Relic (part 1)

Prologue

In the beginning there was only darkness, a being of absolute power. But this being was filled with unknown desires, for all it knew was darkness. So, using the fabric of reality it set to create something, first it created a second being, which it called Ganfren. This being was a little different than the darkness which the darkness thought would prove entertaining. This being asked what it should call the darkness, the darkness thought upon this for a time then declared that it would be known as Vilian. Ganfren was bored with utter darkness, he told Vilian that he should create a being the exact opposite of himself, for balances sake. Vilian could find no argument not to so he did. And thus Loril was born, and then there was light. Now Ganfren could see, and he envisioned that light and darkness were good, but maybe there was something else, and he set to find out what. He returned and brought with him time, Darkness and Light, Vilian and loril, both found time to be, strange, and cautioned Ganfren not to become bound by its power. And so ages passed and Ganfren determined he would master time and Loril, impressed by his discovery left to discover her own things. She returned with Reality, a thing which existed in a physical state. Vilian was impressed by reality, and so was Ganfren, but while ganfren was distracted he lost control of time and time grabbed hold of reality. Loril was upset that reality was so overwhelmed by Time but not even Vilian could separate his children’s things. Vilian decided that they should create something together, and place it inside time and reality, they should make a thing he called space, and fill it with all sorts of things. Loril and Ganfren agreed, and thus the universe was created.
         Time had affected reality so, that existence itself was also bound to it, and in a contant effort to break free of it, began to change. It was gradual, taking eternities to occur, but soon Vilian noticed something moving in his project, a small lump of the things he had put in space had condensed into a mass. Seeing this mass he was perplexed, and poked it. Nothing happened, it was as if it did not exist, though he felt it. He decided that this thing was boring, and it needed something to make it more interesting, and so he took more stuff he had put in space and shaped it into a sphere, but he was not done, he also created Life, something completely new. And to manage over this thing called life he made four new beings. Xanil, Azn, Willistra, and Kaust. Kaust he gave the power to negate life lest it become to powerful, where as Xanil, Azn, and Willistra he bound to it.
         Soon Loril and Ganfren noticed what had begun in Space, and were impress, the journeyed deep inside reality, being careful to avoid time, and came to the sphere, it was covered in so many things, some were just the stuff of space, but others were of life. Willistra was given command of lifes simplest things, weather, plants, nature in general. Azn was given control of the beasts that roamed the land and over time his nature began to mimic thiers. And Xanil, being the smartest of the three was given the complex task of governing life power source, water. Three creatures on Archaeos were of particular interest. Loril found a group of creatures who lived in the plant filled areas of the worlds that are now called forests. She called them elves and played with them for a while. They loved her and her beauty and worshiped her, and for this she gave them the power to alter her Reality, and thus magic was created. Ganfren found creatures living in holes in the mountains and around them, he called them dwarves. But when they kept changed by time until Kaust decided they were becoming to different and he had to destroy them. So Ganfren gave them the ability to resist time, and they began to age much slower, though Ganfren never noticed much of a change, being as ageless as he was. Vilian found a group of creatures who were strange and did not seem in harmony with life, they had been perverted by standing to close to the power of life when death was created, and them leeched away some of his essence. Vilian liked these quite dark creatures, he decided that they were not truly beings of life though, and did not name them, but he did give them freedom to manipulate space, to no longer be bound by it to a small extent to compensate for their unnatural lack of cohesion. And so the nameless could now pass through things like mountains or trees, and could slowly exert the power of death on the other creatures. And all was well for a time. But soon the elves and dwarves became angered at the nameless who killed them without cause and then disappeared as if never there, they begged Loril and Ganfren to do something about these nameless ones. Loril and Ganfren beseeched Vilian to destroy them, but he replied that they were his true children, as close to darkness as he ever made, and that maybe he should destroy them, for they were the ones who were different. For Vilian had grown to detest light, time, reality, he liked space, it gave him something to do, but where was the darkness? And these thoughts became strange in his head and he turned moody and violent, soon he decided light was no longer needed and filled the world as he called it, with darkness, Loril was horrified and returned the light, and thus the first night had passed. Vilian continued to wage his war against light, and loril, not nearly as strong as Vilian, enlisted the aide of Ganfren and Willistra, and so they pushed Vilian away, but vilian demanded Xanil, Azn and Kaust obey him and defeat light. With the force of light, and those of darkness who called themselves the Fey, in constant struggle, Vilian was free to control the world.
         This was the way of things until, Loril and Ganfren united their power into a new being called Auderous, Auderous claimed the home of Ganfrens people as his castle, and he decided that he would ask live to create new creatures. Life agreed and man was born. Auderous loved his new creatures, and when vilian tried to punish them for discovering a physical manifestation of light, fire, Auderous became angry Auderous challenged Vilian to a duel, and prepared a new weapon to beat him, he took the mountains and using the fire, turned it into a thing he called metal, which was hard and sharp. He attacked Vilian with it and vilian bled, his dark blood poisoned the land, making Azn beasts violent, and Auderous saw his men become wiked. In fury he threw his sword, and retreated to the mountain tops.
         Meanwhile Azn and willistra had been engaging in a forbidden love, animals and nature lived in harmony, and the creatures were affected by the weather, and nurtured by the plants.
         Auderous decided that he couldn’t defeat Vilian in combat, so he would beat him at his own game. He summoned used Willistra’s power over the weather to freeze the water, power of life. Xanil, terrified at this development fled the battlefield to the mountains top, he looked with hoarer at the fluffly cold water called snow and the hard water called ice. Auderous explained to him what had happened and that the only way to reverse the process was with light, darkness would cause the snow and ice to flourish, until both life and Xanil were gone. Xanil realized what Auderous had done, and moaned to the skies of his misfortune, but he knew he had been beat and he betrayed the darkness.
         With superior numbers, the light attacked, xanil had assumed the title Jol, and Azn was distracted by Willistra, which left only Kaust and Vilian to fight Auderous Loril Ganfren and Jol. Auderous had one more idea before he fought Vilian though, he snuck up behind Kaust and cut off a small piece of his spirit. He took this and used the life energies left behind in the bodies of those Kaust had killed, created Dyn. Dyn, being made from death and the energy of the dead, created a place to store the energy that was constantly feed to him unbeknownst to death, he called this place the after world, for it was outside of reality and time and was were the energy went after it left the world. Auderous and the gods of light used this energy to distract the powerful kaust, tricking him by returning the energies to earth but not binding them to the space, thus preventing him from absorbing their power, and so ghost and the undead were created. Now Vilian stood alone, no allies, his power spent, Auderous grabbed him and tore him to pieces, scattering him to the corners of the earth where he wouldn’t be noticed. But vilian wouldn’t be defeated, he became the shadows, he was everywhere, behind every man, he filled every cave, he snuck into the heart of every wood, he sunk to the bottom of the life filled water. But he no longer controlled the land, in fact he tried endlessly to regain his control, and the balance between light and darkness fluxes, sometimes light is in control, burning intensely in the sky, other times she is pale and weak and darkness abounds (day and night). Jol demanded that for his sacrifice he should be compensated, and so he was given providence over fate, decided what ultimately would happen to the creatures of the world, he was delighted, he chose who would be rewarded and who would be punished daily. He decided that the face of rewards was Jol and the side of misfortune was Xanil, if his own existence was any indication.
         And so Auderous became the ruler of the land, and his people the men, were gifted with his desire, his ingenuity, his courage, his deceptiveness, and all the varities of thing he was composed of, and men spread across the land. For his services, Loril and Ganfren gave his men the power of magic, and of Time, and thus the Magi were born. But the magic became too powerful, and the gods agreed that was too much power for anyone corrupted by darkness to have, and they placed limitations on their power. Magic would take time and practice, and Jol would decide how much time you were to be given before Dyn and Kaust split your body and soul. Auderous realized that his people know grew over time, becoming closer to their true selves and less the product of life it self, and to mark the transition from what he considred to be primal and simplistic to what he truly believed was the race of man, he gifted them a sword as a reminder of the consequences of power, at the age of sixteen, or in a year following if they couldn‘t attend, or were not deemed worthy.
         It was three hundred years after the fall of the magi, when a young human and his four brother found the sword Auderous, deep within Swamp of Death, were Auderous had fought Vilian, and vilian’s blood had poisoned the land. With the blade, Sokailan and his brothers prayed to Auderous to thank him for the blessing of such a marvelous blade. Sokailan was given a vision, of a united kingdom under Auderous, and knew that he had been chosen to make it so. He and his brothers spent the next fifteen years unite Archaeos, convincing lords to join their cause, knights to fight by there side, and defeated those who would not yield to Sokailan’s dream. In less than two decades, Archaeos had a king for the first time in over three hundred years. Sokailan named his brothers Dukes of the various lands, and gave them the power to rule over the various fiefdoms and territories. The land entered a golden age, the Elves and Dwarves returned to the lands of man for the first time since the Magi, The King’s Road was built, spanning All of Archaeos, great works like the Library of Massare and the Valerin Sea Charts were completed, and all was good.
         
Until two hundred years ago…

         The king, Kalland Sokailan III died without heir, or at least that’s what most people know as fact. In truth his wife had given birth to a baby boy, dying in labor, and the king already weak with illness, hearing this was so stricken with grief he lost the will to fight the mysterious illness that plagued him. The King died less than a day later. Spies within the royal court informed the various noble houses of the demise of the royal family, ignorant of the child heir. with the news of the kings death civil war began, The high mage Fuawne Laelen seized control of the Sokailas, having many allies and being a influential man at the castle. The houses of Eskrelair and Raynst moved to reclaim the throne for themselves, and the southern lands erupted into a war. Cias, the kings most trusted advisor and friend, had a young priestess of Loril take the baby, and smuggle the prince to the north, for the house of mayln was the one house he did not fear. Mayln had Rosk Mayln had been a close friend of the king, and had no desire for the throne. And, no one would think to look for the babe in the north. The King’s Blade, symbol of the right to rule Archaeos, musn‘t fall into Fuawne‘s hand, so Cias had a powerful wizard, the master of the mages college cast a spell that would make the sword look plain and unremarkable until held by one of the bloodline of Sokailan.. He intended to return it to the prince when he was 16. He returned to the castle to try and reason with Fuawne, but the paranoid mage had decided that all the servants of the former king were threats and had them all Cias included, executed. And so the blade was lost, and the child as well. The priestess had no clue whose child she brought north, she thought it was  a illegitimate son Cias fathered.
         Two hundred years have passed. The Line of Sokailan lived on in the northern lands, ignorant of their heritage. The Blade of King’s lies in the palace throne room as unremarkable as a guard’s standard issue. And Fraust Laelen reigns as regent over Archaeos for now, searching for a means to return the sword to its former state, for without the knowledge of who cast the spell, without their name, it was irreversible. The houses of Eskrelair and Raynst also search for the means to claim the throne, and most of Archaeos is in a state of martial law, as Laelen tries to force the Dukes to submit to his rule, and rebellion and civil war are commonplace.


Chapter 1


         The wind was bitter, howling through the snow filled valley, moaning a woeful dirge that made the small cold shack only that much more unbearable. From the lone window a feeble light shone out into the dark. Within the Rundown hut an insubstantial fire sputtered, its damp wood was barley clinging to life, and providing more illumination than heat.
         Luke edged closer to the flame, trying to warm his painfully cold extremities. His old leather boots and worn out mittens were not providing any warmth at all, and he had to keep warm or else risk frostbite. Luke prayed the storm would let up, but it looked as if it held all the fury of the Wintersoul, and the vicious snow spirits that dwelled there.
         Ryn sat back from the flame, seemingly immune to the icy grip the storm held over the forlorn cabin. Luke studied the older man for a moment Ryn’s pointed white beard, Ryn’s old wide brim leather hat drying by the fire, his bulbous nose, a gap tooth smile, pale grey eyes, small thin glasses that hung precariously close to falling from their perch, his threadbare scarf the color of dried blood, the patchwork coat that hung at least to his knees, his old leather pants faded to the color of dust, or his mud colored boots.
         Luke was aware of his own appearance as well, unshaven, damp copper hair plastered to his head and face, and his own coat made of a light brown leather, that looked of high quality, but provided less warmth than the old homemade rag Ryn wore.
         Luke’s thoughts drifted as Ryn started up a melancholy song in the old tongue. Though Luke hadn’t a clue what a word of it meant, the tone of the song was apparent, its sorrow evident despite the unintelligible language it was sung in.
         Luke was reminded of his home, the song was popular among the taverns goers of Hassarda. Singing in the Old Tongue was challenging, for few remained who knew the old songs, and fewer yet knew what the words meant. Ryn may have retired from his adventures as a bard, but he still earned a living singing songs and playing his mandolin at Maraphles, Hassarda’s tavern and inn.
         Ryn suddenly stopped singing as Luke’s stomach let out a growling rumble of hunger, Luke shot Ryn a look of embarrassment, for he hadn‘t brought enough food for this long, believing they would have made it back to Barlign by now. Ryn grabbed a old sack he had been carrying with them, and rummaged through it, finally pulling out a slightly frozen half loaf of the thick dark Saldan bread Hassarda’s people ate daily. Luke held it near the fire to heat it through so it was no longer frozen, Ryn took his song back up, apparently not concerned with the prospect of food.
         Soon the rich smell of the bread filled the cabin, and Luke was completely lost in nostalgia. He longed the hills and fields of Hassarda, the squat windmills, the cabins and lodges built from the sturdy Jollindive tree, which became as hard as stone when bleached in the sun. Luke imagined the old ruins of the North Keep looking down upon the town, a sad remnant of the Old Kingdom gone to pass. For the king had died two hundred years prior leaving no heir, and thus a civil war began between the Dukes of Archaeos. Hassarda was luckily not to see to war or bloodshed, well removed from the lowlands and the areas of import to those in power. The northern lands were ruled by Lord Mayln Duke of Rentwilden a Benevolent man whose family had governed here long before the kingdoms demise, and remained politically neutral.
         Rickard Mayln was a short stout man, with thick muscles, close cut black hair, a thick drooping mustache as was popular in the north, and dark brown eyes that seemed almost black. Rickard was considered to be a cold emotionless man, not stirred by much of anything, but his sense of fairness, of justice and what is right, made him a good ruler, if not a kind one.
         Mayln, unlike the other Dukes, had little desire to rule Archaeos, he was not opposed to being king, be would only do so out of a sense of duty, not a lust for power.
         Luke began to doze, lost in a dream of Lords and Mountains and the mysteries of Auderous and tomorrows events, he slumped from he seat falling off the old stool. Ryn sat up from the battered chest that served as his seat, his bones creaking and protesting as he did, and moved over to Luke. He bent down and hefted Luke up onto the old bed in the corner, covering him with the lone blanket.
         Ryn chuckled at Luke “Ye tuckered yerself out lad, got to get rest for tomorrow, yer gonna need it… Goddess knows I could use some sleep meself.”
         Ryn was tired, too tired to be out  chasing foolish young men in the furry of Wintersoul, especially when he could be chasing the young lasses back in Maraphles. Even if Luke was his brothers grandson. But with the rest of Luke’s family dead, and His nephew, Luke’s father, missing some three years gone, only Ryn was left to take Luke on his journey to the Shrine of Auderous God of the Mountain, men, and the world itself. Auderous required all young men to journey of their sixteenth birthday to one of his mountain top temples as a right of passage into manhood, the nearest was West Wall . West Wall was a mountain the looked over the western ocean, and there on its summit was a temple, where the young man should present the parts needed to make a sword. Metal, wood, leather, gems and such, and then pray to Auderous. Auderous would then test them to see if they were ready to be called a man in the eyes of his people, and if he judged it so, he would gift them with a sword made from the materials presented. This sword was unique and a symbol that proclaimed you a man.
         Ryn retrieved his sword from his scabbard. Its handle made from the bone of a White Cyrolisk, encased in a blue leather made from the hide of the great Silverfin found in the southern seas, and the blade, made from dwarves steel. It was balanced, sharp as a razor, and it gave him the ability to not be bothered by the cold of storms from the Wintersoul.
         Many a day the sword had saved his life during his illustrious carrier as a bard. From the dungeons of Cassenport, to the Dwarven Arena at Geora, from his duel with a Pirate Mage on the seas of Mist, to the time he saved Lord Mayln’s daughter from Snow Spirits. It had served him well, thought it had taken him three tries to pass Auderous’s test. Even now he didn’t understand what had happened, for it was both real and a dream, it didn’t quite happen at all, but at the same time was more real than anything else in his life. But then, the test was different for each man.
         
         Luke woke to a hissing sound, he turn in his bed to see Ryn frying what looked to be a Snow Rabbit in a old skillet he kept in his sack. The smell was delicious and Luke was quite hungry having had only a half loaf of Saldan Bread since the previous day. Ryn and Luke had a breakfast of Saldan, goat cheese, and rabbit fried with onions. It needed salt but Luke didn’t mind, it was delicious to his hungry body.
         Ryn had saved the food for today, for Luke would need it for the long hike up the West Wall and what awaited him at the top. The Rabbit was pure luck though, having caught sight of it just outside the cabin, and with a flick of his sling, Ryn felled the Snow Hare.
         Ryn and Luke spent the next half hour packing up their supplies and readying themselves for the final hike up to the Shrine of Auderous. Luke hoped they wouldn’t need to spend another night at the ramshackle house on the way home. If they timed it right they would reach Barlign before the next storm hit and then it would only be two days till Hassarda.
         Not wishing to waste anymore time, Ryn looked over to Luke and asked “Have Ye finished packing Yer gear yet Lukas?”
         “Yeah ye old buzzard, and don’t be calling me Lukas, ye know I hate it when people call me Lukas.” Luke replied
         “Okay how bout I just call ye Sir Luke the slow, land snail of Hassarda, or don’t ye think ye can pick up the pace a bit, I wanna reach the summit fore noon, least another storm hit.” teased Ryn.
         Stairs were carved into the very mountain, all the way from the base, to the summit, with little plataeus you could rest at periodically. But with the recent snows, the stairs were slippery and treacherous. Luke and Ryn spent most of the morning carefully climbing the stone carved stairs.
         As Luke got further and further ahead of him, Ryn thought; I may have earlier called Luke slow, but in truth it was I who is slowing down. The hike was more of a effort than he had remembered it being, he was no longer the eighteen year old lad who could reached the mountains top without a break. Ryn was panting and almost slipped and soon he had to stop to catch his breath.
         “Wait…I…Need to.. stop” panted Ryn. Luke looked at Ryn with worry. Ryn was confident he was able to make the journey, but Luke saw the strain the hike was putting him through, for Ryn’s age was surly catching up with him. “I’ll be fine… in just a minute.” Ryn wheezed, his chest falling heavily with a ragged rattle. He sat for a moment, seeming to regain his strength quickly from his respite.
         Luke and Ryn rested for a while at the half way marker of the mountain stairs. Luke took in the view. Fields of snow covered the valley floor, and towering mountains lined its borders. The Silver green leaves of the jollindive had all but completely fallen, and the Sparus river had frozen over. Luke could see the large lodges of Barlign, the small farming village of Toretal, the Greenrock Inn by the Old Road, he could just see Fort Eralaius guarding the King’s Road, and the only way out of the Northlands, and barley just barly he could make out Hassarda in the east.
         Luke would miss Hassarda he thought with a moment of regret, but at least I can explore the world, see the Sands of Iodessa, The Forest of Elves, Liastrell, maybe even Sokailas and Castle Sol.
         Luke and Ryn put their packs back on and resumed the climb up West Wall. another hour passed and noon was upon them when they reached the summit of West Wall. Set back into the mountain was a large cave, with a old statue of a blind man with a sword guarding its entrance. Ryn and Luke at a quick lunch in silence each lost in his own thoughts. Luke thought of the future and all that today would mean, where Ryn thought to the past and all the today’s gone before him.
         Finishing his light lunch Luke stood up, and motioned for Ryn to follow “Come on, we got to keep moving if we want to make it to Barlign fore the next storm hits.
         Ryn grinned at Luke with his silly gap toothed smile “That be true, but I cant come with ye, ye got to go in by yerself and meet Auderous and his test, its time for ye to become a man. Yer father would be proud.” no sooner had Ryn said those words than he regretted them. A shadow crossed Luke’s face and he silently turned from Ryn and marched to the cavern. “I’m sorry Luke, I didn’t mean it!” Ryn called after him, but Luke was gone, swallowed by the dark mouth of the West Wall.
         Ryn hadn’t meant to mention Luke’s father, Luke hadn’t seen his father in years, and still blamed him for his mothers death. He got moody and quiet whenever he was mentioned, and most had taken to no longer mentioning the missing parent.

         It was dark, surprisingly dark. The light of the entrance was faint and it almost seemed unnaturally black, and quite. The a tomb Luke thought, suddenly shivering from his own morbid thoughts, or was it just getting colder he wondered. The cave gradually sloped down and soon there was no light at all and Luke had to inch along careful not to tip or fall. Ryn had assured him it was a straight shot into the main chamber and once he reached it he would be able to see.
         Luke nearly fell as he reached a unexpected set of stairs. Regaining his balance he made his way down, there were only five and now he reached a smoother surface, as he felt the wall of the cave he realized this part of it was worked, dwarves made if he guessed correctly, though why a dwarf would journey all the way from Geora was unknown to him. Though he knew they worshiped Ganfren, father of Auderous, and he probably had them do it as a holy quest of sorts, for his son.
         Luke was suddenly blinded. Which he though very strange considering he couldn’t see before. But now he entered a small chamber, and a great light flash and the room glowed, though not from any particular source. The smoothly cut blocks of native rock fit perfectly, and the chamber stood clear of any dust of debris. And in its center stood a alter, carved from a block of Azurite. A marble tinged bluish and when polished such as this became beautiful and complex, almost swirling with areas of dark and light.
         Luke dropped his travel sack to the floor, making a loud clanking as his lump of silver fell out, and his Jollindive hilt, and a Mage Stone pommel rolled from it to the base of the alter. Luke quickly gathered his things, not wanting to upset Auderous with a show of incompetence or clumsiness.
         The jollindive he had planted with his mother when he was four, and the fast growing jollindive was already an adult tree, and so when a branch had snapped off during a storm two years earlier, Luke took it as a memento. The silver was a gift from Ryn, he had little need for money and knew it would make a fine blade, he claimed to have won it from the ming of the dwarves in a drinking contest, but Luke knew that was just another of Ryn‘s tall tales. The last piece, a Mage stone, was very rare, Luke had discovered the yellowish green stone the shape of a pyramid while exploring the old northern ruins. The God Dyn does not like magic, he collects the excess magic left in people’s souls when Kaust takes their bodies, and returns it to Archaeos. It hardens into a stone, the color varies and the shape is always a pyramid. The stones usually host powerful magics, easily enchanting weapons or armor or simple trinkets if in contact with them long enough, and so they are quite sought after.
         Placing his things on the alter with care, Luke knelt before the Shire of Auderous, and in a unsteady voice prayed “Auderous, father of the mountain and god of my people, I beseech ye, grant me the wisdom and strength to be judged a man amongst my peoples, make me and my sword whole!”
         (AND WHO ART THOU TO DEMAND SUCH OF A GOD?) boomed a unseen voice. Luke choked as dust from the cavern prior rose and clogged the air. Coughing for a moment Luke then replied “ It is I, Lukas Brailtar of Hassarda, son of Theon who wanders this land I know not.”
         (LUKAS, SON OF THEON, CHILD OF HASSARDA THE TIME OF THINE JUDGMENT HAS COME UPON YE, AND I SHALT JUDGE THEE, WETHER WORTHY OR NOT. AND SO IT BEGINS…)
         And with that there was a crashing boom and Luke knew no more. All was black, and he felt as if he was drifting away.

         The Thunderous crash startled Ryn from his meditation. “And so the test has begun.” though Ryn. Ryn recalled his own test, he had brought Auderous the bone of the fierce Cryolisk, a white lizard that’s breath froze any it touched. Auderous had though it fitting that he should have at least fought a cryolisk to wield a sword made from one. So with a thunderclap and a blinding flash, no longer was Ryn at a alter, but in a snow filled field staring down the dreaded Cryolisk.
         The Lizards blue scale, shone with a metallic sheen, and its fangs jutted from its mouth, its maw like a cavern of stalactites and stalagmites. Its body was covered in white spine, and its breath was cold enough to make Ryn shiver from the large distance between them. Ryn readied to defend himself, drawing the long dagger from his side, and warily approaching the waiting beast.
         Ryn shuddered remembering the intense cold of the fight, and the sound of steel cutting through the air, of the Cryolisk’s call, and of his own screams…

         Suddenly there was a blinding light, and everything seemed to swirl, slowly focusing into reality. A punch to the face was the last thing Luke expected, as he fell to the floor of a cabin that seemed only to familiar, his jaw aching in protest, and blood dribbling from his lip. Other than the smarting sting of the unseen fists impact the first thing he noticed was the stench of a unwashed body and the smell of sour ale, and at once Luke knew where he was. Theon’s cabin… But Luke didn’t have a chance to ponder this for another heavily blow sent him from his crouch to a prone position against the wall. Wiping blood from his lip onto the sleeve of his shirt, Luke climbed to his feet and looked at Theon for the first time in three years.
         Theon was tall, even for the mountainfolk who ranged taller than most. He was easily five feet and half again, a giant of a man, his muscled frame hidden by a life of boozing and a love of Maraphles roast meat pie. He was not particularly handsome before he broke his nose in a fight, nor did the scars on his arms from his days as a smith make him look tough. His bloodshot blue eyes narrowed as he slowly lumbered toward Luke, apparently as drunk as he smelled.
         Luke threw himself to the side and Theon launched a powerful fist where Luke head had been a moment prior. The rafters shook, and Theon bellowed in pain as his punch connected with wood. He swore as he clench his paw of a hand, splinters dotted its callused surface. Then brushing his ragged auburn brown hair from his face and stroking the mangy beard he refused to shave he grinned yellowing teeth at Luke.
         “Ye be a fast little son of a whore. Look what ye made me do ye filthy Cur” he grunted in pain as he pulled a rather jagged chunk of timber from his hand. Wiping the blood on his leather breeches which were at least one size too small, and taking off the grease stained vest that served as a shirt to expose his large hair covered gut, Theon once more staggered at Luke, murder in his eyes.
         Luke had now recovered from his shock, there was no way he was going to be beaten by Theon again, he has suffered this man for thirteen years and he was to blame for his mothers death. She loved Theon, for once Theon had been a better man, once he had still worked the smithy shop and had passion. He had won her heart and they had fallen madly in love. But Theon lost the forge in a fire, caused by his own carelessness. He then set to squandering what little money him and Valiza had saved over the years.
         Drunken and bitter Theon spent most of his days at the Tavern, only leaving to earn enough money for another round by cutting lumber in the forest of Jollindives, or to force himself upon Valiza.
         That was where Luke came into the picture. The product of such as union, his father saw him as yet another he was to be held responsible for, and set to drink even more. His mother loved him, called him the son of the man Theon used to be.
         And the rage Theon felt when he saw the love he no longer owned given freely to his mistake of a son consumed what little heart he had left.
         Theon spent Luke’s childhood teaching him how to make up for his accidental birth, to shut up when told, to do what he said, and to take his beatings like a man. And when Luke cried he only beat him harder. And Theon who smirk and say “you see Luke, ye were a mistake, and yer never gonna beat me, and yer never gonna be a man!”
         This was the man who had sat idly by, drunk off his ass, while his mother died of a fever. This was his father.
         Sudden rage blossomed in Luke’s mind, his vision went red and a scream of primal fury came from this throat.
         Laughing drunkenly Theon sneered “Aye what, has the little dog got claws, ooooh! I’m (hic) so afraid.” he mocked terror, almost unbalancing himself in the process.
         Luke seized the moment throwing himself at his father with abandon, but the drunken man was not as tipsy as he seemed. Theon may have been heavy on the ale, but countless bar fights had made him as skilled a fighter drunk as most were sober, and he countered Luke’s savage attack just in time.
         With a vicious backhand he slapped Luke back to the floor. Laughing yet more he taunted “What, did I hurt ye, are ye gonna cry fer ye mommy!?” as he unfastened his belt preparing to lash out a Luke.
         Luke Jump to his feet. He charged forward, ducking under Theon heavy tree like arms, and leapt onto Theon back, he yanked the belt from Theon’s grasp much to his surprise and dismay, and proceeded to strangle Theon with.
         Theon clawed a the belt trying to get free of Luke’s anger driven choking. He lurched and pitched trying to throw Luke to no avail.
         “You bastard! You bloody damn Bastard!” Luke howled pulling even tighter on the belt ‘I hate you! I hate you so much you drunken bastard!” Luke pulled tight enough to make Theon bleed. Theon now gasping for air, slumped to his knees, his arms lashing about like writhing clubs.
         “Say it! Say it Theon, say that I have beat you! Say that I’m a man, say that I’m not… a mistake!” Luke cried out, sniffling slightly, trying not to cry over the memories of his past that Theon brought to the surface.
         “Ergh..ah..hrmmm… Kaust take… you to… the under…world!” Theon gasped. And then Luke yanked once more with all his strength, and Theon went limp.

         Luke woke with a start, covered in sweat, his heart racing, and his eyes searching for Theon. Then he realized where he was, the dwarves made shrine to his god, its warm light glowing from a unseen source, and a gleaming longsword was resting on the Azurite alter.

         Ryn was just about ready to come in after Luke fore an entire day had passed, and most only lasted a few hours at most, when Luke stepped out into the light.
         Held in his hand was a sword, its silver blade etched in runes burning with the suns light, its bleached Jollindive handle white as the snow and as hard as steel, and a glowing yellow green stone set into its pommel. This sword was a masterpiece by Ryn’s estimate, and what unseen powers the Mage Stone gave it was anybodies guess.
         “Luke, me boy, ye did it, ye did it on ye first try no less. Ye passed the test of Auderous!” Ryn proclaimed with tears in his eyes. ”Lukas Brailtar, ye now stand before me as a man of the realm, and worthy of all that it entitles. Ye are free to leave Hassarda, free to take a wife, free to wield a sword, and  I’m so proud of ye boy!” Ryn broke down into tears and gave Luke a great hug. They spent the rest of the day walking toward Barlign and discussing Luke’s plans for the future.

         Izen Leinfraht sat at his cramped desk, busy writing yet another report. The various applications of the Oland Berry and its limitations, what god had he angered to deserve this he pondered. He suddenly felt extremely weary, stretching his legs and yawning profusely, he rub his eyes only to smear the partially dried ink onto his face. Muttering a curse he left his desk.
         Arriving at a wash basin down the hall, in the lonesome tower’s communal bath, he scrubbed the dark blue ink from his cheeks and from under his eyes. He studied his reflection then; rich brown hair cut unfashionably short to avoid it catching fire, Small piercing brown eyes gave him a hard unfriendly look, tan skin surprisingly dark for one who barley left the confines of the dank tower, narrow jaw clean shaven and frown lines beginning to show, long robes of a burnt orange shade denoting his station as a second year apprentice.
         Second year he mused, only three more to go and I can receive my membership into the Acolytes of Loril, goddess of the arcane and all its mysteries. How he wished to fully wield his power.
         Izen knew that within him was pure possibility, for he was gifted with magic as were none before him. Scion of a line of mages and born under the sign of the Magi, during an Aurora, The northern lights, during the full moon, this was a time where magic was amplified greatly beyond the norm, Jol had great thing in store for Izen, for he was thrice born under the signs of magic.
         “But my masters would sooner worship the Fey Gods than admit my power!” Izen jeered at his reflection. “all this power going to waste, all so I can learn ‘Discipline’ or whatever else the wind bags deem important.”
         Izen was gifted in arrogance as well as magic, having hailed from the coastal city of Cassenport, and raised amongst the sons of nobles, he had little patience for backwater towns like Barlign or those who claimed to be mages who dwelt there.
         Not to say Izen was cruel or mean, he just knew he was of a better stock than the mountain folk who presumed to teach him, and he tolerated it for magics sake.
         “Izen, have you finished the report on Oland Berries yet? Or shall I have to find the Magister and let him know of your academic failures?” Teased Dalland, a fith year who had decided to enjoy what little free time he had left at the tower to drive Izen mad.
         “Dalland, is that you? Oh I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you without your goatee…” Izen calmly asked. “Remind me, what happened again?”
         Dalland’s face grew hot with shame and he spun out of the bath chamber. Izen snickered at his victorious verbal sparing and the memory of Dalland’s accident.
         Dalland had decided to show of his skills to impress a first year girl from Nalathea, when his magical fireball spell failed and a small explosion singed off his beard and sent him flying into a alchemy stand. Knocking over a beaker full of Stinkwort extract. Dalland could be smelled where ever he went for over a month.
         Izen’s mood improved greatly having bested his older rival, and he returned to his paper with renewed stamina. It was two hours later when he stood at his masters door, finish paper in hand. He rapped three times on the rune covered door, and it opened by itself, magically spelled to do so.
         Izen walked in, crossing the exotic carpet, past the stacks of Arcane texts, and ancient scrolls. He reached the Jollindive desk, dropping the paper on its top. His master looked up from his cryptic looking manuscript. His flowing white beard, horn rimmed glasses, and expensive robes identifying him as one of the chosen of Loril, and Magister named Mozast.
         “Ah, good you’ve finally finished, I’ve been waiting, what took so long? No, don’t tell me, you were arguing with Dalland again? Or were you just carousing the town? Well it doesn’t matter. I was going to teach you the spell to conjure a bolt of electrical force, but with so little time left, I no longer feel there is time to properly instruct you in its methods, so I have devised a task for you to occupy yourself with.” he motioned to a thick tome that appeared to be written in the Old Tongue, a language common in the histories of the land. “Translate this, and scribe the translation onto these scrolls.” he said pilling a stack of scrolls onto the book and handing it to him.
         Mozast gave Izen a push toward the door and sat back at his desk, instantly returning to his work as if Izen had never been there.
         Damn wizened fool thought izen. Thinks he can just decide I’m not worth his time. Izen grimaced as he nearly stumbled on the last step of the stair case. Of all the busy work to assign me. I can’t think of anything more boring, he groaned inwardly.
         Izen took his project to his quarters, setting to the tedious task of translating and scribing the book into common. He spent the remainder of the day and well into the night on the task, only stopping when he reached a interesting chapter in the book.
         “The Mancer’s Stone, and other relics of the Magi.” Izen read aloud “In the distant past, the land was ruled by Mage kings, they called themselves the Magi. These so called Magi, each possessed a object of power, called a relic.” Izen kept reading until he found mention that Loramon The Mancer a Magi of some note, was buried at Mondrassa, and he possessed the Mancer’s Stone. Mondrassa was somewhere near Iodessa if Izen remembered correctly, and if he could brave the ruins and find the stone, he surly could unleash his magical powers to their fulest, and be done with the old ponderous fools who called him their lesser. Izen detested the rules and regulation of the Mages college, and its varios towers. Oh if only he could have been born a magi. But with the stone, maybe their was hope yet.
         Izen threw down the tome, scattering his scrolls, and overturning a inkwell. He raced toward the town square, with a plan to recover the stone, and outsmart the fools who claimed to be Loril’s chosen.