The Eye of the Phoenix

[Darg]

“Arcanroths! Scatter and sweep!” shouted Lewis at the top of his lungs in the garrison hall. Arcanroth in the old script meant ‘death magic’. They were Wickstad’s mage warriors. The term ‘scatter and sweep’ was a Hook Coast watch maneuver when facing powerful foes. Now was definitely the time to put it into motion. Fire exploded from the armored fist of the leading Arcanroth, swirling in a hazy wave of pure energy and knocking back five guards in the front who hadn’t yet reacted to Lewis’s orders. Tom and Badris were on the left side of the Arcanroths, coming in close to deal damage out with fierce melee, Badris using a powerful steel cleaver to repel the threat of the ferocious Arcanroths, who wielded long black scythes with frightening power. Badris managed to fell one of the nearest ones, thrusting his blade with surprising finesse into the exposed flank of the dark sorcerer. A bolt of electricity soared through the garrison hall from Finrar’s fingertips, bursting apart a black scythe and staggering another one of the defenders. With quick, precise gestures, Veros noticed the Arcanroth leader giving immediate orders in the midst of battle to kill Finrar. Veros would stop them at all costs. Leaving the fight he was currently involved in, he swooped through the battle to land a potent blow that dented the Arcanroth’s helmet in. The rose colored helmet rested askew upon the soldier’s helmet with a jagged tear in its metal. Veros forced his boot into the chest of the momentarily bewildered guard, forcing him back and knocking his scythe to the ground. Durig, who stood nearby, picked it up, using it in place of his flimsy iron sword. The dark weapon seemed to suit Durig strangely, his fighting style seemingly more graceful, though Veros had never truly noticed it until now.

With these thoughts still in his head, Veros was abruptly brought back to the fight by the unpleasant sensation of his ankle being pulled out from under him by an Arcanroth whose scythe caught his leg. He flailed and tried to release the hold the enemy had on him, noticing the almost amused look playing about in his eyes through the slits in his dark helmet. He would never submit to defeat. He would never stop fighting until he won. Out of the blue behind the minion, a black scythe swooped in like a dark lightning bolt and lacerated the soldier’s back, forcing him to drop his scythe and bellow in anguish. The thin frame of Durig came into view, a sly smile on his young face. Veros could swear that Tom was rubbing off on him. Then, the realization of what danger Finrar may be in slipped back into both of their minds like an invisible signal and they ran to defend him, only to find that he was more than capable of repelling anything they threw at him. An Arcanroth shot several shards of ice that materialized from thin air at Finrar, who reflected in back on his hapless foe with a single motion of his hand. He was a master in his own element, hurling flaming orbs, raining down blasts of exploding energy, and decimating all who dared to come near him. His full unleashed strength was almost startling, as if they had just witnessed the true side of Finrar, the fury of combat that gripped him as he brought forth the ancient power of will like a simple old memory, coursing through his veins as he let it loose with unparalleled supremacy.

“Fall back!” came the throaty cry of the Arcanroth leader, fleeing with haste to the exit, his last remaining troops hot on his heels. Almost as a parting gift, Finrar burst the two troops lagging behind into flames with an angled fireball. The casualties in the garrison were worse than that of the west hall, four guards lying about with serious burns and one of them with a broken leg. Two guards lie dead. It was a loss too great even for a few men, but they would not let their memories be forgotten. They would finish what they had started.

The archers and Johnny Welron had already taken up their positions atop the balcony, their bows ready for anything. It was time for phase three of Dehoode’s plan. Through a long corridor with various tapestries hanging from the bleak stone walls lie in wait Wickstad’s quarters. What they could expect, no one in the company could guess. Veros’s nerves were frayed and he was edgy, neither knowing what to do or what to think. The company of swordsmen fronted the remaining party, Aroj’ staying behind with his pikemen, who held the garrison with an iron fist. And there it was: the final doors to their ultimate goal, a dark ebony and gold door with the likeness of a Balverine engraved on its surface. Lewis flicked his hand sideways with a snap, the signal to move on. Through the adorned door, the whole group seemed to pour out all at once, their weapons drawn an their minds set on their objective. Veros seemed in a fog until his eyes came to focus on a crimson cloaked man, thin and intent looking, his face with sharp features and his eyes remorseless with a glazed mist over them. A tattered blackish-gray beard and mustache hung on his face loosely, giving him the appearance of a dangerous rogue. A glinting emerald amulet was around his neck, its rusted gold chain glinting vaguely in the moonlight that shone through an elaborate stained glass window. His pitch black hair was long, shoulder length and mottled with streaks of gray slicing through the waves of darkness. This was Wyverd Wickstad.

Beside Wyverd were two of his henchmen, men in shadow-hued coats with vicious spiked swords fixed the group with an appraising but menacing gaze. Their bloodlust shone in their eyes. This was no time to reason with any of them. Though they were outnumbered, they were dangerous and crazed. Wyverd had the look of a murderer and it was evident that he would either fight and win or die. And so the last battle to take the mansion began, the swordsmen taking on his two henchmen with vigor, launching attack after attack to subdue them. They were mostly unsuccessful. An explosion of blinding light erupted out of the center of the room, sent straight from Wickstad’s cold, bony fingers in a graceful motion. Tom fell back, motioning for the rest to run. It was obvious that Wyverd had plenty of tricks up his sleeve that he was willing to reveal, but this was one that Veros had never before seen. With golden strands of magical energy, a wall of power surged from the blast, forcing all who stood within its range back. Luckily, the spell’s range was limited; dying soon after it was launched. This was short-lived, Wyverd only continuing his assault in the aftermath of the confusion, blasting away crimson sparks at the group which scorched the ground and sent flying shards into the air. Lewis Dehoode made an intricate motion with his fist, his men splitting into two groups to assault Wyverd. Surprisingly, through all this, his guards stood about as if supervising the battle. They were amused about all of this, knowing that Wyverd possessed the skills and the power to defeat all of them without trying. Veros almost believed this, though he would never admit to defeat. He would fight to the very end.

Tom seemed to reappear out of the chaos near the right-side wall of the chamber, his bow drawn back with an ebony-tipped arrow already ready. A guard’s eyes widened as he saw this, letting loose a weak energy web that failed to stop the arrow, already soaring through the room like a lightning strike. It pierced through the magic shield like mere paper, finding its mark in the guard’s chest. He clutched at his black coat, already reddening as he stumbled and fell heavily to the hard stone floor. Veros couldn’t believe it. He had never seen something so amazing as that one moment, where Tom’s brilliance and might shone through so incredibly, striking the soldier of Wickstad with one blow that ultimately killed him. He could think of this later, for he already felt the rush of battle gripping him again. Looking beside him, he motioned to Durig and Finrar, beckoning for them to go onward. Dodging magical fire from both Wyverd and his remaining minion, they beat a path towards them, weapons already swirling through the air, save for Finrar, who was busying himself with conjuring some type of spellcraft. Veros flung his blade over his shoulder in an attempt to slash at the guard’s wrist, but realized with dismay that this one was a much more experienced fighter than the previous one.

The black-clad minion seemingly whooshed backwards in a blurring flash of force, missing the blow and stepping forward to chop at Veros with deadly accuracy. His mind was racing and his heart pounded against his ribs wildly. The guard’s vicious blade flew through the air, the world and his vision going slowly as he realized he could not evade it any longer: he could die here, the darkened sword coming close to his already wounded chest with enough force to kill him easily. It was then that he realized it: something that had been on his mind ever since he had seen Finrar use the power of Will the very first time, the image that was engraved into his memory since that moment. He could use magic. He had enacted a slow-time spell without him even knowing it, something he had heard from friends and random travelers speak of, but could never truly realize what it was like until he had seen it and done it. He felt like he could do anything. He was fast and strong, his foes moving slow and lumbering clumsily along. Veros stepped back from the guard’s blow, his weapon still carrying on slowly through the air while he was still free to move. He sidestepped to flank him, booting him in his side with pure strength and watching with what was almost humor as the guard tripped and crashed to the ground. Then, he was left with the thought of how he had done this in the first place, and how he could control it. It was not entirely something you learned right off and kept with you. Veros was not exactly sure how he had come to do this in the first place, much less of why he could have any talent to do with the Will.

His vision distorted a little, his body feeling loose and adjusting to something: the time was reverting back to its normal state and he could see the effects already. His companions stood, amazed looks in all their eyes, save for Tom, whose nature for that was uncanny if not annoying. The guard he had kicked during the slow spell lay limp against the wall, blood trickling barely from a wound in his side. Even Wyverd seemed to be flabbergasted, standing still for a moment or so before he launched back into an attack. Veros was not going to stop there. He tried to remember the vague sensation he felt when he had first discovered the Will, and focused on another emotion: rage. Pure, concentrated fury. He thought of all the things that had happened to him: Melissa dying, Jack, and the matter that so many were against him and he still seemed to never be making a difference in anything he did. Without even knowing it, he screamed and let loose his wrath without remorse, finding that a crimson circle had appeared around his feet, with dark runes which glowed with a fiery light that lit up the whole chamber in a scarlet haze. As if feeling a guiding hand, Veros lifted his fists up into the air and opened them wide, looking about the room. In Wyverd Wickstad’s eyes, a new expression dawned: one of complete and utter terror. Then, without warning, the fiery ring around him exploded into a full furious arc of blazing flames, bursting forth a rain of burning fragments across the room.

During all this, he felt his mind atrophy momentarily, his thoughts and emotions dissipating until he felt nothing. His body filled with a coldness that gripped him with an unbearable mounting horror that confined and surrounded him. Veros felt unable to get away from whatever it was that came upon him, like an inescapable shadow looming above the land… like the Wickstad mansion on the hill looking out over Hook Coast, like the threat of Jack on his family and his life, and like the evil that held the land in its death-grip and crushed it with darkness untold. He tried to think, he tried to remember anything, anything at all, but it all faded into nothingness and he cried out but could not hear his own voice. He tried to shut it all out, whatever it was that confined him, but he could do nothing but feel its horrible grip on his mind. Then the pain came, what seemed like a knife in his brain, sharp and searing, scorching his mind with a sensation that felt as though the world had just collapsed around him. He only wanted to die, to ease his pain and escape from whatever it was that was impending. Veros could see a light, vague at first, and then great and overwhelming until his vision blurred and then focused. He was awake in the chamber. He heard a lone voice that sounded echoed and far away in the dark, “Veros? Are you alright?”

[Darg]

There is another part to the previous chapter, though you may not have read it. It is in fact a quite short chapter, but I'd also like to encourage people to check in every once and awhile to see if there's anything new. After all, the very last thing I'd want is to lose my readers on this story. Anyway, here it is.

Chapter 12~ A New Darkness Part II

It felt like all of Albion had fallen down upon him. He was devastated, his mind seemingly torn apart by a horrible pain that was driving its blows harder and harder into his skull. And finally it stopped. Veros looked up to see the five others of his group along with Lewis Dehoode standing over him with worried and moderately horrified looks on their faces. “Veros? Are you alright?” repeated Tom, his hand outstretched. He was not alright. He felt like he would never be alright as long as he lived. He stood up slowly, his body seeming heavy and limp, as if he could not control it. He fell, only to be caught by Badris and Dehoode’s firm grasp on his arms.
“Tom… What in the name of Skorm happened here?” Veros spat out, his voice sounding hollow and pain-stricken at first but becoming more regular as he went. His jaw felt like lead and his mouth was pulsating with horrible anguish.

Tom’s eyes seemed filled with mixed emotions as he gestured towards the room and said, “Why don’t you see for yourself.” Veros’s jaw dropped. The room had been decimated entirely. The fanciful dark curtains that once hung over the thin glass windows were torn and ablaze on the cold stone floor. The artfully made iron-wrought window frame now hung loosely, its fine metalwork scorched and bent wildly like the branches of a dead, gnarled tree. The floor of the chamber was littered with the wreckage and ruin, stone blocks from the ceiling high above smashed through the thick flooring in scattered amounts. In the midst of the rubble was a pale, lifeless face. Wyverd Wickstad. His bodyguards lay around, crushed by rubble and their faces scorched with dark, bloody marks. The thing that made his heart almost stop was when he noticed what he had really done: two Hook Coast guards and Rich Silmanor, the swordsman captain lie dead amidst the mess of ruins, their bodies limp and their eyes closed. Veros’s eyes filled with tears and his knees gave out beneath him. What had he done? He had destroyed three innocent lives and he did not even know how.

Veros sat there for what seemed like an eternity, gasping and looking fearfully around the room until he finally said in a choked-sounding voice, “What was I doing? How could I have been so stupid? I didn’t even know what I was doing and three innocent men’s lives were destroyed because of it!” Tom’s eyes flicked to the ceiling in ruin, as if looking for guidance from up above. Something had changed, but Veros could not guess what.
“It is the dark energies of Will that have possessed you,” Tom said solemnly, “its power is unlimited, and somehow through your bloodline you have inherited its evil nature. Tell me Veros… did anyone in your family use the art of Will?” Veros could hardly believe what he was hearing. The very last thing he wished was to hear that he had the very evil in his blood that had taken Melissa from him, the very blood that forced Jack of Blades onward, and the same blood that flowed through the veins of Wyverd Wickstad before he perished. It had to come into his life on this very moment, this fateful time to ruin the journey, to put another obstacle in their way. It sometimes seemed to be the story of his life.

“The power of Will is a force to be reckoned with,” Finrar chimed in, a shadow falling over his face, “whether it is dark or light. One never knows when it shall show up in your life. Some say it is when you need it most. However, control over it is a task that many cannot bear. If you wish to use the sacred art of Will, you need focus and practice. I am afraid to say that you have used the dark spell of infernal wrath, one that has plagued the land for many a century, something that is not merely learned, but passed down from generations of dark Will-users.”
Veros shifted his eyes to stare into Finrar’s face as he spoke, “Does this mean that there was a dark wizard in my bloodline?”
“It would seem so,” Tom said, “for one never truly knows their ancestry until they have seen it. And I know who the dark wizard was.” Veros’s flabbergasted look told him to continue. “You see, I discovered in my travels by the many storytellers of old that a man, a generation before even your great-grandfather had mastered the art of the dark Will, the only one of his bloodline to that point in time to harness the energy of Will. Sariston Bantain was a wise man, though his power was often misused. I did not tell you this, because I already thought this might happen. And it would seem that I was right.”
Veros, unbelieving of all this, said, “This is impossible! Why am I to carry the burden of an ancestor whose curse plagues my family?”
“No. It is not a curse if used properly. The power of Will is mysterious as it is great, and it can be the guiding light that yields the path to victory. Listen, Veros. Under no circumstances are you to use the dark magic unless in times of severe struggle and strife, for the magical energy can taint even the purest of souls.” Tom took Veros’s hand, squeezing it in a tight grip. “Use it wisely.” And with that, it was over. The room emptied out, Dehoode and his men gathering up the dead and staying behind, the company filing out almost somberly like an exiting funeral party. And indeed it seemed as if it was a funeral of innocence, for a new darkness had dawned.

[Eclipse]

i like it alot it was long and interesting cant wait to here more +rep

[Darg]

Originally Posted by Spartan Champion

i like it alot it was long and interesting cant wait to here more +rep

I'm glad that someone is actually reading it... A new chapter should be coming along by the weekend if not sooner.

[Darg]

Sorry for the wait, readers and random people. This chapter is not as long as the previous one, but still it is just building up a bit until some more action occurs. And so here we are at Chapter 12...

Chapter 12~ Of Things to Come…

It was a frigid, dark dawn on the harbor, just about the time that a great, encompassing fog engulfed the bay, shrouding all in layers of frosty haze. The fog seemed to seep in from the sea, billowing against the walls of the dock, floating up to dissipate in the overcast, clouded sky. Veros and his company were staying at the Dragon and Hobbe Pub, where a few rooms were reserved by Scorl for them. Rolf and Rufus Almonder had arrived at the pub by suggestion of Tom. Out on the harbor could be an unsafe place to lodge for the moment. Jack’s assassin’s were on the move, and could strike at any time, with them knowing the location of the Sea Wolf. All eight of them sat by the fireplace in the third floor of the inn, in scattered chairs and seats, pondering their next move.

Veros sat by the warmth of the flame in a dark oak chair, his eyes fixed on the flickering crimson flames which danced in the stone fireplace with a type of fleeting beauty before they cycled back into an endless pattern. Veros leaned back in his chair, sighing as he stared up at the tall ceiling. “What’s next?” Durig asked, bringing Veros back to the present situation.
Rolf shook his head momentarily before looking up and speaking, “I’d say it’s time to move on. The sea is unruly and a foul wind seems to blow out of the north. I can feel that something is wrong, but I can’t tell what yet.” This seemed to be a big speech for Rolf, who was usually passive and spoke by actions rather than words. Rufus shifted his shoulder, fidgeting at his Bowerstone military coat with an uncertain look in his eyes.
“I can tell as well,” Rufus said, “The weather is unusual for this part of the season, even for the northlands. The Northbound Glow in the sky cannot even be seen at all. A shadow has come over the northlands, and not even the glow’s beauty can shine through the darkness.”
“It is Jack’s work,” Tom interjected, his voice unwavering and straight, “He has power that spans the unreal and the real, and it is growing while we cannot touch him here in Hook Coast. Within a short number of days, we may reach the Lost Bay of the Northern Wastes. Our journey shall fully begin then to Lake Bridmor to retake the Dawn Breaker and stop Jack once and all.”

The whole room seemed to sit in a quiet hush for a moment, everyone staring into the fire and relaxing in their seats. A thought came into Veros’ mind, something that had been burning in his mind ever since earlier that night. His memory of the burning flames and horrid sensation still scarred his every thought and he also wondered why they had not yet discussed it and why it had not been brought up. He guessed that it was not something that they wanted in their minds at the present. It was a time for rest, a time for relaxation and peace… for now, that was. He would mention it later. Rufus Almonder stood up out of his chair slowly as he said, “I’m going to retire for the night. I’ll see you all later.” After various farewells for the night, Rufus disappeared down the stairs to the second floor where his lodgings were.

As soon as Rufus was out of sight, Rolf spoke, “Poor Rufus. The boy’s been hungry for some action ever since he was wounded by that damned Kalon. He’s a wily, anxious one I’d say… perhaps a little too much.”
“I’d agree with that,” said Tom, “The blood in his veins is still alight with the fire of youth. I can see where his thirst for the battle comes from, what with his military upbringing.” Veros thought for a moment about Rufus, and the frustration he must have faced, having to stay behind on the ship while his comrades ventured forth to face their enemies head-on. He was one who aimed to please, especially if it meant destroying evil and following the honorable path. In this, Veros respected him, though he was a bit cocky and underestimated his foes, most likely the reason of his failure against Kalon.
“How’s ‘e doin’ ever since… you know.” Badris asked, leaning forward in his chair a bit.
Rolf lit his pipe, shoving it in his mouth above his rough beard as he said in a muffled tone, “’S quite fine by now, though he still has a bit of a limp if he tries to run on his injured foot. It looks a lot like he was injured there to me. He’s a tough young lad with a strong will but a stronger instinct. Sometimes it isn’t a good thing.”
“It is the arrogance that seems to come with youth, my friends. If there is anything to learn from this is that your first intentions are not always the right ones. To act on emotion alone can often lead to failure.” Tom seemed to be more mysterious and prophetic than usual, something that generally baffled Veros, though it somehow consoled him.

Rolf, with a weary look on his weathered, bearded face, stood up from his chair, “Well, I’d best retire for the night… or morning, I suppose. If my predictions are right, I’d say we can leave by about 10 in the morning, when the wind is mild enough to sail but weak enough to bare.” After this, the rest of the company filed off to bed, most of them deciding to rest up for the trials of the next few days. All save for Veros and Tom had left the room, Tom stopping Veros before he could reach the staircase. A serious but meaningful expression filled Tom’s face and was gleaming in his bold blue eyes. “Look, Veros. There is something very important I must tell you.” Veros promised to himself to not be surprised by the newest odd revelation of Tom, but could never truly guess what it could be this time around. “Be on your guard at all times. I heard from Scorl that there are dark forces gathering as we speak in Hook Coast. If there ever was a time to leave, it would be soon. Your name is known amongst the wicked and those who will not stop until they can divert our journey.”
“Jack seems to have spies everywhere now. They could even assault the tavern as we sleep!” Veros said, suddenly discovering this new possibility in his mind.

“Darkness never rests, Veros. It is relentless and does not easily lay down its arms in the face of fresh game. We can post a watch every hour until the daylight comes, for the servants of Jack do not usually prefer to conduct their attacks in the light. Wyverd Wickstad seemed to be the exception, his affairs his own, but those who have the pure darkness of Jack himself in their blood are the ones that make up his secret amassed army,” for a moment, a wry smile crossed his face and he continued, “Perhaps you should feel a bit flattered. Much commotion has come of this and it would seem that Albion is divided, though it doesn’t appear to be at times.”
“I know.” Veros said plainly, “I don’t doubt any of the things that Rolf says. Something great is coming and a shadow’s fallen over the land. But I just keep a thought in my head that has bothered me ever since… you know.” Tom nodded his head with agreement, understanding what he meant, the experience in Wyverd’s mansion what seemed like an eternity ago but was only two hours past.
“You have seen what few have lived to see, the darkness that resides in this world that none can see, though it surrounds us and we are immune to it. If Jack can possess the Eye of the Phoenix, then the darkness will be a living reality on the world, and Albion will fall into darkness.”

Veros rested against the railing of the oaken staircase, sighing as another thought rested in his conscience, tearing at him to speak of it, and he finally conceded. “Look… Tom, why… I mean… how is it that am I the one to have to do this? Why is it laid upon my shoulders to stop Jack? I just wanted to live a normal, peaceful life in Knothole Glade and retire one day. But why has fate picked me to stop Jack?”
“Ah,” Tom said with a knowing tone in his even voice, “it is not fate that his picked you Veros, but it is destiny. Destiny is the divine tie that binds us all to our designated paths along life’s journey, and it is not yours to choose, or you would be doing just that, living a normal, peaceful life.”

Another of his trademark smiles appeared on his face as he said, “Every journey needs its variety and every end has its serenity. It’s a saying us travelers have kind of like a creed. It just simply means that you make the most of your adventures while you travel down their path and rest will come at the end. So just keep this in mind. Make the most of the quest that you are set upon, for it will only happen to you once.” After he had said this, a long pause ensued, in which the only sound was the gentle crackling of the flames in the stone hearth and the wind brushing against the tavern. In the moonlight, Veros could see Tom’s face, a wistful and adventurous expression across his wise face. He remembered that day only two nights ago when he had first met him at the Knothole Glade tavern, and how he had managed to trust him from the very start, when that very same look was on his bold face that had seen many seasons of robust travel. He finally broke the silence, putting his hand on Veros’ shoulder and speaking in a soft tone, “Night, Veros. I’ll take the first watch.”

“Thanks Tom,” he spoke, realizing that he was indeed exhausted, his eyelids becoming heavier by the minute. Suddenly, a final question that popped into his mind revealed itself almost without him knowing it. He was speaking half coherently, his thoughts coming back to Melissa and the two beautiful long years they spent together, as he said, “Tom? Did you ever… have a family?” Tom stopped, his dark outline in the room but an unmoving shadow among shadows. A cold chill ran up Veros’ spine, as if he had breached some unknown boundary that was forbidden even now.
After what seemed like forever, Tom finally said with a sigh, “Yes, Veros. Indeed I did. So many long years ago, it was. A traveler is one who is not bound to one home, one place. But it was not that… which kept me away from home. The darkness of Albion is a powerful thing, something that can destroy even the boldest and strongest of establishments, even the foundation that a family is built upon.” Veros detected a tone of sorrow in his usually unbroken voice, his tone carrying him to a place far away where time was unlimited and the world was fine, even in the worst of strife and struggle, “A family is all you have in this world when there can be no other to stand beside, but I have no one to stand beside and no family. It is not something I wish to discuss right now, Veros. The hour is late and these are dark times…” Veros decided that further questions would not be appropriate at the moment, and he settled to retiring to his bed for the night.

“Night, Tom. I’ll take the next watch,” Veros said. Tom did not speak, but his gaze said it all: Tom was brought back to painful memories by what Veros had asked, and his usually bright face was rather somber and sullen. The vast evil that could do this even to one like Tom was no force to underestimate. Something big was about to happen, for good or bad or by light or dark, and not even Veros could guess what trials lie in store for them…

[Hoblob]

dude this is an awesome story

[Darg]

Originally Posted by Hoblob

dude this is an awesome story

Ah-ha! I knew you were going to join up sooner or later! A new chapter is already done right now, though it's not stored on this computer. I may post the rest tonight.

[Darg]

Ah, I just realized that the last chapter was supposed to be number 13, so that is why this one is 14. Either way, I hope you enjoy this next chapter, in which a few interesting twists and turns manifest. Keep checking in for more progress, readers, and... well... take it away:

Chapter 14~ Unmasking of a Conspiracy

The radiant glow of the morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the Dragon and Hobbe, and the crisp air of daybreak filled the tavern, with an almost exhilarating sensation mounting in Veros’ heart. He was already up out of his bed, wearing the coats and furs that Tom had given him the previous day. For the first time in a long time, he gazed into a mirror, and found something rather surprising. Where in the past few days, he was moderately mild-mannered, just normal, ordinary Veros Bantain from Witchwood, but now he stood with an aura of confidence about his person, his face bearing the trials of the last few days, though with the glow of triumph unmarred and unmatched on his face. He thought about the things he had faced, and in some way grinned. He, a simple tavern-going Bantain from Knothole Glade, without any claim to fame, any life outside of what he knew, had traveled the sea, had vanquished an armed assassin, had stopped a dark sorcerer, and most of all, had made it to Hook Coast. Veros thought on all these things, and suddenly realized that he could do it. He could defeat Jack after all, and nothing was going to hold him back.

His brief reverie was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots ascending the oak staircase. The capped head of Lewis Dehoode popped above the railing, his eyes widening as if to acknowledge Veros’ presence. “Ah. There you are. Tom and I’ve been waitin’ for you downstairs. Uh… How ‘bout you come on down s’ we can discuss somethin’ with you?” Veros nodded; almost surprised that Lewis suddenly appeared, not having seen him since the previous night, when he disappeared without question or answer. As he traversed the tavern to the lower floor, Veros noticed that the rest of the crew were still fast asleep, Badris snoring with a horrendous noise that could have been mistaken for a Balverine’s coarse roar. Stifling laughter at the burly barman, he continued on down to the tavern floor, where Tom sat at a round table in the center of a few early rising citizens. Veros noted with optimism that Tom’s usual jovial mood had returned, and he seemed to be his usual mysterious self, a far-off gaze in his fair eyes. He was cloaked in a deep burgundy cape and his usual simple attire, though an emerald amulet hung loosely around his neck on a silver chain. A long fine silver saber rested in a leather clasp around his waist, a weapon Veros had not seen before.

Lewis sat down at the table across from Tom, Veros taking a seat between the two. There was a silence for a moment, Dehoode seemingly waiting on Tom to begin speaking, his eyes focused on him primarily. Tom shot Dehoode a momentary glance that was cast in an instant, though Veros caught it. Something was amiss, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was. Tom’s face softened and he spoke in Veros’ direction, “I hope you rested up thoroughly, my friend. The rest of the company seem to be exhausted more than I anticipated. We’ll let them rest for awhile until-” Lewis cleared his throat audibly, irritating Tom, who directed another vicious glance at the guard captain until he was allowed to continue, “Either way… It would seem that we have reached an obstacle. Captain Dehoode can elaborate more.” Tom seemed to make the final statement snider than usual, something that Lewis brushed off.

“You see, Mister Veros… there are indeed circumstances that bar your exit from Hook Coast. It is by my authority that I must tell you this, but we cannot allow you to leave the city.” Veros was shocked and disturbed all at once. He now knew why the intensity of hatred had filled Tom’s stare.
“What? This is an outrage! Tom-”
“I know,” Tom said, trying to conceal the frustration in his voice, “But there is no other choice.”
Veros looked back at Dehoode, who began speaking again, “There are conditions beyond our control, and we cannot allow access or exit to the harbor due to recent… difficulties. Our sources tell us that there are pirates out on the harbor, and they’ve been circling the area all morning. I’m afraid we can’t allow anyone to pass with the danger of an attack present. Not even for you.”
Veros exchanged glances with Tom, who only fixed Lewis with an intent stare on almost every move he made, before he spoke, “But we could have an escort by the fleet here and-”
“No.” Dehoode’s answer was as cold as the waters of the icy harbor, and his arms were crossed defiantly. “I can’t do that, not while the safety of the city is in question. We need to have all our men here if an attack arises.”
“Excuse me, Mister Dehoode. I am not sure you fully understand the importance of our mission. It is more than just a simple voyage, but this depends on the very fate of Albion, and if we have to, we’ll go without an escort,” Tom’s voice was strong and defiant, and Veros could detect the rising intimidation in his voice, also noting that Lewis’ face was uncertain and dumbstruck.
“B-but, you see… There are things beyond my control at the moment. I’m sorry, you two, but this city is under lockdown until we can-” he was disturbed by a sudden noise that filled the tavern, the sound of the doors unbolting.

[Darg]

The sound of the tavern doors creaking open sounded hollow and louder than usual, the shadows of three men illuminated in the light of the morning sun at Hook Coast. The front-most of the three was a tall, gaunt man with a crimson and dark hazel tunic, gauntlets and pants, a pitch black cloak thrown over his broad shoulders with a set of two obsidian longswords thrust securely in a brown-dyed bone belt. His face had defined, sharp features, with a dark-grayish moustache and flowing beard, long finely groomed hair that was parted in its midst falling down from his head. The man’s expression was brimming with confidence and a crafty, devious flare that made Veros’ heart sink. An important aura seemed to surround the man, and he was flanked by two of the city guards, both with a sullen air that was palpable and gripped Veros’ heart in an icy grasp. Something was definitely amiss here.

“That is quite enough, Captain Dehoode. Your work here is done,” the man said in an almost spiteful tone intermingled with a sly concealment, suspicious as it was dark. “So. Here we are, with all the pieces of this mess of a puzzle falling into place at long last. Arrest these men Bulon.” He pointed one gloved finger at the guard on his left, his eyes flitting back to Veros and Tom. The guard, Bulon, came to their rear, his hand on a set of manacles, which Tom swiftly pushed away. Bulon’s hand curved into a fist, though he said nothing by a brief gesture of the man’s wrist. “So we have some fighters here. I anticipated that. Orum, go upstairs and bar the door. The rest are still deep in their sleep.”
“By what right do you arrest us?” Tom said, irritation evident in his voice.
“By what right? If this is what you say, then I indeed have a right. The right to stop you and the rest from finding the Dawn Breaker, that is.” The man’s words were hard as stone and Veros could tell that this was no ruse.
“How do you know about the Dawn Breaker?” Tom snapped back, his knuckles curled into fists, almost white with fury.
“How indeed do I know? You and your friends have left a trail as wide as Albion for me to follow. For all to follow. Jack of Blades’ army is assembling as we speak and while you are still here in Hook Coast, his army will march across the Northern Wastes to destroy the Dawn Breaker before you can even possess it. I intend to make this so.”
“And who are you?” demanded Veros.
“I am none other than Sarvis Umbras, but you may refer to me as your master. I am a… a friend, if you will, of Jack. And I am a loyal friend indeed. I plan to carry out his plans and under no circumstances will I back down.” The room was silent for a few moments, Veros only staring over at Tom, whose eyes were narrowed slyly. He could tell that he had a plan.

“So, Umbras. I have a proposition for you.” Tom spoke in a cunning tone.
“And what would that be?” Sarvis said with an almost amusedly. Veros could only imagine what was going to transpire next, but he steeled his nerves and readied himself for the inevitable.
“Sit down here for a minute.” This odd statement surprised both Veros and Umbras, his confused expression slowly turning to a malicious one.
“I don’t think so, Mister Meldrinas.”
“No?” Tom said, one of his eyebrows cocked and a grin on his sly face, “Then have a drink, spawn of Jack!” Faster than any normal person could do, Tom flicked his hand down to a leather pouch in his belt, concealed at first, and drew from it a stout azure bottle. Bluegin. He hurled it at Sarvis, dead on through the tavern air until it hit its mark. The glass bottle exploded in thousands of shards of glass, the bluish liquid coating the man in a film of the dark fluid. Veros always knew that Tom was saving it for a special occasion, knowing what the strange brew actually did. Umbras fell head over heels, taking a harder impact than expected, collapsing to the ground in a heap. A black shroud seemed to surround him, and his quivering frame gave way to that of one of Jack’s minions, hunched back, vicious snout, and all, though he was still thankfully unconscious. So he really was one of Jack’s friends. And as he himself put it, a loyal one at that.

The guard behind Tom and Veros, Bulon hesitated for a bit, a shocked expression on his face, before he sprang into action, only to be met in the face by a blow from Tom. Veros, thinking quickly for the moment, snatched the manacles out of Bulon’s gloved hands and clamped them on his hands behind his back. After this, Tom spun him around like a clumsy whirlwind until he stumbled a bit and crashed like a fallen tree against the other wall. “Haha! I’d say you’re taking after me a bit, Veros,” Tom said with a chuckle. Scorl the barman rushed up to them, though they did not entirely recognize his presence at first.
“Great Skorm! I saw it all mates, and this isn’t good. Ya better ‘urry upstairs and take that there other one. I’ll take captain hobbe-belly ‘ere.” Tom nodded, Veros already in tow up the oak staircase in a hurry. After leaving, Scorl turned to Dehoode, putting his hand on his shoulder and saying, “Don’t try anythin’ silly now. I’ve fought the pirate lord Carstog Garisnof in this very bar and guess who gave ‘im his other patch over ‘is eye? Oh boy, you dare make a move an’ I’ll ‘ave to introduce ya to this ‘ere chair the hard way.” Dehoode only shifted his shoulders and sat down in his chair without a word. The one rule of tavern-going is usually this: never mess with a barman.

Tom and Veros zipped up the stairs in a hurry, swinging around the balustrade at the top and running in full speed. The second guard, Orum, seemed to be anticipating them, his blade already drawn out and ready to attack. Tom dodged a strike from the steel shortsword, swooping back in and knocking the guard’s block off with the side of his fist. The last guard fell to the floorboards in a heap, without even putting up a fight. “Veros, go check if everyone’s okay. I’ll watch this lump.” Veros did so, finding the rest of the crew without any wrong done to them, though they were slightly unnerved by the news Veros relayed to them, especially Melinda Germain.
“By great Avo! You cannot trust anyone anymore it seems,” she voiced her frustration with every word.
“Even the guards are against us then?” asked Durig, his expression that of confusion.
“Unfortunately… it would seem so.” Veros said, his tone grave and solid. This seemed to be quite the turning point, one that was sure to set a spin on their entire course.
“But, why would the guards have us go through that entire ordeal with Wyverd Wickstad with them when they could’ve easily gotten us from the very start?” Finrar entered the conversation, his arms crossed in an inquisitive manner.

“From the looks of it,” Melinda said, “it was only just a ruse for them to earn our trust or get us killed in the process of the battle, the demons.”
“Well… what do we do from here?” came the question that all had in their minds from Durig. Veros considered this for a moment: what could they do from here on but continue on? He had an idea in mind.
“We need to escape from here. No one can be trusted and we need to sail out of here immediately. No doubt there are other guards out there monitoring our ship, but we’ll have to take that chance.” Veros said.
“I’ve already seen ‘em and they have the ship tied fast to the dock,” spoke Rolf Halmund, who had stayed mostly quiet thus far.
“What? You saw them? How?” asked Veros, surprised by the boatswain’s sudden entrance into the exchange.
“In yonder window, you can see it all. There’s nothing good to make of it I might add. There’s five guards patrollin’ that area, and they’ve got it securely held down.” Indeed Rolf was correct, as they could all clearly see the dangers that lie in wait for them down on the harbor. Veros thought of all that could transpire here. Wit and charm could not ferry them to safety this time around. It was do or die, and he favored the latter much less. It was time for some new tactics that hadn’t been thought of. If they couldn’t go through it on the street below, then they’d have to go higher. This was going to be one long day.

[Hoblob]

hey darg, check ur messages

[Vegeta]

wow really well done darg!

[Darg]

Originally Posted by Vegeta

wow really well done darg!

Thank you. I'm glad someone reads this. A new chapter is on hold for now, but I can imagine progress will resume by today. I never thought this story would get this far, but hey, I'm glad it did.

[Darg]

*Sigh*... there seems to be more competition as far as the stories in the Fan Fiction section go. However, I ask that you, my readers, would not forget me. Sure, it takes a long time to develop these chapters, but remember my stories and if you have any criticism or thoughts on my tales, give me a shout. But anyway, here we are at number 15... a turning point perhaps for our heroes-to-be...

Chapter 15~ One Will Remain

The sun shone bright on Hook Coast, but no matter the light that shone through the dark clouds, Veros couldn’t shake an uncertain feeling that things were going to take a turn for the worse. This was partially due to the fact that the streets were lined with Hook Coast guards. From the moment they stepped out onto the cobblestone paving from the tavern, they were under a vicious attack by all manner of guards who for the most part were easy to defeat, though their chances for escape were rather slim at the moment. Veros was flanked by Tom and Rufus, both with their blades drawn and their eyes set on a group of guards down the street filing out of a dock warehouse. Veros had seen many things wrong and dark in his life but this was at the top of his list of them. The guards of Hook Coast itself were under some spell by Jack or his minions, their minds shrouded by a mist that ordered them on to do one thing and one thing only: to kill anything in sight.

“More of ‘em up left comin’ down the hill! Finrar, Veros and I’ll go greet the scum.” Badris said as he unsheathed his weapon, a long broad two-handed axe that Scorl lent him. The Hook Coast barman himself was accompanying them on their journey, as he predicted his association with them would lead Jack’s minions to him.
Tom glanced at the other incoming force, his gaze wary as he answered, “Fine by me. I don’t think they’re anticipating an attack, so take cover by the warehouses and ambush them before they can reach us.” Badris nodded briefly before beckoning for Finrar and Veros to follow him. Veros flattened himself against the wall of the barn-like warehouse, peering out of the corner of his eye to see the new fleet, unaware of their position. Finrar’s jaw was clenched oddly, and he looked anxious for a moment before he pointed his finger in their direction and began to charge.

With their weapons raised high, the trio descended into a brutal attack, Badris swinging his broad axe with the deadly accuracy of one touched by the fury of battle. Veros’s eyes met the nearest guard, whose attention slowly turned to the advancing assailants. His eyes were glazed and emotionless, his body now only a vessel for Jack’s dark energy, forcing him onward to do his bidding. Veros relinquished his gaze, assaulting the unsuspecting guard with a powerful series of sweeping attacks. His blade slashing at the mostly unprotected knees of the guards, he plunged them into a flurry of confusion, shouting and stumbling about wildly. Finrar thrust his hand out with a graceful but powerful motion, bursting forth from his fingertips a scorching wave of maroon fire that engulfed the guards’ flank with a searing blanket of blazing flames. Three of the guards dropped to their knees, one of them presumably dead, his pale and motionless frame falling limp on the cobblestones. Badris hefted the edge of his axe at a bold guard that stepped away from the group to counterattack, hewing through his left side like a knife through butter. He fell, screaming as the blood rushed out of his wound. The barman showed no mercy, the bloodlust of battle forcing him on to defeat the minions of Jack of Blades, the evil that dwelled even here in Hook Coast. Guard after guard was felled by the might of blade, axe, and will, the last two remaining of them withdrawing from the battle in a mad dash to escape up the hill.

“Don’t bother chasin’ that lot,” Badris said gravely, “The mangy dogs ain’t worth it.” Veros turned his attention back to the ensuing battle that their friends were facing against a larger, stronger battalion of guards. With an impulse that pushed him onward, Veros led the charge to aid in the skirmish, shouting out with a cry that only personified war itself. It was a war not only against Jack, but against a greater darkness that drove Jack and his army on. Veros set his sights solely on a foursome of guards that were banded together with long pikes sticking out in a deadly formation. Badris noticed his look and joined his attack, snapping two pikes in two with his behemoth of an axe. The guards were also armed with silver blades, which they drew forth without question, though they were already too late and were cut down by Veros’s Balverine-bone katana. The two remaining guards of the group thrust out their weapons with an almost robotic motion, one striking Badris across his side, opening a small wound that instantly began to bleed. He roared in rage, stifling the bleeding with a spare piece of cloth from his coat pocket and not tarrying in his assault. He swung his axe at the pair a final time, crushing them without remorse.

But yet there was more, the guards seeming to pour out into the street from any imaginable place. The company was growing weary and they could not last for very much longer. They had to get to the ship. Suddenly, a horrible noise pierced through the frigid air: the sound of laughter, dark and filled with an evil, treacherous tone that could only belong to one of great malice. It was Sarvis Umbras from the tavern, who had escaped from his prison within the locked tavern storage room. And there he was, standing tall like a deathly shadow amidst the battle, his form a horrible combination between human and minion, his features gnarled and dark. He was the mastermind of the Hook Coast conspiracy from the very beginning, and he was the one who had cast the spell upon its defenders. He had to be destroyed.

“Fools!” Sarvis shouted, his voice hollow and determined, “You think you can escape from Jack? You think you can escape from darkness? You cannot escape from that which surrounds you! After all is said and done, many will fall but one will remain. Jack will prevail and by this you will die.” Veros had a rare talent of strong instinct, and the moment he saw the servant of Jack, he knew that he was pure evil. And indeed he was. His words, though they would not wish to admit them, were true. No one but they alone could stop Jack now. Sarvis wielded a black, curved saber with many nicks and cuts in it, a sign of a seasoned swordsman. Veros glimpsed over at Tom, whose eyes were filled with a sudden urgency.

Tom bellowed above the clamor of battle, “Quickly! Fall back to the ship!” The company wasted no time heeding his shouts, turning from their fights to beat a hasty retreat, the horde of possessed guards hot on their tails. Veros and Badris took up the rear of the retreat, sprinting as fast as they could with the dark mob almost breathing down their necks.
“Oi, Veros,” Badris panted, faltering in his step and slowing considerably, “I wasn’t built t’be swift ya know.”
“Don’t slow down now! Come on!” Veros shouted, watching in horror as the barman slowly came to a stop. Badris’s breath came in short, ragged gasps for a moment as their pursuers closed in on them. Two guards stepped forward to grab Badris by his arms and Veros attention snapped to Sarvis, whose blade was already flying through the air. Veros sidestepped and missed the blow, charging back in and staggering one of Badris’s captors with a quick attack before being overwhelmed by the rest of the enemy force.

An exceptionally strong guard wrestled Veros to the hard cobblestones and punched him across the face repeatedly. With every blow, agony arced through his veins and grew within him until he screamed out without knowing it. Another crack across his face snapped his neck back and his breath came in sharply. The guard would never relent. Right here right now, he could die, after all he had done, all he had endured to get here. Veros lay back one last time before he heard the sound of hurried footsteps coming from behind him, the rest