An Alturian Legacy- Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A somber mood was brought upon the proceedings. It seemed that the creatures that the village once believed were intending to slaughter them, weren’t going to do so. They had, however, arrived apparently with the motive of informing Middlewood that something else was going to happen that was to accomplish this same end. This event exploited what can be described as a void in the rich array of emotions that humanity owns. Whilst moments ago the people of Middlewood were ready to die fighting against these demons, they then had hope when Rimmon walked forward to talk with Tarbin. Now however no one knew what to feel which explained the uneasy conversation now occurring between Tarbin and Rimmon.

Tarbin broke the silence, his deep voice troubled by the implications of what Rimmon had said, “Coming events… What do you mean by this?”

Alturia was a place that was involved in the politics of the four kingdoms of the south only when things got dire. It had, in fact, been generations since there was any major threat to the south and when there was it was usually dealt with swiftly and heralded by an emissary or messenger. Not, although no offense is meant, a creature such as Rimmon.

“We are from lands north of the great mountains, we have traveled far to arrive here, although this is not our final destination. There is a great trouble in the north, something is beginning to stir up trouble where there was once a peace of sorts, the mountain trolls and even the dwarves have all but disappeared and my people are forced into exile.”

“Rimmon, we are not of the north, these matters are not our doing. Why is it you have gathered us here in such a way? Herded like cattle.” Tarbin now squared up to him, his face not six inches from that of the enigmatic Rimmon. “We are a proud people and do not appreciate being made to look like fools before those who had no intention to attack. If it is for help and alliance you have come requesting you certainly have given our first impression a taint we will not soon forget.”

Rimmon seemed entirely undisturbed by the proximity of Tarbin, his face was not angered or maddened, he simply stated, “This is not the first time my race has entered your kingdom and the last time we did indeed leave an impression. Because of this we felt it best not to just stroll in to the first village we found as if we were friends from long ago.”

Tristain strained his mind, he knew he remembered the characteristics that these strange creatures had displayed thus far, although he could not ever remember encountering them. It clicked, there was a spark in Tristains eye, and a lifting of his head, and all within a split second Tristain had drawn two hunting knives and looked ready to run Rimmon through with them. This immediately sparked a reignition of the earlier tension as bows that were lowered when the talks began were swiftly readied. Swords were drawn by all parties but of Rimmon’s, none of whom had moved since Tristain had stormed through their ranks. Corbin put his hand on his friends shoulder, their eyes met and Tristain recognized the look. Respect and trust of the kind that the two friends had for Tarbin was not easily earned but in this case was well deserved. If Tarbin hadn’t gutted Rimmon yet there was probably a good reason.

The dark creature looked at Tristain with recognition of the painful recollection he had just suffered, the first sign of an expression on his face. “So you have remembered, for those of you who cannot recall our name, we are indeed of the Melammenos.”

Suddenly the collective subconscious recognized the features bore by Rimmon and his kin. They were Malemmenos, the dark ones of the histories passed by word through the generations and ever the villains in stories told in camp fires. This was a race that worshipped a foul God who absorbed and killed for power and who’s followers did also. The Malemmenos were his chosen race, once humans but scorched and marked with his symbols and blessed with power beyond that of normal creatures. The opinions of these powers and abilities varied from story to story, some believed they could destroy entire armies with a wave of their hands and others believed them to be but the party tricks of a petty deity.

The last time this vile race stepped foot in the south was when they lead invasions on Lyda and Alturia. Seeking to gain land and power from the invasion that was destined for Illithica, it was stopped long before then by the actions of brave Alturians and lydans, including Tristains grandfather who died in combat with the armies champion, Malem. When the invasion was over vast tracks of land were decimated, brought to barrenness from which some areas would never recover. The loss of life was despicable, the dark army of Malem gave no mercy to the infirm, women, or even children.

For this reason alone the brave people of Middlewood were ready and willing to make the first strike if it meant these vile creatures fell.

It was Tarbin who stopped blood from spilling. Raising his hand, and praying to the Gods that this would not be the biggest and last mistake, he turned his back on Rimmon and the others to face the enraged Alturians. This was significant as it showed an unparalleled amount of trust that an attack was not what the Malemmenos intended. There was a moment of uneasy calm, all of the villagers were set like a coiled spring, ready to strike at the first sign of provocation, for instance a twitch, scratched nose or indeed movement of any kind. None came.

Tristain walked up to Rimmon, knives still drawn, and having calmed down only a fraction, asked firmly “What is your business here?”

And this was when the lives of all those present took a sharp change, nothing would be the same for them again.

No-one expected what they heard, and all were fixated with the words coming from Rimmons mouth, this couldn’t be right.

Rimmons clan was one of the Malemmenos indeed, but scarcely, they were not accepted by the others and had rejected the god of their fathers. After the last war there had been a rebellion from within, waged from two sides, those who sought only power at any cost, and those who sought life and freedom. Rimmon and those gathered with him were the last of their clan, there were no others, he claimed.

“Though we still carry the marks of our god, and some of the abilities he gave our people we share not his passion for hatred and his hunger for power. We lived separate from our brothers since the last war, existing in mutual ignorance of each others existence. But now it has all changed, the trolls and dwarves of the mountains have all but vanished, the gibberlings and other fell animals of the north are gathering with disturbing coordination, and we fear something is gathering a force larger than we have ever seen.” He paused, there was lament in his voice when he continued. “A small army came to us one day and requested we rejoin our brothers for the new war. We refused. That day our numbers were destroyed; there are now, of our clan, but as many as you see here. They are coming, humans, and I hope your gods are with you when they arrive.”