Chaos of Choice: Book Four - Chapter One

 

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Chapter One

“It was an arduous task for Artāre to quell the fires of rage between Anduěr and Antōre, but they eventually came to an agreement. It was thus, both Anduěr and Antōre loved the mortal woman madly and both refused to allow the other to have her, so, though it pained them all to do so, it was decided that neither of them could have her as their own. The twins were forced to leave the mortal woman and promise to never seek her out again, the problem seemed resolved.

But the woman who had been granted Godly powers by Agnör was angry, and she sought compensation from the Gods who had wronged her. When the God-twins made her fall in love with them, they had also made her forget the true love she felt for a man. Once free of the God’s influences she had sought to find the one she loved again only to discover that he had killed himself in despair and a broken heart. Despite her new found power she could not revive the man she loved and her despair turned to anger, and she turned that anger upon the Five demanding they bring him back to life. They refused, for they could not. Then the Goddess attacked the Five with all her terrifying power.

It took all of the Five to restrain her anger, but they were in a predicament. Both Anduěr and Antōre were still in love with the Goddess and could not bear to see her killed. Agnör and Azarě disagreed and said she should die, so it came down to Artāre to have the final say. Artāre in all his morality decided that killing the Goddess would not be right. But neither could they release her for if they did she would once again turn upon them having sworn vengence. The Gods turned to Azarě, the cleverest of them, to think of something. He did not disappoint, for he already had in mind what he could do, as Azarě had planned to do this to all four of his brothers.

Azarě imprisoned the Goddess within a crystalline tomb, but Azarě felt sorry for the Goddess, who had been denied her true love through the greed and lust of his brothers, so he left her within her tomb with some hope.”

-The Prophecy of The Five, Ch 4: The Goddess

 

“At the end of time the Goddess shall rise and with her she will bring death and destruction unto the world as she unleashes her vengeance upon The Five Gods.”

-The Prophecy of The Five, Ch 5: The Prophecy

 

“The problem I have with religion is that there are no evidentiary proofs. There is nothing, no sign that there were Gods, just nothing. Call me a blasphemer or atheist, but these are facts. If anything I am a realist, after all I am a Magi. Take the Prophecy of The Five for example, those last paragraphs of the Goddess rising up to seek vengeance. What Goddess? Where was she imprisoned? There is no proof of any of it, and even if there was a Goddess who was imprisoned by The Five, how would she get free? If it was the ‘Gods’ who imprisoned her, who and how could anyone possibly free her? I have never seen the Gods or seen any proof of their existence, so I do not believe they do exist. How can you believe in something that has no evidentiary proof to it?

-Memoirs of a Magi by Magi Drakkas Eitherian

 

 

Chapter One

 

Year 3632, the Sixth Age, the fifteenth day of Winter

 

“You will not like me.”

He glared at the man across the table from him from under his cowl, “Let me make that very clear, you will not like me and I do not want you to like me. For I definitely do not like you, and be certain that we will never be friends.”

“You hardly know me,” the man tried to smile.

“I do not want to know you,” he snapped, “So drop the chummy attitude and talk of the weather and get to the point. Why have you found the need to impose your will upon mine and interrupt my quiet evening?”

The man shifted in his seat uncomfortably and stammered over a few words, making him sigh heavily.

The man glanced around nervously and leant over the table, “I need you to kill someone.”

The remark made him smirk, “Why would I do that?”

“Well, you are a Nevārancien, are you not?” the man asked in surprise.

“Who told you that?”

The man shrugged, “I reliable source. Anyway, will you do it?”

He took a deep breath and swallowed a mouthful of water from the pewter chalice as he weighed his options.

“Why does this person need to die?” he asked simply, causing the man to glance around uneasily. 

“Perhaps this is not the place to discuss it,” the man whispered as he looked around the crowded tavern.

“Then leave,” he replied, a thin smile coming to his lips.

Again the man leant forward, “He is someone of great importance.”

“Why me?”

“Nevāranciens are the most skilled with sword, are they not?” the man replied, his excitement growing.

He smirked, “What do I get out of it.”

“Money, of course,” the man replied as if it were obvious, “That is what you and the Grey Company do right, offer your skill with swords for gold?”

He took another drink from his cup, “I do not do anything unless I know who it is I am killing.”

The man leant even further across the table, his eyes darting around the room. “The King of I’ender, Arendt son of Arthin,” the man whispered harshly.

He smirked and stood up from the table, “I’ll think about it,” he said simply as he moved to leave the tavern.

“How will I know what you decide?” the man called after him.

He did not stop walking towards the exit, “You will know.” He shouted over his shoulder.

Outside a chill wind blew in off the deep canals of Scaroul and around the isle of Nivalna. The docks around the tall island were crowded with boats and ships, more so than ever now that the magicks of the Fog had depleted.

He let out a sigh and began to move up the path that scaled the side of Nivalna and across the wooden bridges to adjoining islands. Winter had come swiftly this year and despite Scaroul being in the tropics it had become unnaturally cold. He reasoned that the wide spread abnormal weather changes had been caused by the destruction of the crystal on the Isle of God in the middle of the Scar of Gornl. Tonight the sky was clear and fresh, the stars twinkled brightly and the twin moons were on the wane. With the weather changes such nights brought with it cold temperatures and on occasion caused the waters of the canals to ice up. Scholars had reasoned the atmospheric upheavals down to the coming of end times, the Great White Winter they called it, a freeze that would end all life.

Nonsense in his opinion.  

He did not mind the cold and rarely noticed it, but as he walked along his hot breath sent clouds of steam drifting into the air.

A lot had happened in the past two years, it was now apparently the Sixth Age in Essinendeür with the Fifth Age ending at the forming of the Morrow Treaty at the end of the war between King Lienthor and Lord Cardonian, and the arrival of warriors from Nevārance. The treaty had really been nothing more than an agreement to desist current hostilities between the two realms and Nevārance, in truth the war was still continuing with each ruler thinking of other ways to exact vengeance upon the other.

But despite the relatively brief battle on the Morrow Plains most regions were economically well off, new jobs were being created and many more children could be seen about the major cities.

A new vein of pink silver had recently been discovered in the mines of Sparren and an economic growth had hit the realm of Norrendōrel. The diamond mines and opal farms in I’ender brought much wealth to Alabast, as it had always done. Recent joy had swept through the city of Crydon with news of the Queen falling pregnant.

But joy and prosperity had not come to the city of Port Na’brath in Sesserrech, Lord Cardonian had increased the taxes to pay for his war efforts and in an attempt to hang on to his tenuous rule. The second House of Zanzier had been damaged during the war and House Varrintine was now exerting its new found dominance and popularity. But despite House Cardonian’s recent failures it was still a very powerful House within Port Na’brath and a vicious feud had begun between Houses Varrintine and Cardonian.

The only region that seemed to be unchanged by the war was Gaianaus, the cold realm in the north. It continued on much the way it had done previously with the Baron of Issia ruling the northern Lords with a strong and noble hand. Although, after the battle of the Morrow Plains Gaianaus had lost much wealth and Cardonian was yet to repay the Baron of Issia for breaking the Treaty of Neutrality and joining Cardonian’s war.  

In effect of the events of the Lightning Battle, as it had been dubbed, the Elder Races had brought greater animosity towards them as many had sided with the warriors of Nevārance and a number had retreated from the major cities and returned to their homelands. The region of Cientrasis had become virtually abandoned by traders and the Zirarien city of Elestarl discovered new meaning to the word isolated.

The most cataclysmic result of the war was the disappearance of the Fog and the lack of ability most felt when trying to use magicks. Those who were once able to connect to the Fog and cast simple spheres of energy or spells found that their connection to it had completely disappeared. Only a few of the greatest Magi or most talented still had a strong Quia, inner energy, but they found that it had greatly lessoned. As a result of this more people were forced to travel by foot, horse or carriage and everything that the magicks had once aided them in doing was no more. Fog structures, like the Gaia Mountains Penitentiary simply disappeared and no longer could most people summon Fog weapons. This also helped with the economic benefits with blacksmiths and other craftsmen being commissioned regularly to create things magicks would have otherwise done. Of course the number of Magi significantly dropped and forced those who could no longer cast to find other careers.

The most amazing result of the disappearance of the Fog was the sudden appearance of Aierthian. No longer was Drakkas Etherian’s other plane of existence invisible to the naked eye and several huge buildings suddenly shot out of the grasses on the Aierthian Plains. Along with the collapse of Drakkas’s plane of existence it was said that Drakkas himself finally died from a rapid onset of extreme old age.

It was a strange new world in Essinendeür with many things to re-discover and with many people having a new outlook on life. Sadly this did not change people’s opinion for the Elder Races or the new arrivals from Nevārance. Like the Elder Races the Nevāranciens were greatly discriminated against and shunned by the majority of humans as they wandered around the countryside looking for a way back to Nevārance or a place to live in peace. Over the past few years many of the warriors of Nevārance had banded together and formed a mercenary group called the Grey Company, which was greatly hated by the Essinendeür Rangers and the Black Pine Company. The Grey Company soon received a reputation of being undefeatable in battle and none were eager to test that claim, but that did not stopped the open loathing of them. Although there were a few that found a way to overlook past indiscretions and try and learn from the Nevāranciens and their knowledge of the technology that allowed them to create the massive aircrafts that they had come in.

Many more dwarves were now being seen around the cities and towns, selling their expert craftsmanship to the booming market. It was also soon realised that such magicks like Runes were still usable and powerful, and the dwarves were soon known as the best Runologists in the country, and they exploited this greatly and asked exorbitant prices from their work.  

Over the past two years since the end of the Lightning Battle on the Morrow Plains Essinendeür had seen much growth, but now chaos was once again creeping back into the land. The friendship between Krnōrel and I’ender seemed likely to break at any moment with King Arendt and King Lienthor openly disliking one another. Mining fever had taken over much of Sparren and civil war seemed eminent. The feud between Lord Cardonian and Lord Varrintine had reached new heights and looked as if blood would soon flow.

But the worst had occurred when a riot had broken out in the town of Flottsome and many dwarves and Valenthōr from Woodlands had been brutally slaughtered by angry humans. This had sent sparks into the long burning hatred between the humans and Elder Races and a violent backlash resulted. With teleportation no longer an option people were forced to travel between towns and as soon as they left the safety of the walls they were in elven country, or that of the Mōrgul, or Sātor, and they risked their very lives.

The bright lights of the new Age had already become tainted with blood and smoke, and prophesised much more to come.

Such a prophecy seemed very likely considering the stranger had just asked him to kill the reigning King of I’ender.

“Hey there, Nevārancien,” a man called out to him and raced up to him, “My name be Brentford, and I . . .”

“I do not care,” he interrupted the man and continued on his way. 

Steam wafted from his lips as he moved further from Nivalna along the wooden bridges and walkways to the more deserted reaches of Scaroul. Although the area of Scaroul was quite large the populated areas were small and spread apart and he was now walking in the outskirts of Nivalna’s city.

He quietly skipped up another curving staircase and onto the flat top, which many years before the disaster of Gornl was considered ground level. Upon the plateau were only some rocks and a single dead tree and from this place he could see far across the deep chasms of Scaroul and the flat lowlands of I’ender.

Before Gornl was ripped apart by the whirlwind of Fog that caused the southwest of I’ender to be cracked apart, this region was known for being a flat green country with few trees and a blowing wind. Peat bogs were a common thing and purple flowered bluebells grew in the few types of woodland that grew beside lakes. Further to the south were the highlands, also known as the Stormlands which were hot and barren, yet also serene and untouched by humans. Thankfully much of the highlands was untouched by the destruction of Gornl and was still considered a wild land. It was said that unicorns once ran across this land that was once called Scocia, which was why the emblem on I’ender was a unicorn. But no such magnificent beast had been seen in this land for thousands of years.

He could see that there was still a quiet beauty to this land as his golden eyes gazed across the horizon, despite the deep gashes in the earth.

“Was Kreha right?” asked a voice from the shadows of the rocks.

He did not need to turn to know it was his brother, “Yes,” he replied, “A man asked me to kill someone.”

“Who?” asked his brother as he came alongside him.

“King Arendt,” he shrugged.

His brother let out a small laugh and shook his head.

A few minutes of silence slipped by as they both looked across the broken land.

“Lieut?” his brother asked, grabbing his attention, “Do you feel like you are constantly forgetting something important?”

He turned his golden gaze to his brother Raith, “Yes,” Lieut nodded.

“At night when a rest I see a face of a woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes,” Raith continued, “She seems familiar, but I cannot think of her name or how I know her.”

Lieut nodded his head slowly, “I too feel as if I have lost something.”

“The last thing I can truly say I remember was when you shattered that crystal,” Raith continued, “The explosion knocked me unconscious and then I woke up on that thin island in the middle of the Gornl Sea with Kreha staring at me.”

Again Lieut nodded, “I am the same. My memories aside from that are but a blur and all else is clear. My knowledge, my skill and my history all still remain. It is frustrating.”

Raith nodded his head and quietly they continued to stare to the horizon.

“Can we trust Kreha?” Raith asked, breaking the silence, “She saved us in the explosion, yes. But she is the Goddess. The Prophecy of The Five state that: ‘At the end of time the Goddess shall rise and with her she will bring destruction and death to the world as she unleashes her vengeance upon the Gods.’ We are helping her do that on the promise that our memories will return if we do.”

“Have we anything else to do?” Lieut asked back and Raith shrugged, “Should we wander with no aim, in hope that it comes back to us, in hope that we might stumble upon the young blonde that you keeping seeing in your mind? Perhaps we could join the Grey Company with the others from Nevārance, I am sure they will be glad to know it was us that sabotaged their invasion plans. Kreha helped us save Essinendeür to start with and then protected us from the explosion. You asked if we can trust her, and my answer is that I believe we can.”

Raith let out a frustrated sigh, “I just want to find my memories and to know why they are lost to begin with.”

Lieut nodded, understanding and sharing his brother’s frustration.

“Things become lost when taken apart and put back together,” Kreha said softly as she appeared behind them.

Lieut flinched in shock, but he was hardly surprised at her sudden appearance. Kreha was shorter than Lieut, with a thin frame and straight black hair. Her eyes were large and dark and despite her having the appearance of a young woman those eyes sparkled with mystery and power. As always Kreha wore simply a light white dress that fell to mid-thigh and floated on an absent wind.

“We know a story of such a thing, yes we do,” Kreha continued, “A great builder once created a bridge long before the time of Fog magicks. But he used no nail, no hammer, nor any tool aside from the ones to craft the shape of the wood. This bridge was fifteen feet wide and stood strongly over a river so that ten carriages could go across at the same time. Many years after the builder died a pauper, peoples got curious and wanted to know how the bridge could stand without the wood being joined together, so they took it apart. But when they tried to rebuild it the bridge collapsed.”

Kreha looked at him and Raith, her eyes sparkling, “When we put you two back together, memories became lost. Follow what I say and they will find their way back, we knows, yes we do.”

“Kreha,” Lieut said seriously, “You have given me life, twice, and such is your power. But I wonder why you did not do such to the man you loved those many years ago, why not bring him back instead of looking to kill all of The Five in revenge?”

Kreha’s demeanour changed suddenly and the twinkle in her eyes vanished, “Humans are different to you and your brother. They cannot be rebuilt or repaired like you two. Vengeance is all that remains for me.”

“So then why all this conspiring?” Raith asked, “Why not go to The Five now and sate your anger?”

“The Five left this world long ago,” Kreha replied calmly, “They could be anywhere in time and space and would take a millennia to locate. Why seek them out when I can make them come to us?”

“Surely they already know of your escape,” Lieut remarked, “The Five created demi-gods to serve them and are no doubt still around.”

Kreha sung in reply her demeanour once again young and carefree:

 

Artāre had one, noble and strong

One had Agnōr, to do much wrong

Two had both Anduěr and Antōre,

Their rivalry could not demand any more

All alone and by himself was Azarě,

Who thought a demi god would not get very far

All together six for five,

Never dying and still alive

 

Lieut and Raith exchanged curious looks.

“The demi-gods are dogs with no masters,” Kreha continued, her voice dark, “Their loyalty vanished when The Five left, they have now become wild and unchained free to do as they like.”

“Then how is committing regicide going to grab the attention of The Five?” Lieut asked dryly.

Kreha smiled widely, “That is just the beginning.”        

“But how can you even kill a God?” Raith wondered aloud.

“The Five are not Gods,” Kreha snapped, “They are sons of Gods, sons of the true Gods in Dhror and Melenduil. Sons of Gods can be killed by one of similar class, one like me.”

Lieut smirked, “So then are we your demi-gods, Kreha?”

A sad smile came to Kreha’s face, but she did not reply. 

Many minutes of silence drifted by and the eastern sky grew light with the coming dawn, bringing a greater chill to the air.

“Kill Arendt,” Kreha said breaking the silence and she turned to leave, “Kill him and you will begin the path to finding your lost memories, and the path to the destruction of The Five.”

**************************************************

The night was black, the moons and stars were veiled by thick clouds. By a bend in a river on a small grassy clearing a pile of rocks sat with vines creeping up it. Snow covered the ground and ice had clogged up the river causing a light mist to linger in the dell.

Being not far from Midway many travellers had pass by it and had come to be known as a cairn of an unknown warrior. No one ever disturbed the rocks to see if there was actually a body underneath it and in fact it had become a form of tradition to leave a memorial at the side of the cairn as a salute to the unknown warrior.

A rock moved in the darkness and fell down the pile to clatter among the offering. Another rock fell and a rotted hand clawed out from under the cairn. A groan escaped from the man’s sunken and decayed mouth as he struggled to pull himself from the tomb and tumbled to the grass. Shivering the man clutched at the rags that were the only remnants of his clothes. Most of his flesh had been eaten away by maggots and all that remained was white bone.

“Hurry up,” a light voice huffed at the standing corpse of Elardōre.  

Suddenly the corpse began to shudder violently and flesh and hair seemed to grow back over the bones. An un-godly wail burst forth from the man as convulsions racked his body. The violent shudders finally stopped and the bald man jumped to his feet with a laugh. The once putrefied corpse of Elardōre now seemed as normal as the next human apart from the tattered clothing.

“Wellsy, wellsy, well,” the man laughed, “This is a turn up if ever there was one. Free at last from that wretched place. And the re-animations of this corpse are superbly done. Who is it I have to thank?”

“Who we are does not matter.” The lighter voice said.

“We?” the man asked curiously.

“Me.”

“You?”

“Yes,” the girl replied and a feint light began to emanate around the area, casting light onto the two standing at the curve of the river.

“What we want matters very much,” the girl said.

“Which is?” the man asked back.

“For you to be yourself, Brarga, servant of Anduěr,” the girl with straight black hair and large eyes replied.

The bald man laughed loudly, “That will not be too hard I can assure you that little lady. But who do I thank for this unique opportunity?”

“Don’t,” the girl replied simply and disappeared into the night.

The man laughed again and ran a hand over his bald head, and across the chimera tattoo, “This is going to be fun,” he laughed menacingly and left the cairn at the side of the road as he walked through the night as if he were part of it. 

 

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