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such stoic silence that it pierced the quiet in a way a scream never could.
What has happened to the lands since the enclosing Haar? Thickwood burgeoned like a welt upon the world and the beasts turned mad. Cultures and cities such as Heimur or the Eternal Library of Deglut are presumed lost to mankind. The Asamanian kingdom and its desert has been equally swallowed up. How long before the rest of it goes?
Its umbral body was a distant tidal
wave coming to drown all of the lands. Its size was so unfathomable, I thought it held up the sky itself.
Neighbouring farms emitted a halo of bleeding light. A sombre and soft fog made the entire scene even more depressing. It gave the luminous halo of buildings a certain frosted look.
An average, fully grown akar has a greyish-to-black charcoal hued skin. They range between seven to eight feet in height and are double the width of your typical Clerian soldier. Generally speaking, they are far more formidable in comparison to humans. However, their propensity for charging without any forethought, and their typically small companies due to lacking leadership make it easy to lure them into our formations and take them out one by one with minimal losses. —Official report on dealing with the akar – 7C653.
I faintly recalled our original march was filled with the dour grumbles of tired soldiers dragging their feet, complaining about how sweat clung to their padded armour despite the morning cold. I certainly sympathised with the lot but there was no way I would have voiced any of it. Instead, I looked forward, following whichever way Erefiel’s path led me. In contrast, the way back from the front lines was no longer filled with the sound of grousing men, but rather a suffocating silence as damp boots trudged over mud.
I took a moment to recall my first battle. How I broke formation and dove into the front lines, a childish sense of heroism moving
“Almost home, men.” Erefiel turned to us with a morale-boosting smile. It infected us at the front and worked its way back to the rear of our returning hundred and fifty men. We thrust our weapons high and saluted our captain. Despite the toil of battle, Erefiel remained flawless. His armour grasped the light of a rising sun to magnify his beauty. Even his dried sweat made his half-zerubic skin glisten.
stable, a sleeping quarter for two hundred soldiers, and a training area comprised of a shooting range and a sandpit.
Up close, he looked even princelier. Not the snobby entitled brats you would find at Museya but rather the made-up kind in fairy-tales. His celestial nose was like a fragile piece of art, his jawbone so defined, one could sharpen steel upon its edge, his deep white eyes like halos of snow.
“Yes, you maintained a strong front and followed the orders from training. Surely better than the first time with your one ‘kill’.”
My office was packed with documents and unsigned diplomatic papers which covered the trading of resources and negotiations for troops. Underneath the unfurled scrolls lay maps of Greyhill where I had spent nights poring over.
For long, stretching, seconds I just stared at her. I could tell how guilt and pride warred within her and I assumed there was no winning side yet.
She was right. If I were to have my way, Cassidy wouldn’t even be part of my regiment.
Nora always dove headfirst into battle as if possessed, it galvanised the rest of the troops. But there was nothing I could do with politics playing its hand.
When the akar refugees came with hands raised, Cleria denied them any refuge. It was the eccentric and entirely persistent leadership of Crowtown’s mayor who permitted them stay. Sadly, Lord Ollicier passed away just a year after due to the rot. His son didn’t share his father’s opinion on the refugees but decided to tolerate their presence. Population control is handled through denial of rations for families with too many children alongside forced conscriptions into the defensive force of Cleria. The yearly onset of Burr deals with the rest. —Military report on akar settlement after five
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A large pot waited for us. A slight opening gave me a whiff of its contents. A stew of potatoes, a few herbs, perhaps rosemary? There was the earthy hint of mushrooms thrown in there, carrots, a note of pig-meat and parsnips. But I stayed my expectations. Most of it must have been whittled down with water. Feeding the enemy, even if we were refugees, meant that they would take the cheapest route possible.
One could take four or five bones and toss them, but one had to also make a claim and a bet. The claim could be that the great eye of Googan will show itself, or perhaps the skull of Ankou awaits. The weave of Nekfet, The Great Loomweaver, So’Ra, the champion’s blessing and Kho’Shah’s blood. If the symbol showed itself, all those who agreed to the bet had to hand over their losses, while if the thrower lost, they had to offer in turn based on the counsel of the others.
Time is our mortal leash and divides the gods from us mortals. The golden spire circling about Minethria is a constant reminder of this. The Grand Archon, first of the angels, rules over this heavenly domain and guards the Contract of Time, notching another month to our year after a cycle’s end.
“But you have practice today. How can you ever hope to be a bard if you never practise?” “I am already good enough.” Dale rebutted. “No, son, you are talented. There is a difference. You still can’t even manage Micrion’s Ballad.”
Dreamwood is known to be a catalyst of inspiration. Though unlikely, some say that making your bed within its domain will grant you with transcendent understanding. —Myths and Legends of Minethria.
“Father said art is magic. There are those naturally melded with the spiritual thread of the world and, if fully in tune with their art, they can perform incredible miracles. But an Inspired can come through in any art; scribes in Museya write magic scrolls with poems to instil bravery or strength and there are sculptors or dancers.”
—during the rise of the Rashi at the end of tenth cycle, entire towns were swallowed by their bloodthirst. In response, an unlikely hero arose in the form of a small village boy. He chartered a course for his destiny. The farm boy died soon after.
—but be aware she who casts without medium, for such unkempt chaos is the power of a witch. —Museya text on types of magic.
I was amazed. A single strike of his fists made by bones bend till they felt like breaking, but the fact alone that the woman’s steel did not shatter told me volumes about her capabilities. The woman was again on the attack without a moment’s hesitation.
She wasn’t fighting the akar, not really, she was playing something more akin to Janaham, placing bets and playing chances with carved bones, offering false confidence and reaping the rewards when her opponent proved too eager.
“You fought valiantly,” I said in akar. “Our ancestors will accept your blood.” I spoke the words emptily, they felt awkward on my tongue, as if not my words to speak.
Among the remnants of human civilization to the north, there is evidence of enigmatic tribes. Some are said to control beasts with the help of their bangles, others are said to have become worshippers to pretend gods. —A report given to King Balsem during the rise of Thickwood.
Even Silence had a voice here, whispering from within the left behind blackness.
My son. I won’t forget your name, . You are my love, my sunshine. No matter what happens, I won’t forget your eyes, or your face. No. No. , come back to me. Your face is a blur. I am forgetting. Who am I writing about? Who am I writing about? Who am I writing about?
Nora was quite possibly the best recruit I had ever seen. Her drive and willpower put many veterans to shame.
I smiled; his Bayrish was surprisingly fluent. Again that voice spoke in the back of my mind. ‘Stop collecting strays.’
“It’s not the same, you know it. I see your armour, your hair, the way the other guards look to you. To them, you are half god; but I am a full-blooded savage to them.” His tone was guarded.
“Did my kind do something to her?” I smiled and shook my head. “I wish it were so easy, some just hate because it can be rousing to do so.” Chroma tilted his head, and I had almost forgotten how young the boy was.
The father stepped forward, wiping his hands and face clean with a cloth, but it only managed to smear the dirt. I didn’t mind, seeing someone work in their element was always the best way to judge their character.
I dared not give away any more than I already had.
Art impacts different people in different ways. The more sensitive an individual is, the more they may be affected. One way to overcome the resistance of such a troglodyte is to gather crowds to perform for. To see one’s neighbour be imbibed by emotion makes even the most uncultured person impressionable.
His love haunted me as a perverse spectre.
One may have thought it morbid and cliche to say, but a part of me truly did die that day along with Perry; a part of me was left behind in that forest of dreams.
to be reckoned with. Zolas, known to be as large as a black mountain, was once a landmark of Minethria after his death. Scales and bones and teeth were removed to be forged into anger manifest by the Blacksmith. No new weapons can be made since the Haar swallowed Zolas whole. —Summary on the thousand years of the fourth Cycle by Ennay the Scholar.
The embers of the fire sent sparks that looked as if they had tried to become stars and then faded.
“Though things got worse. With the Haar constantly closing in, we lost more and more territory. The forest was cramped and overgrown, but not enough wildlife to feed us all. It was as if the forest was starved. Left it no choice but to cannibalise itself.”
I chased after those moments, mere opportunities to escape the reality of it all and join him in hopeful realms of my construction.
On a lone branch where death’s seed sprouts, Pluck the berry, and state your vows. Speak the name, of hated foe, And share with them, your destined woe.
Cleria was a place of riches and a booming economy. Unless one were inclined to the almost fanatical design of Museya in terms of artistry, anyone who dreamt of avarice would also dream of Cleria. It was all made of winding cobblestone, two-storey homes, and the sound of ringing chimes like a choir whenever someone entered a store. The entire place stunk of money and flowers.
Other than a few urchins sprawling the city streets and gutters, Cleria really did not have many criminals, but that seemed like low praise when considering a young child was on trial for being a witch.
I surely respected her skill in constantly reasserting her position but this seemed like one case where it backfired.
There are stories older than time. These are flames which have long since passed their glory days. One such tale survives as embers, shared from one cautious tongue to the next lest its fire be witnessed from Mount Morniar. Seven artefacts are said to exist, imbibed with the primordial colours which painted Minethria. Each weapon exhibits its own unique properties. If these artefacts do exist, none know where they have gone.
Mother Vinrie was apologising for her future harshness. Father did it all the time. I felt exposed as I withdrew from the woman.
