two new Captains Desmond and Jarald, knowing they were the best and 'Loyal' to their cause, and how fast they had climbed the ranks, and earned the respect of all Morgan's men, and would follow orders, Hess wanted them to there with him, thinking that he could use a hundred men like them, when he comes back from beyond the grave. They would make excellent Generals in his Dark Army and ready to send the Gods of Light to their fate. As his Dark Army obliterates them into extinction and all their followers as he becomes the new God to rule over the entire universe in all the realms, including the shadow realm. Then hunt down that group of people he discovered in that accursed scroll that had cursed him. Hess smiled when Morgan tried to talk him out of giving him his best two men Desmond and Jerald, wanting them for himself. Baldwin laughed as he watched these two bicker unaware that these two were the ones in causing them the most trouble.
The next was the easiest and the hardest, as Morgan and Hess plan his master Hess's demise, or one could say last stand.
It was no easy task for Morgan as he summoned his Dark Army. High-ranking generals and lowly lieutenants filled the camp with the rank and file. The air was heavy with tension as he begrudgingly prepared to address his men. The sight of their faces, a mix of fear and loyalty, unsettled him. But he had no choice. They were mere pawns in his game - they would either follow his orders or meet their demise. The weight of his power hung in the air, a palpable reminder that their lives were expendable. The decision of their fate rested entirely with him. Today, however, he would deliver news that he knew they would despise. It didn't matter. They were his possessions, bound to obey or face certain death.
Morgan anxiously paced back and forth before his men, the sound of his boots echoing in upon the hard, crusted ground. Suppressing a chuckle and a feeling of disdain, he knew the news he carried would alter their lives forever. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the weariness evident in his weary exhale. He longed to be free from this burden, his mind already occupied with plans for his escape. Yet, a twisted desire compelled him to witness the demise of his master in the most brutal fashion, a spectacle that promised both entertainment and a twisted sense of satisfaction. Sadness lingered, but remorse held no place in his heart as he anticipated the impending doom. He had no doubt that if the roles were reversed, his master would revel in the same fate, perhaps even indulging in a bowl of popcorn and the finest wine to celebrate the occasion.
Morgan's voice echoed through the air as he uttered the enchanting word, "Ternaera." The word seemed to shimmer with magic, its power infusing his every syllable. The sound carried far and wide, reaching every corner of the camp, ensuring that none could ignore his command. The air crackled with anticipation, a tangible energy that seemed to cling to every soldier present. The air was filled with a heady aroma, a combination of the scent of sweat and decay from unwashed bodies, mixed with the reek of the dying landscape and the metallic tang of weapons, creating a powerful and lingering smell.
Morgan's gaze grew intense and determined as he visualized the formidable Army of Light, the supposed adverSar'sies they were up against. In his opinion, they were merely seen as a cluster of inept fools without any notable qualities. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, a surge of determination coursing through his veins. With a deep breath, he let the word escape his lips, his voice carrying the weight of authority and impending doom.
"Today is the long-awaited day, my fellow men. Today, the air crackles with anticipation as we gather to bid farewell to our revered leader, sending him to his inevitable demise. But let us not be mistaken, it is not his doom that I speak of, but the doom that awaits our enemies. As our beloved leader, Hess Lotti, walks towards his imminent slaughter," the atmosphere is heavy with the scent of impending battle.
The distant echoes of clashing swords shatter the somber silence, reverberating through the air like a haunting symphony. Unshielded, the blades clash with a resounding force, creating a thunderous roar that resonates in the depths of one's being. The soldiers of the Morgans Dark Army raise their swords high into the air with fervor, their enthusiasm palpable.
"With each step that our beloved Leader Hess Lotti takes, time seems to stand still. The worlds he enters anxiously await, holding their breath in anticipation, as if frozen in time. The air crackles with the charge of electricity, creating a heavy and charged atmosphere with excitement. The true master Hess Lotti is preparing to take his place among the Gods. Our Gods, not these pretenders of "Light," but the Dark Gods of the Shadow realm, the true power and the Light.
"Tapestries adorn the grand halls of our forefathers, depicting our triumphs, with each thread woven with the blood, sweat, and tears of our fallen enemies. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the marble walls, creating an atmosphere of both awe and intimidation. There is an electric atmosphere filled with anticipation, as the whispers of our imminent triumph reverberate throughout the vast expanse of the universe and reach even the confines of our homes, bestowing upon us the well-deserved honor we all seek."
"With their eyes shining with a fervent determination, the loyal soldiers which will be you my faithful and honored men. Will, adorned in dark armor, stand tall and resolute, ready for any challenge that may come your way. Riches beyond riches. Power beyond anything you can possibly imagine will be at your fingertips. The clanking of our armor and the sound of heavy our footsteps reverberate through the hall, a symphony of power and unity.
In the heart of it all stands our revered Leader, a new God enthroned. His intense gaze commands unwavering obedience, and the crowd hangs onto every word that escapes his lips. The weight of destiny rests heavily upon your shoulders. Mogan pauses, observing their faces filled with awe and power, ready to carry out his every command. He relishes in their foolishness, their arrogance, their unwavering loyalty. With a swift motion, he raises his hand, transforming it into a mighty fist, causing a hush to fall over the camp, as if time itself holds its breath. The air is thick with anticipation. He continues, his voice resounding through the camp.
"We will ignite a fire within our hearts, the flames dancing with a fierce determination. As one mind, we stand united, the weight of our purpose palpable in the air." The scent of anticipation lingers, mingling with the metallic tang of resolve. "Today, we are prepared to unleash our wrath upon those who dared to oppose us, their cries fading into the background as we rise. This is the dawning of our reign, the rise of darkness that will eclipse the feeble light.
"Today, we fight, our hearts pounding with adrenaline, bidding farewell to our Beloved Leader Hess Lotti as he embarks on his journey. We stand with him, our support unwavering. Today is the day, my Dark Army, where courage musters within us, as we watch proudly our beloved leader venture beyond the gates of the accursed Cross Bone Gate Prison. The Gods' fire tests our determination as we hear the sound of clashing swords and the crackling of flames filling the air. With one strike of his Mighty Sword, our leader will transcend into a God, his power unparalleled. The Gods of Light, our sworn enemy, will exist no more.
"Now prepare to do battle. We leave in three hours, fully adorned in our gleaming body armor. On the table, you will find a meticulously arranged list of names, carefully selected by our beloved Leader
Hess. These chosen few will form his Honor Guard, shielding him with unwavering loyalty. Sadly, the rest of us will bid you farewell until your triumphant return. It is a great honor to know that you will protect our revered Leader, both within and beyond the imposing gates of Mortal Men."
The air filled with a mixture of anticipation and sadness as Morgan released his spell, laughter echoing through the camp. They exchange salutes, pounding their chests with pride, their right arms placed solemnly over their hearts. Boastful laughter fills the air, mingling with the scent of determination and resolve. They wish each other good luck, their spirits lifted by the camaraderie of the camp as they prepare to leave.
Desmond and his father, Jarald, exchanged glances, their disappointment evident in their furrowed brows and downcast eyes. As they peered at the list before them, a sinking feeling settled in their chests. They thought it couldn't be true. There must have been a mistake. Their plan had been to slip away under the cover of darkness, blending into the night with the remaining captive Villagers. But now, their thoughtfully devised escape had taken an unexpected turn.
Their eyes met Baldwin's triumphant gaze, his smug smile mocking their predicament. The sight of their names at the top of the list confirmed their fears. Baldwin's expression seemed to say, "I have the upper hand now." He saluted them like a victorious soldier, his satisfaction palpable. Then, in an instant, he vanished into thin air, leaving them bewildered and filled with unanswered questions.
Silence engulfed them, broken only by a faint echo of laughter that seemed to taunt them. It was a chilling sound, a haunting reminder of their shattered plans. As the laughter faded away, they couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. Their lives were about to take a drastic turn, confined within the walls of the Cross Bone Gate Prison. Yet, amidst the despair, a glimmer of hope emerged. Perhaps, they thought, this unexpected twist would bring some excitement to their otherwise mundane existence, then again maybe not.
It was a heart-wrenching and grand sight, filled with a mix of emotions, to witness the dismantling of the once formidable Dark Army camp. The few surviving horses the lucky few that didn't make their way into the cook's pots, their weary bodies covered in dirt and sweat, strained as they pulled the remnants of the camp onto creaking wagons. The sight brought solace to many soldiers, but for Desmond and his father, it evoked a sense of dread. Their spirits sank further as they received the assignment to join Hess Lotti, the aged master of Morgan's, and his battle-worn comrades. The stench that wafted from the old geezer was suffocating, a nauseating mix of sweat, decay, and illness. It churned one's stomach, threatening to unleash the urge to vomit. To add to their burden, they had to bathe him and meticulously dress him in his final armor, carefully lifting him from his sickbed onto a stretcher.
In truth, they longed to join the other part of the Army, their eyes fixed on the distant figure of Morgan as he ventured forth on his socalled impossible tasks. The air was heavy with anticipation, a mix of hope and uncertainty. But deep down, their true desire was to sever all ties, to vanish alongside the captive Villagers, never to be seen again. The scent of determination lingered in the air, as Baldwin's stern voice echoed, refusing to grant their wish without explanation. Frustration grew like a smoldering flame, fueled by the enigmatic nature of the man they called High Elder. The Gods of Light, too, were equally vexing. Loyalty alone kept them bound to their cause, for if not for that, they would have abandoned everything and never looked back. Yet, there was a promise made, a word given that held an unbreakable power. It bound them, leaving them with no other choice.
The captive Villagers were still not free, their presence a weight upon their shoulders. Most would accompany them on this treacherous journey, for Morgan could not spare his men to watch over them or provide sustenance. When he, too, abandoned them to their uncertain fate, Morgan's army, already dwindling, would be further diminished and he alone would be the remaining survivor. Yes, it felt unfair as they watched those in Morgan's new Army leave and they stay behind as Hess's socalled Honor Guard, knowing it was no honor to serve him. No, it was the opposite of honor. It was disdain and felt like everyone, including the very Gods of Light and the High Elders had abandoned them.
We chose not to bother with tents, horses, or wagons, as there were only two wagons and four horses remaining. Hess, unable to walk, claimed the best wagon and the finest team of horses. The rest of us, about fifty villagers, had to walk in soldier formation while being guarded and prodded along. Hess handpicked two hundred individuals for his so-called Honor Guard, while the rest of Morgan's newly formed Dark Army departed. We knew we would meet our enemy within five miles of the camp, and it was up to us to decide whether to fight or surrender.
As we approached the Army of Light, we saw two thousand soldiers clad in gleaming, bright armor. The sight alone made it clear that they would utterly destroy us. We had lost all desire to fight, worn out from starvation and exhaustion. The suffering we endured during our time in Morgan's Dark Army had drained us. We had little more than a couple of swords, and they left us with the leftovers from the other army, including the wretched, foul-smelling tents. Rats had chewed the mats inside, and the thought of eating those rats without salt or pepper turned our stomachs. We had already consumed our fair share of such desperate meals.
Desmond and his father Jarald felt a mix of fear and disappointment as the Army of Light dragged them through the streets. The crowd's hostility towards them was palpable, fueled by their belief that all of them were part of Morgan's Dark Army. But they were unaware that the ones who had gone with Morgan were the actual monsters, and only a handful of them had been brought along. Amidst the chaos and prejudice, the captors unjustly ignored the stories and innocence of the captive Villagers. Desmond and Jarald knew that convincing the people to listen and understand the truth would be an uphill battle, as rumors and preconceived notions had already taken hold. But for the sake of their own lives and the lives of those who had been wrongly judged, Desmond and Jarald were determined to try and convince the people to listen and understand the truth.
It was the one of the longest walks Desmond and his father had walked under scrunny of the the towns people.