Chapter 1-5
There was no mercy, from the town's people or the High Kings across the badlands near and far across the realms in the universe. Known to some behind the looking glass, which could soon merge with ours, most of "The Masters of Light" that weighed our souls with Morgan and Hess that day. Morgan vanished once again, leaving Hess' body hanging in the courtyard with his soul confined inside a bottle. Then placed and sealed in a large, warded glass box with more spells that no one understood what the meaning were, as they cut up each part of his body and spell burned it watching each burn part being sucked into small bottles and separated and sealed taking them to spots unknown and worlds unknown.
That each of the forty or so clans were given ten sealed upon the person and one on the package. It was a binding spell, combined with a forget me spell. That would take away the memory of the package and the person they gave it to. The moment each runner drank the potion, the spells were placed. They vanish in an instant and return in less than a blink of an eye, perspiring and panting. They could not recall the Journey, or the person they gave the package to, no matter how hard they tried.
The same applied to every member of the forty or so clans. The Council of Light informed all the people, far and wide, that Hess would never be able to rise again in full body form, as they had burned and separated his body, scattering it across the stars. And they placed his soul so deep in the Cross Bone Gate Prison. The Gods themselves guarded it, sealing twenty sets of chamber doors that held neither key nor lock to open them.
For us, trained and turned dark as night as soldiers of Hess's Army, watching him being hung and disfigured. The sight was both horrid and joyful, with many of us cheering and shedding tears. Not because he was dead, but because he was finally unable to cause further harm to anyone. Yet the anger for us did not wane. Instead, it gained momentum as the townspeople demand the High Council to seek out the death penalty.
For was it not us that killed and slaughtered many of the townspeople in Morgan and Hess's name? Whether or not it went against our will, was insignificant. Or the fact we were doing whatever it took to save our own families or the fact that some of us, like my Da, and I tried to help many of them escape. Who now despises us, and now calls us monsters, and now wanting us to die for the crimes we have done, or think we did or not done made no difference in their eyes.
There was no sympathy in the High Council's eyes when they looked at us standing in long rows of killers, murders, and thieves. They judged us all of one accord. Known to be soulless, hateful killers that had no right to be judged by any type of mercy with one strike of the gavel without a single word from us. Our jailer used his staff to maintain our connection to him. Suddenly, our dark uniforms and body clothing blurred and transformed into ghost-like apparitions, vanishing as if carried away by the wind.
The town's people came across the realms to watch us be taken to the Cross Bone Gate Prison never to be seen or heard from again. Joyful cheers filled the air, curses of our names resounded, mothers clung to their children as they pointed and spoke. Murders, killers, filthy names, or everyone spit at our face and at our feet. It would be a remarkably long time for many of us before we saw the bright blue sky and bright yellow sun displaying our three moons on our current planet Blaiarum.
We all cringed as we watched the portal close into a spiral of blackness as if we all had journeyed so far that we were long past the afterlife, feeling the strange coldness settling in. Desmond's father carefully made his way up to him, through the long line as he took his hand, and squeezed it, whispering in his ear that everything will be ok. Desmond's eyes scanned the area with a mixture of disbelief and concern, like his father's sanity had vanished. The sight of the murky green and black swamp, littered with ancient bones atop shields and spears, sent a shiver down his spine. The air was heavy with the pungent scent of decay, and the occasional slithering of colorful snakes, their venomous nature evident, added to the unease. Yet, even in this grim place, Desmond couldn't help but ponder the futility of it all. After all, once you were dead, what did it matter? Still, he couldn't deny his distaste for it.
In the distance he could see a large round building, with large out buildings sloping down up against the mountains. Noticing the lights and doors with little stone walkways and bridges, with strange little creature's, mixed with humans running back and forth nonstop. Some were sweeping, and some were handing off large stacks of cloth. Desmond and his father never thought Hell could be so busy, but if you think about it.
People are necessary to run Heaven and Hell, as they must function like a city. Thousands upon thousands of little lights sparkled, while the smells of a grand feast wafted through the air. The anticipation of the feast caused everyone's tongues to melt as they eagerly waited for the real actual food to be served. This was in stark contrast to the scraps, and sometimes tasteless food, if any, that they had been receiving from Morgan and his Master Hess. To say Morgan's Dark Army was very close to starvation was more than true, that many of his troops were malnourished to the point that many were nothing but skin and bones, but then again so we're many of villagers they had come across. The livestock and wildlife experienced the same circumstances. Morgan's Dark curse not only affected the population of every town, every village. It also affected his own Dark Army.
We paused, suddenly arriving at what appeared to be the primary bridge. It loomed before us, a massive stone archway with a gate in the center, constructed of ancient, tarnished metal. Its design intricately woven bones into it, and it had an aged wooden sign hanging above, declaring it as the Cross Bone Gate Prison. Neglected and forlorn, the gate bore a weight of melancholy, as if it had been forsaken by time itself.
Our Jailer extended his hand, caressing the two skulls that rested atop the gate. One on the right, the other on the left. A large black chain, emerging from their mouths, linked them together in a continuous loop. In a hushed tone, the Jailer whispered to them, paying homage as he bowed. Then he straightened himself and retrieved a knife from his left hip. With his palm upturned, he drew the blade across his hand, causing crimson red blood to well and trickle down onto the skulls, allowing them to bathe in his life force. A dense cloud of white fog erupted from the skulls, morphing into two ethereal figures. Hovering above us, they undulated like serpents, their presence captivating yet unsettling. Pausing at certain individuals, they would single them out, yanking them aside, as if sorting them for some unknown purpose.
Our jailer, a tall and sinister figure, stroked his wiry beard as he paced along the line of restless ghosts. Their anger was palpable, filling the air with an eerie tension. The male ghost, his hollow eyes burning with accusation, pointed a bony finger at the hidden object. The female ghost, her voice faint, muttered words of secrecy. A chilling smile played on the jailer's lips as he slowly drew out a gleaming carving knife, its sharp edge glinting in the dim light, and tapped it on his left palm as if toying with the idea of using it.
Then again, Desmond wondered. If you are dead, what could a simple knife do to you? Either way, he didn't want to find out, considering they were in enough trouble as it was. It seemed that the Gods of Light and the High Elders had abandoned them to a fate worse than death, after they completed the tasks asked of them, because it certainly looked and felt that way. Yes, both he and his father wanted to have a serious conversation in regard to why they had abandoned them. When they had done everything they had asked of them. Instead, the rest of Morgan's Dark Army judged them as murderers, cutthroats, and thieves. Yes, they wanted to know the big question which was. WHY. are they here? And where in the Hell is Baldwin? Because far as he and his father knew this wasn't part of the plan, far from it.
"This situation," our Jailer hissed, his voice dripping with malice, "can unfold in three ways." His cold gaze turned towards us as he eyed us one at a time, as walked down the long line of his prisoners. With a menacing tone, the jailer laid down his three rules, his voice echoing through the dank surroundings. The scent of dampness and decay mingled with the fear that permeated the atmosphere. As he spoke, a shiver ran down our spines, a chilling reminder of the dire consequences that awaited us beyond the gate. "(1.) You can strip down to your skin. (2.) You can hand me all your weapons, including wands and staff's, shields, and body armor. Or you can remove them here and toss them out into our lovely swamp. (3) I can kill you, take your weapons, and toss you and them out into the swamp and let our nice little pets play with you.
"And for the rest of you dirt bags," he sneered, "I'd rather end your pathetic lives now than waste time judging you for your heinous crimes." The weight of his words loomed in the air, a reminder that each and every one of us was guilty, or at least guilty enough to be condemned to this wretched place. This prison, infamous for its cruelty and impossibility of escape, was known far and wide as the epitome of despair.
"As for your magic, once you walked through that portal, we have removed it, for the time being, and have removed the arm bands that had suppressed it while you were waiting for your trial by the Council of the Light. We will give it back to only those who have earned it, depending on your sentencing. We did that to scare those that are thinking that our Cross Bone Gate prison exists for those thinking it is only a rumor, or a lie, or a fairytale told around campfires, and is not a wonderful place to be. Hoping to scare off those, that think it is a vacation and not the bowels of hell or a close replica of the true hell. This is, you might say. Is a way station before moving on to either hell or heaven,"
He said a few magical words and used simple hand gestures as we watched his staff appeared, black as night, covered with heads of horses chasing each other around each other. On top was a large blue gem filled with light, caged in circlet wood like silver. Our Jailer wore a black robe, made of stern cloth, that covered his shoulders to his knees.
Made for one to wear in or during a hard winter in the high mountains. Yet he did not seem to sweat a single drop.
Underneath, he wore stern black pants and heavy brown boots. Desmond's father claimed that our Jailers wore pants made of rare Elk that were born and raised in the high mountains that no one dared to go. Desmond's father, and many others in the group. Sucked in and gasped at the intricately covered silver and red symbols on the heavy robe hanging around him. The garment he wore was something that no one had dared to wear for several generations, and even then, it was only mentioned in folklore and old tales around a campfire. When Desmond asked his father about it, he shushed him as he and his father watches him more closely.
All Desmond and his Da had was a simple carving knife and simple wand. Da had his walking staff. Magical or not, he tossed it with his knife into the swamp. Watching bone hands catching them both as it sank down into the depths. Like them, everyone else did not take any chances, but some of them had a harder time with theirs. Telling our Jailer, it was a family heirloom, or they hand crafted it themselves. They shed hard tears as the jailer reminded them that he did not care, and his or her family does not care, and neither should they. Because when, or if they see daylight again, the world as they know it would change ten times over several hundred years.
However, he took the item that was rare and said depending on the outcome of their trial they may get it back. If the outcome was not favorable, he would guarantee that their items would be given to someone worthy. Desmond's family was poor, and Desmond and his father did not have that kind of money. Which was one of the reasons why they joined Hess and Morgan's army, well that is what they wanted them to believe.
When the actual truth was that the Gods of Light had asked them to serve as spies, gather information, free the captured villagers, and cause trouble inside Morgan's Army. Far as the other captive villagers go. They had no alternative but to confront a public execution by the headsman's axe or to be hanged from the tree in the courtyard for refusing to serve, which was the main reason. Despite this, a considerable number of individuals engaged in it for financial reasons and became infamous criminals. Who were beyond bad, the kind Morgan and Hess liked the most. And regarded them as friends and considered them loyal to their cause, and most of all evil to the core, just like them … quote 'birds of a feather, all flock together.' Yet, they never saw the money promised … other than a small hand full and some trinkets.
However, Morgan and Hess expressed their displeasure with us because we refused to kill … In fact, our actions were quite the opposite. We tried to save as many people as possible we could under his nose. By creating a prison escape route, from Morgan and Hess prisons stockyards. We were runners, nothing more.
Once we took or threw out all the weapons, knives, and staffs into the swamp. Our Jailer return to the front with his two ghosts,' the female stating that he was getting soft over the years. Her husband's ghost said. "Why not? It's a challenging thing knowing that the High Council of the Light unfairly judged these prisoners, many of them working for Morgan. After all, someone allowed him to escape before he could have been tried. If he had, then perhaps most of these idiots would have seen some mercy. Instead of a quick and angry trial…. and we down here, know it. Who knows what our council has in mind, but we do know this. At least it will be fair."
We were on our way again, as we marched two by two in long rows. There were more ghosts that had joined our ranks as a welcoming party, as they broke us off into groups of twenty-four. It wasn't as if we could break the ranks as many have tried as we grew closer as some tried to run, even though there was nowhere to run too.
If you feel the need to run, a ghost would "encourage" you to get back on your feet or back in line, hearing loud screams of pain of that "encouragement." Some tried to use magic to stop them, but nothing happened. Just like our Jailer said, they took away or blocked our ability to use it. However, it felt good to get rid of the shields and the heavy coats that Hess and Morgan forced us to wear. We only wished we could discard all the rest just to feel normal. Then again, this was just a reminder that this was Hell or close to it.
Without warning, we crossed the extended bridge while the Jailer suddenly turned around and addressed us. "I will take the first group of twenty-four into the chamber room and passing the rest of you maggots off into the manservants hands, who will then take you to a large holding area which is our banquet hall.
"Please forgive us. We are not used to having so many guests at once. You are our guests, and we will attend to your every need. Follow our rules of conduct and your stay will be most pleasant for both of us.
If not. Be prepared to face the consequences of your actions which we deal with swiftly here. Never forget this is a prison. This is the worst prison known to wizards and to man regards to all clans and species and a like. Like anywhere else, there is always work. We must work to have food on our table, clothes to wear and a clean place to sleep, and other duties.
"To us, it doesn't matter how you spend your time. Granted, hard labor pays off besides learning a new skill. So, when you are released, you can apply what you have learned. Yet it can also cut down the time on your sentence. But if you would rather spend all your sentence in your cell in a stasis pod, sleeping for your entire sentence, we can also arrange that. The more you learn the better, because some of you could even see the sun again. Have a family and children. The possibilities are endless. You will not age here, in fact, if you choose to while you are working, to decrease your age to a certain point, including being born again which could be possible. Which is extremely hard to receive that sort of gift here.
"But could be obtained with an outstanding record … almost perfect record, and the Council of Light agrees when they visit it us, from time to time. To see you personally, or how we are doing and as our prize workers. Then that reward is more than possible. Now let's go inside, for you have a lot to do today as we get you settled in your new home. Plus, I could use a nice cold pitcher of grog and a large Bear steak. He tried to escape and killed two of my best friends here and lost the fight last week. Now, I get to eat him and his soul. So don't piss me off, or my friends inside. Or we will not only kill you, but we will also eat you alive soul and all."
The main entrance was a little friendlier than the two gates we had just walked through. However, none of us felt that this was really the front gate, watching it shift the moment we were about to reach the stairs. Feeling a hard gust of bad smelling wind. That curled our noses and wanted to vomit. The Jailer stood in front of us at arm's length and spoke. "That's strange. Why are we treated so harshly?"
He bonded us all to the ground where we stood and said for us not to move. Unless we wanted to get lost in the swamp. We knew better than to try anything as all the ghosts surround us and "encourages" us to sit on the ground. While we watched our Jailer walk up towards the mountain, with the same two ghosts that we had met upon our arrival.
We heard him curse back and forth, seeing two individuals more like toads as he yelled at them. "Why haven't you moved that portion of the chambers that are no longer useable to us? Yes, I know it will require a new main entrance! It's needed! And we told you that once we have Hess's sealed up nice and tight! That he will never leave his chambers in any form, other than a shade or ghostly shadow. I had just come from a place where they took care of that not over five years ago.
"So, I suggest you two fix it right now! Before any of us start drinking from our swamp from the thirst of it!" The realization of how quickly time passes in their current situation hit Desmond and his father Jarald, leaving them both gasping in astonishment. It is not surprising that Baldwin and the other Elders, as well as the Gods of Light, do not consider Time as significant since they possess immortality that surpasses the very notion of time. Desmond and his father estimated that the duration of their stay in this desolate location was likely no more than an hour, if not even less.
We observed as he returned with his two ghosts and two companions, engaging in a heated argument. These companions resembled massive toads, and I mean enormous toads. We're talking about frogs the size of small basketballs, donning pinstripe suits that contrasted against their green and white bellies. One of them even sported wire-rim glasses on its nose. As soon as they noticed the issue, the main dome began rotating from back to front. In unison, they clicked their tongues and exchanged tisks. "Oh, my!" they whispered back and forth, the male frog remarked. "It must be those twenty sealed chambers; it seems to be confused about what to do with them."
The female toad tisked and said. "Why did they not listen to us in the first place? There was constant rushing and hurrying. We have been working hard for a hundred years. When we need at least five, or even a thousand years, would have been better. But no one asked our opinion. No sir, instead they said looks great. Will it hold the worst wizard known to man? We said no, and they laughed as if it was some kind of joke on us. They said 'well, he'll need a body first, and then a key. I say good luck with that.' Considering that there is no key that can open these locks. He would require a body or individual who possesses the ability to create twenty keys tailored for these doors. I wish you good luck with this endeavor.
"Not to mention, no one here knows how to open it. Making it impossible for his spirit to be released, even behind twenty locked doors that require the right spells, and a key created for each door. No one here knows how to open it, and if they try the spirit itself will disappear into nothing, without the right spells to open the glass box. Which is impenetrable without the cell itself shifting into another universe."
Our Jailer went over to them and said," So how are you going to fix it? I don't have all day as you can see. I have over five hundred prisoners waiting to be checked in, and five hundred more to be checked in two weeks, and the last of them in three months' time, if not sooner. Not to mention that we have our regular handfuls that will be released and new prisoners who will be checking in. I wonder sometimes if the other side has the same problems as we do?" He said as he made his way back to the group and waited like the rest of us.
We watched the two toad like frogs come to a consensus. They grabbed a drawing pad and swiftly started working on a solution. By each looking at the mountain, that seemed barren. The female brought her idea to her partner. Witnessing their negative response, characterized by vigorous head shaking, We became aware of their tendency to incorporate additional elements and eliminate certain aspects. They engaged in heated whispers until they finally reached a mutual agreement. In a swift manner, they engaged in a discussion, sharing their ideas with each other, and then presenting the combined ideas to both the ghosts and the Jailer. In addition, the Jailer provided a few thoughtful ideas that were considered. The plan seems workable at the moment, but it still requires a vote from the full council in order to gain their approval. Our group of twenty-four got to see a lot that was going on, as so did the others, as we sat there watching.
The male frog's hand movements above his head showcased the familiar power of magic to some of us. Watching a large ornate staff, just his size made of white bone, and green jewels and red crystals appear. To some of us, that was nothing to what happened next, which was the scary part as he started to grow from two feet to thirty feet tall. Each step he took shook the ground as he walked towards the furthest mountain to the west of us. Our Jailer seemed unimpressed, like this happened every day here. However, it came clear that escaping was a bad idea, as Desmond and his father both swallowed hard watching that not so little toad walking through that swamp unhindered until he reached the mountain.
Once there, he waved his large staff towards the mountain as the heavy winds above, and the water from the swamp swirled towards the spot. Where a not so little toad wanted it. The mountain started to crumble like sand in dark pieces of chocolate. The not so little toad moved his left hand over to the clean spot. As we watched all the mountain debris re-piles, he dug deeper and deeper.
Until you could no longer see him. Because of the pile of dirt that was so high that it touched the darkened sky here. That held no sunlight, just the moon that never moves as our only light shining brightly. We waited as we watched the Toad climb out or hopped out, in frog fashion, dusting off his suit. And looked at the mountain of dirt he needed. Shook his head, counting on his fingers of items he needed. Then transformed back into normal state he started with.
As the husband had already prepared a space on the twentieth sealed floor, it was now his wife's turn. The dimly lit swamp smelled of dampness and decay, with a faint scent of mildew lingering in the air. The floor, where the prisoner named Hess lay, was soon to become the two hundredth floor, as the jailer had proclaimed. The jailer tasked two frogs with completing the job correctly from the start. Their slimy skin glistened under the faint glow of the moon's eerie light.
As his wife began her work, the sound of scraping metal echoed through the valley of the prison were we sat watching. She suggested that they move back a bit, her voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. She mentioned that it had been a remarkably long time since she had performed this task. However, the jailer, with a cold indifference in his eyes, showed no interest in accommodating her request.
"Most, if not all, among this lot, is marked for death. Very few, and I question a small few are not." When he told her that, it was then he gave us a barely a noticeable wink to her and to us again, and "by us.
He meant us in particular singling out certain individuals" He clarified it, making sure we understood it, getting his point across, As he gave a hard nod towards Desmond and his father and a few others, then just like that…. He continues eyeing the rest of the groups. Not giving him and them away. Desmond turned to his father, implying he saw it to and understood the message. That something was definitely going on. And it was if the Gods of Light and the High Elders have changed the game plan, or had something in mind for them, and just told them to be patient, and things are not as bad as it seems. Our Jailer's voice dripping with apathy. "Why should you and I care about how they die? They can die now or later. Making our work lighter is how I see it. After all, this is the worst of the worst prisons that both man and wizards have ever known," again, giving us that secret wink and a nod.
She chuckled sweetly, but there was something unsettling about the sound. It felt as if she wanted to devour us, her long fangs glistening in the dim light. The question arose, do toads even have fangs? Well, in the case of these toads, it seemed they did.
Once his toad's wife reached the same height as he did. She waved large circles around the ever-changing dome; watching it turn into a ghost structure as it rose above the other as both kept it spinning. You could see rows and rows below it and inside its walls, in total transparency. Until it reached the last floor of the building, as it kept rising high into the sky … in spirit form. The other had a face, but it appeared almost solid. But had nothing to say if it was the front or the back of the building. Apart from the presence of three enormous domes made of glass ceilings, adorned with towering peaks and bone white spider arches. The one redeeming quality was the absence of spinning.
We then turned our attention back towards the mountain. Where the Male Toad toiled away at all his hard work, as his wife delicately placed her part of the prison into the hole, with her husband's help to make it a perfect fit. It was far from perfect, as they praised each other for a remarkable job. His wife said. "I think boys, we got it from here, while we attend to making of a new front of our main entrance. So, our friend here can get to work so others inside can do theirs."
Once again, we were told to remain seated where we were. As the female frog went to work talking to ghosts about materials, she wanted as she redesigned and sent ghosts to inform the council of the reason for our hold up. Everything happened in a flurry of activity, as materials appear and disappeared in a matter of seconds. Watching the female frog move and form a door, and a nice open patio. With large gems of every kind. In the background, you could hear tools working and watch new walk paths being made, and bridges being made towards the mountain. Watching the portal open and close again, bring in more prisoners, and materials coming in or going out. Either for sale, or help with current projects.
One can only hope, that dying is peaceful once you have taken that last breath. At least, that's what Desmond had been told most of his life, however, no one had said nothing about away station before moving on, yet then again we haven't died or experienced death as it seems, for now we are in limbo, not quite dead, but not quite alive but in between. We reached our destination, and it is true that the World and the members of the Council of Light had already formed their opinions about us. We have yet to be judged by the Council of Death. True, the chamber itself buried Hess' soul so deep. And true, he is dead, more than dead. Nobody is with him, only a spirit trapped in a limbo state, not allowed to move on but imprisoned as his soul is meant to suffer a worse fate than moving on to the very bowels of hell.
No, in truth, none of us wanted that fate, but even that was too good for him. Someone deliberately ensured the loss of paperwork, leaving no doubt that they would face eternal damnation. Not spend it in a limbo state, where he had a one % chance of escaping, or someone making sure Morgan or the likes, can free him. Someone must have made sure that the paperwork came up missing … but the question is Who?