The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (30 page)

Elec had accepted the role of messenger offered him by his Uncle for two reasons—it allowed him to escape his father’s scrutiny
and
it gave him the ability to observe the other races.

Elec had not met many other races in person, except for the few that visited his people. His high elven kin lived on the remote isle of Acillia and kept mostly to themselves, except for some minor trading and other political ventures that required input from outside. They carried out these activities while focusing on mastery of the mystic arts, as well as the training of exotic steeds, such as the giant eagles of which Elec was accustomed.

His mother felt Elec’s pain over his failures. Often, his uncle—his mother’s brother—would continue to encourage him in whatever path he chose, which was why Elec so adored his Uncle Faorath. But alas, he was not the master of the arts his brother and sister were and it ate at him sometimes. That bothered him more than a little, but his talents lay elsewhere, he admitted.

 He was not exactly a well-trained warrior, but he did know how to handle himself if forced to defend himself. He was also interested in trinkets and gadgets. He was constantly tinkering wherever he could in the art of constructing and rebuilding mechanisms and gadgets, and anything else that required the use of his nimble fingers and cunning mind. He also very much enjoyed the shadows and felt at home within them.

His father of course, disapproved of this undistinguished path which took his focus from sorcery and turned it elsewhere. He habitually let Elec know this, often comparing him to a forest elf instead of the high elf that he was.

The wings of Adok suddenly caught an air pocket in the breeze, dragging Elec’s mind from the recurring defamations of his father and back to the present. He peered out over a ridge and realized he was nearing his second and final destination—Oakhaven.

“I noticed some rare herbs and flowers at the base of that hill we passed, Adok. I’d like to go back and take a look,” he said smiling as if the giant eagle understood what he was saying.  He descended, guiding Adok in the direction of the plants and immersing himself in thoughts of his alchemical system.

The bustle of the crowd in Oakhaven was a familiar sight to Rose Thorne, as she nimbly strode from stall to stall, admiring and handling the merchandise as it pleased her. The Trade District was swarming this eve, adding to her blissful state of mind. Oakhaven was one of the biggest trading towns in the entire realm and its popularity was growing. That was good for business.

Several merchants eyed the woman carefully, suspecting what she was, but never mouthing the accusation. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; she could take what she wanted, when she wanted, and no one would be the wiser. She was one of the best.

The vendors knew that there was thievery in the works constantly. But most of the larceny was discouraged by the sheer volume of sentries who constantly patrolled the Trade District, especially at dusk and beyond. And that time of day was coming, judging by the distinct chiming of the bells in the distance.

She could not help but admire the work of the Timekeepers’ and Lamplighters’ Guild, especially Brogan. He’d perfected a certain symmetry here in Oakhaven after many years of experimentation regarding the passing of day to night, and vice versa. The tolling of those bells marked the passing of time in two-hour intervals. And Brogan was the master craftsman and tinkerer who’d put his own stamp on the keeping of time throughout each day.

Yes, Oakhaven is a very fine town, indeed!
Rose thought.
And full of wealthy merchants ripe for the picking!

There were many guilds in Oakhaven and there were distinct advantages in belonging to any of them. Rose belonged to the Thieves’ Guild, which was never acknowledged publicly as an organization, but the folks in Oakhaven knew it existed. No one ever dared speak of it in public, though. Bad things often happened when someone did.

Rose felt smug in the knowledge that the merchants suspected who she was and yet could do nothing about it. The twilight was approaching and still many merchants continued pushing their wares, staying put, as was their right. Others, the smart ones anyway, folded up their tents and tables and headed home, or to a tavern to spend their earnings.

She weaved in and out of traffic for the next few tollings of the timekeeper’s bells; she pilfered anything she could amongst the more wealthy traders and merchants, fitting the various treasures into her many hidden pockets. The items ranged from jewelry to gems to trinkets, as well as actual coin. The amazing thing was that she could do it with such ease! The most efficient of her peers would often marvel at her prowess. And Rose was landing a good score this evening.

She was pushing her luck, however, and got careless, which she sometimes did if she had had a few drinks beforehand. Rose did enjoy her wine. One of the merchants at a jewelry stand gave her a look like he’s spotted her taking something. Doubt crept across his face, though, as Rose was now somehow several kiosks away.

The vendor shrugged, rubbed his eyes and peered at Rose once more. He wrinkled his face at her as she flashed him a grin from beneath the cowl she wore on her head.

”Time to pack up the stand for the day,” she heard him mumble to himself, certain now that his fatigue was the culprit for his mistake.

Someone bumped hard into Rose just then. She turned to see a man with a hood tightly drawn over his head that barely hid an eye patch on his scarred face. Another man, wearing a hat pulled low around a crop of auburn hair, stood beside him. They looked none too pleased. The first man flashed a hand signal to her and they walked off away from the crowd, spaced well enough as to not draw attention to themselves.

The second man spoke quickly and whispered,
“You must be much more careful out here, Rose. If you were to be caught, it would look very bad for us all…and the master would not be pleased,”
he finished with a wave of his hand.

“You are finished here…unless you have some sort of death wish,” threatened the man wearing the eye patch.

“Take it easy, Aidan,” Rose calmly and softly mocked. “I’ll bet you and Zeke will be sure to inform him of everything, eh?”

Rose giggled and walked off in the opposite direction. The men made as to follow her, but stopped. She chuckled again, looking back over her shoulder at the pair and at what she perceived to be a hollow threat.

She infuriatingly realized that her confrontation with them had sobered her up from her slightly drunken state. She decided to rectify that situation immediately.

Which tavern shall it be—Lucky Stars? Maybe the Siren’s Call?
The Duelist?
Rose thought. She’d heard it was a new and rowdy crowd there, which tempted her.
Perhaps the Steel Dragon?

She laughed at that last one. No—she would go to her home away from home, as she called it
and
she had a tab there with Melin Flinteye to boot! Besides, the elven wine he served was the finest in all the realms, imported directly from Amrel.

The other taverns and alehouses are good,
she thought,
The Tall Tale Tavern it is!
Besides, Melin would certainly appreciate her putting to rest a certain tab that she’d accumulated over the past months.

Saeunn regained consciousness. Her mind had returned to a lucid state and she was dressed in a soft cotton robe. She hadn’t realized how drained and fatigued she was until she had actually collapsed.

She sat up and stretched, rubbed a few stiff areas and inspected herself for bruises as the herbalist came over to check on her.

“It is all right, Sae,” called a familiar voice from behind her. It was her mother, Huuna, of course. No one really referred to her as
Sae
and it reminded her of a happier time in her childhood. Saeunn smiled like she hadn’t in a very long time, albeit briefly, as she recalled the pleasant memories.

“How long have I been…asleep?”

“Not long,” her mother replied. “The apothecaries and priests have labored very hard to revive we few remaining Chansuk survivors back to health, and I for one am grateful.”

Saeunn nodded slightly at her mother’s words, knowing she was stemming the obvious pain of losing her tribe and husband. Her mother was attempting to be strong for her, she knew.

“My Sae,” Huuna cooed to her daughter and lovingly hugged her. “Let us try to forget the horrors that affected our clan. I will always hold your father dear in my heart, but we must try to start a new life now….here.”

“I will
never
forget what happened, mother,” Saeunn stated curtly, standing and looking skyward. “The god of war will one day have his vengeance! The Champion will secure his fill of orc and goblin blood!”

“I will never forget, either, Sae, but….”

Moments of silence passed while the caretakers slowly filtered out of the room. Saeunn could not bear the thought of an ordinary life in the city when she knew in her heart of hearts that her destiny lay elsewhere. But she had made a promise to her dying father that she would do whatever it took to keep her mother safe.

“Let us find some friends here in this new city and partake of some wine,” Huuna proposed, almost pleading with her daughter to unwind. Saeunn could detect the obvious pain in her mother’s voice and knew that she was only trying to distract them both. She decided to go along, to appease her.

“A few of our clan have already made their way to drink at the Tall Tale Tavern at the behest of some of the caretakers,” Huuna stated. “We should drink of wine, mead and any other sort of ale these fine people offer, and share them with our kin this night.”

Saeunn nodded and hugged her mother with a force that took the wind out of her. The young Barbarian forgot that she had a good deal of strength when she was healthy and revitalized, which had not been of late.

She let her mother go, then grabbed her hand firmly, and strode out of the shelter with purpose toward the Entertainment District and, specifically, the Tall Tale Tavern.

Thaurion the apprentice woke from his slumber dazed and confused. He could not even see his own hand in front of his face and so he immediately invoked a prayer of light and his hands shone dimly. His head hurt and his lips were dry. A foul stench penetrated his nostrils, causing him to blanch. He looked around as his eyes adjusted to the light only to find bones and other remains lying in heaps on the ground around him. They were most likely humanoid and fairly old it seemed, from the state of the decay.

Where am I?
Thaurion wondered. Panic ensued as his most recent memories became a bit clearer. He had flashes of traveling, of losing control of his own psyche, of being…beaten? It was all a blur. What had happened to him? He panicked again and clutched his chest as his heart pounded!

 I took…something…something that did not belong to me…something of great power…great evil…what was it? Why am I here?

He shook his head in frustration, trying to clear the cobwebs once more and peered all about, squinting to focus. He was in a dark room with unlit torches hanging on the walls.

A prison cell?
Was this right?
Thaurion thought.
So many questions….

His vision focused and he realized he was certainly in a cell of some kind, with furs lining the ground along with—his fellow apprentices.

He limped to the first body and pulled back a fur to reveal a pale face. “Rolf!” he gasped. The acolyte was breathing, but it was very shallow. Thaurion immediately began a chant to The Shimmering One, asking for healing strength. He channeled what little regenerative energy he could into Rolf until he was breathing more steadily. A closer inspection of his friend’s injuries revealed that he was severely bruised and battered. He wasn’t sure to what extent, but it appeared that Rolf had a badly injured right leg that could very well be broken. He left Rolf alone for the time being; at least he was alive.

 Thaurion raced to the next figure. Whatever the thing was, it was dressed as his friend and fellow acolyte under the direct tutelage of Tiyarnon—Niomir the high elf—but it was certainly not him at all! Thaurion recoiled in horror as he thought the creature alive still, but realized after a moment that it was surely dead. And only
recently
departed, it seemed. The creature that lay in Niomir’s place had almost no features upon its face at all. Its skin was fleshy and pink, but looked very malleable. It had no discernible nose, only a cavity there, and pupil-less white eyes that were still open wide.

He had heard rumors before of such creatures that walked the realms, secretly taking the place of humanoids for whatever nefarious purpose they chose. He panicked a little again, then calmed as he backed away from the thing.

“Doppelganger
…,” he finally muttered as he found a torch on the wall and used a portion of his magic, calling forth a flash of flame that ignited the torch. He waited for it to flare up and leaned against the wall.

Poor Niomir must surely be dead! How did this happen?
Thaurion despaired, shaking his head in disbelief at the discovery.
And more importantly, when?! How long had this…this thing…been masquerading as my friend and fellow apprentice?!

 None of this made any sense to him. Thaurion turned to the last corner of the room, seeing yet another body revealed by the flickering torchlight. He began to hurry toward it, but ended up limping as he finally realized how badly wounded he was, but hadn’t grasped just how badly until now. He crept the distance toward the body, flipped it over and saw Alana’s face—another apprentice to Tiyarnon. He saw her chest shift up and down, drawing breath, albeit labored and shallow.

Thank The Shimmering One!
Thaurion thought, breathing a sigh of relief.
What has happened here?!

He invoked a prayer of healing upon his own battered form in order to address his own injuries. His access to the regenerative plane was restricted at best, but he attempted to do what he could. A bright light shone from his hands, bathing his limbs in the glow. Soon after, his reservoir of healing energies had been pushed to their limits, and so, he attempted to bandage his cuts with tattered pieces of his robe, sifting through the fabric to find clean areas to use.

The Shimmering One granted all of his servants minor healing capabilities, but the real curative abilities required many years of preparation and commitment. ‘Time and patience’, the High Priest of The Shimmering One would always say. Tiyarnon addressed them daily about perseverance and faith, and that The Shimmering One was always watching them. Their collective hope was that Thaurion and the rest would become fully-fledged priests of the sun-god.

A sudden understanding crept through his consciousness just then then as he realized that Niomir would never be granted that opportunity. He shook the grief from his mind and refocused on his current predicament.

After a long rest, he repeated the healing prayers on Alana and Rolf, growing fatigued with each word he uttered. It left him weak. He managed to find a stick of incense lying in a pack next to Rolf, along with oil and tinder—which may also come in handy, he considered. He used a torch on the wall, ignited the incense stick to alleviate the stench in the room, and then collapsed from utter exhaustion. There was still so much to do and so many questions to be answered…so many questions.

Zabalas sat upon his intricate throne within the Bastion of Skulls, which was simply how his servants referred to his castle in its newest form. Not only were there skulls of every conceivable race and creature adorning the walls within the castle, but the entire exterior of it looked as if it were built entirely of skulls and not stone.

Zabalas reflected on how he had taken his rightful place in this castle and how he had acquired powerful associates with much in common in these recent weeks. He thought about his exchanges with the few tribes of goblinoids, easily convincing them that they had been lying dormant for far too long and that they should claim their rightful place as rulers of Wothlondia.

He was now trying to show the potent forces below the surface that they should aid in the great cause too. He was in league with an influential and extremely powerful force that required as many allies as possible.

To Zabalas’s right stood a revolting creature. It was alive and yet, it wasn’t. It was undead. The creature was a mockery of its once human life as it stood drooling and staring out while Zabalas spoke. It listened intently but never uttered a word as Zabalas continued to share his thoughts.

A tall female stood at the back of the throne room, observing the interaction. She bore long white hair and very pale, but incredibly beautiful skin that seemed quite a disparity to her dark clothing. She had large amber eyes that displayed a not-so-subtle wickedness. She wore a deep black outfit with red accents that included a leather chest guard. The upper torso had a large oval shape of fabric cut out purposely in the center to unashamedly display a large portion of her cleavage.

She wore gloves and boots that ended high up on the arm and leg respectively, and a loincloth that was a series of leather strips in layers dangling to her mid-thigh covering not much else. Upon her shapely hips was a pair of loose-hanging belts. The hilt of a sword protruded from a scabbard hanging on her left hip and a scourge, with its many thongs hanging below its handle that hung low on her right hip.

She halted her advance and looked into a small mirror which she held out, her amber eyes gazing back at her reflection. The mirror altered between displaying her true self and a plain-looking female with a non-descript dress and albino features.

She was a succubus—a race of half-breed demonesses, commonly referred to as cambions. These half-demons were the offspring of the pure descendants of the Demon Queen, Lilith, referred to as Aspects.

The succubi made their home within the Subterrane, which was obvious to any who knew their history, though most did not. The surface folk knew that just before the reign of Ashenclaw, they had faced a force of their kind that was discreetly influencing their own people into deeds of unparalleled treachery. The humans and elves wisely deduced that the succubi, who appeared as the thing they most desired to their victims, were the source. The elves and humans eventually found them out and forced them deep into the bowels of the Subterrane.

The succubi, however, regrouped during their time out of the sun, where they found refuge in those dark spaces. They embraced their new home and began plotting for the time when humans would be made aware of their indomitable presence once more.

There will be much revenge for my demon queen to feast upon in the very near future
, the succubus thought hungrily as she moved forward out of the shadows to stand before Zabalas, replacing the tiny mirror in her belt pouch.

“It is good to have you back, my dearest Phaera,” Zabalas remarked. His voice sounded callous coming from behind his devilishly styled black helm, complete with long horns jutting out from its sides.

The albino cambion was smiling and seemed not at all threatened by the imposing dark warlord seated before her, nor by the undead creature that hunched beside him. 

Zabalas removed his helm as the woman approached the throne, revealing to her a very handsome pale face, with long dark hair framing it. She stared back into the blackest eyes she had ever seen.  He sat and stroked his smooth chin and grinned at her, conveying an egotistical demeanor. She smiled at his polite greeting and spoke.

“Plans are proceeding as you requested and we are meeting with my brood in a few eves’ time,“ she calmly announced, moving even closer to him to stare into his cold eyes.

“I am confident that they will act in accordance with us, as will perhaps more than a few others of my kin,” the succubus added hopefully, leaning in with her lavender-colored lips and teasing him with the possibility of a kiss. She came off to any who looked upon her as a very attractive woman for any race, be it succubi or otherwise, and she knew it. Zabalas said nothing,

“The Daughters of Asmodai will certainly be interested in what you have to say, but I cannot speak for any of the other broods, even though my mother is regarded widely as the heiress of the entire enclave,” Phaera concluded, her lips almost touching his.

“I tolerate you because of your connections, you understand,” he cautioned as he somewhat callously pushed her away. “Your abilities have no effect on me, Phaera—
remember
that.” That was to remind her once more that
he
was in control—now and always. Her pheromones had no effect on him and he wanted to remind her of that as often as he could.

“I have plans that will make the gods want to leave Arcadia,” Zabalas continued past her, entirely missing the exasperated expression on the face of the succubus. “If you plan on witnessing them unfold, I suggest you remember your place.” Phaera nodded and waited for him to make eye contact again.

“Tell me again of the doppelganger’s success,” Zabalas asked, clearly wanting the satisfaction of hearing the tale once more.

“I already—,” Phaera began and then paused as she regarded the expression upon Zabalas’s face and carefully rephrased her answer. “Very well, my lord. We managed to infiltrate Oakhaven as you instructed, using my abilities and those of the djinni. No one suspected. We found an acolyte quite easily and Solagh succeeded in gaining his form and memories. We were almost exposed on one occasion, but managed to circumvent the fool priests. We left Solagh to his measures and returned here, as instructed.”