Chaos of Choice

Blood and Fog

PART ONE

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

Ever since the beginning of our time the Fog has been with us, granting the people of Essinendeür power, caring, love, and life. The cloud of many colours that is the Fog is said to be a gift of The Five Gods by self-righteous preachers and other holy men who in truth have little understanding of it. Many say the Fog is a sentient being that acts and thinks through its own volition, and some even say it was in fact the Fog that created The Five. Nonsense. The Fog is a tool to be used, a means to create great magicks, and through that magicks create incredible things. But the Fog can be a fickle tool, dangerous, and there is nothing worse, and nothing more inspiring, than a tool with a mind of its own.

Memoirs of a Magi by Magi Drakkas Eitherian

Chapter One

Year 3630, the Fifth Age, the eighty-seventh day of Spring

He sliced through the cloud cover, causing water droplets to splatter across his face, a face set with determination. The grey clouds surrounded him as he sped through the air causing more drops of water to spray on his face and the windshield of his craft. He was travelling at immense speeds but the shape and design of his craft protected him from the wind as he plummeted towards the ground.

The clouds suddenly burst apart and the far green lands of Essinendeür opened up below him.  Still far below he could see the great snow-capped mountains and the dense pine forest around their rocky feet.

Needless to say though, he was not in awe of the land below him, for his mind was set on his task. This mission, which had been given to him alone, was the sole reason he was here and he would not let his mind slip. He would complete his mission and nothing would distract him. Though he did wonder why he was landing in the northern region of Gaianaus when his objective lay far to the south in The Scar of Gornl. Dismissing his curiosities he set his mind back to the task at hand. He would land in the north and then set about travelling southwards, and kill any who opposed him.

A smile crept over his face as he thought about the many enemies he might encounter in this dangerous and foreign land. His golden eyes glanced over his shoulder where he could see the silver hilt of his sword out of the corner of his eye. The sword was his only friend and his greatest ally. It was his most deadly tool and he was a master in its use.

A sudden flash of light caught his attention and he saw a burning spear of flame scorching towards him. Clouds evaporated before it and he could already hear the wind whistle and burn as the flames locked onto him.

“De’im,” he quietly cursed and he tried to steer his ship away from the missile.

But no matter how much he changed his course or altered his speed he could not break the lock the magickal projectile had on him. There was no escaping the spear of fire so he gritted his teeth and waited for the impact. The missile flew closer and he could feel the heat on his face and arms, but he did not flinch until the last second. Inches from impact he spun his craft away from the missile causing the flaming arrow to blast past him and explode in the air. Somehow he had evaded the attack, but the missile had ripped off one of his craft’s wings and sent him into a dangerous spiral.

The wind whistled past his ears as he tried to correct his craft’s flight, but it was no use. Without the wing his ship was too off balance and there was no way he could stop his fiery descent. He crashed through the canopy of the pine forest and in a blur of motion and smoke he was violently thrown from his seat. The trees splintered as his craft bounced off several pine trees before it came to an abrupt halt at the foot of a wide tree trunk.

With a groan he pushed himself up from the ground and staggered to his feet. Somehow he had survived. The pine needles that lay in a thick carpet on the ground must have saved him from being ripped apart by the rocks.

Tall trees surrounded him, some with trunks ten feet wide and standing hundreds of feet high. Around the base of the trees the undergrowth was filled with small, pale, leafy plants, but they were sparse and the gnarled roots of the trees stuck out of the ground like thin fingers as they clutched desperately to the black rocks among the pine needles. The only light penetrating the dark forest was from the hole that he had created in the crash. Outside that loft of light the forest was filled with shadow.

The Fog hung heavily in the air, its colours of green, yellow and pink shimmered in the rare sunlight that had cascaded into the forest. It danced on the light rays like dust particles on a soft breeze, shifting about as it warped and rolled over itself.

Without much regard for his surroundings he stretched his back and arms before making sure his sword was still clipped to his shoulder, and with a deep breath he began on his way to complete his mission. But before he could take a step his broken craft suddenly sparked a light and the fuel ignited with a deafening boom. His incredible reflexes saved him and he dove away from the explosion. Rolling to his feet he looked up just in time to see a warped piece of shrapnel hurtle at his face.

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

Cold steel and bright monitors filled the dark room each with flashing lights and dials, each designed for a specific purpose, and at each of them someone sat, monitoring the dials and lights. In a room full of sounds of machinery and technology it was hard to believe the level of silence. Not a word could be heard from the silhouettes watching the screens so intently, their focus fixed, which they had learnt to not let slip from their tasks.

Discipline had been drilled into them since they first set foot in the world, the weak fell and the strong continued on. Only the best survived in this world, and here they were, in a small room staring at monitors, such menial tasks set for warriors of great skill. After years of brutal training they had reached great heights of physical and mental ability, and yet here they were sitting in front of a data screen, their faces stamped with boredom.

A light began to flash, bringing her from her daydream.

“De’im,” she muttered quietly as she looked at the flashing screen, “Commander, I have a System Fail.”

“What? How?” the Commander asked in surprise as he moved over to her station.

“I am not sure sir, I was watching the screen when all of a sudden Number One went offline,” she shrugged.

The Commander sighed. “These things cost a fortune too, write up a report.”

“Wait, sir it’s coming back online.”

“Really? Well, I guess there is a reason they cost so much.” The Commander laughed softly. “Keep an eye on it.”

“Yes sir,” she said with a nod, and sighed as she went back to her day dreaming.

Agitatedly she stretched her fingers and shoulders, she was sick of work and longed to be back in the training arena.

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

He awoke with a start his hand reflexively trying to go to the sword at his shoulder. But his hands did not move, for they were strapped to the arms of the chair that he was sitting in. He pulled against the colourful glowing bindings angrily, but it was no use, he was captured.

Never before had he been captured by the enemy and he was annoyed that he had been, but never the less the challenge of escape filled him with excitement. A thin smile came to his lips as he looked about the room.

Everything in the cell, including the chair, was made from the powers of the Fog: the cloud-like phenomenon that granted magicks to Essinendeür’s populace. He had learnt all about the Fog and its powers during his study leading up to this mission. The glassy surface of the walls, floor and ceiling with the Fog floating calmly within, indicating that this structure was a specialised building made entirely from the Fog.

He firmed his jaw in resolve and smiled, because once free of the bindings he could escape the walls with relative ease. Subconsciously he glanced toward his right shoulder where he could just see the silver roaring lion’s head pommel of his sword.

The only door to the small room opened quietly and in walked a beautiful soldier, her golden tanned skin, rich red hair and delicately pointed ears made it clear she was a Zirarien, also known as a Blood Elf. She was dressed in a tight green military uniform which had glowing lines of magicks running through the fabric and accentuating her curves. An epaulette on her left shoulder with three glowing lines on it identified her as a captain, which meant he was likely being held inside a military compound.

The blood elf closed the door softly and stood staring curiously at him, her amazing blue eyes boring into him.

He quickly looked away from the elf’s stare for something was suddenly very wrong within his mind. He kept thinking about how attractive she looked, those long shapely legs, her thick scarlet hair, and stunning blue eyes. He imagined those legs wrapped around him and him running his hands over her body.

What is wrong with me? His thoughts were so foreign, he was only meant to be thinking about completing his mission, and nothing should be distracting him.

Struggling with his thoughts he focused his mind on his mission, it was still there and as clear as ever, but now it felt less important.

Had his captors cast some form of magicks upon him? No, that was impossible. The side of his head began to throb and a trickle of blood flowed down from the wound on the side of his head where the piece of shrapnel from his exploding air-craft had hit him. Had the blow to his head created these thoughts to spark within him?

“I thought the medics had stitched up that wound,” remarked the elf as she took a closer look at the side of his head. “We had to cut away your hair to clean it. You are lucky to be alive.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” he mumbled, and stretched his neck, which suddenly felt stiff.

“Who are you?” she asked, causing him to snap his eyes to her.

“No one of concern,” he replied quickly, and looked away as he pulled at his bindings.

“No,” the elf shook her head seriously. “You are someone of great concern, that much is clear. So, who are you? Were you in the military, an officer perhaps?”

He looked at her in confusion.

“Your sword,” she explained, “it is the same shape as an old Lieutenant’s ceremonial sword, the same as a Dwarven Sabre. Although it is quite a bit larger, and the black metal of the blade is unusual.”

He did not respond as he looked away from the elf and continued to pull at the magickal bindings.

“Very well,” she sighed. “Keep your secrets. But if you do not say anything we will have to resort to less than civil means of interrogation.”

“Torture?” He smirked.

“I do not condone it,” she replied quickly, “but my superiors consider it viable and I have to follow their orders.”

“And you just do as they instruct?” he asked without thinking, and it caused him to wonder at his own question.

“What can I do?” the blood elf asked irritably. “Create a petition to stop the torture of prisoners. I do not think that will make a great difference.”

“I was once told that the only thing required for evil to prosper is for one good person to do nothing,” he replied simply, but again his words did not sit well in his own mind.

The blood elf gave him a curious look and it seemed as if she was about to say something more, but the door to the chamber opened quietly and in walked a short fat man with the same green uniform, that had several glowing lines of rank upon his shoulder guard. Thankfully though, his uniform was not skin tight.

“Captain Fairris,” the fat man said, “your five minutes are finished and your alternative method of interrogation has seen no benefit. It is time to see if I can’t get him talking.”

“Please Commander Razaless, if you would give me more time,” the blood elf replied. “I have barely begun to create a rapport with the prisoner.”

“No Fairris,” the Commander stopped her short. “Regional Command Rathgard wants this done quickly, and he is in fact coming down on the morrow. We need results.”

Fairris sighed deeply and looked as if she wanted to argue, but she did not, and with a sympathetic glance at the prisoner she left the room.

“Fairris,” Razaless called after her, “I need you to go to the observation room to be a witness for this interrogation, Danner is on his break. No arguing, this is an order.”

“Yes sir.” The elf nodded her head solemnly and closed the door after her.

“Well then, let us to it, Lieutenant,” Razaless smiled coldly as he turned back to the prisoner.

“What did you call me?”

“You have not given us a name, and there is no record of you, so you have been simply labelled ‘The Lieutenant’,” the Commander explained with a shrug, “Because of your sword you see, shame there are no magicks in it else we might have sold it for a good price. It is a rather grandiose title, and in my view you are not fit to have it, but there we are and there we have it, Lieutenant.”

The prisoner did not reply and he narrowed his golden eyes at the Commander.

“I must confess, I quite enjoy myself whilst interrogating prisoners,” Razaless said as he stretched his fingers.

The Lieutenant continued to stare quietly at Razaless, a thin smile spread across his face.

The Commander paused to regard him curiously and the slightest hint of hesitation began to show on his face. Clearing his throat the Commander wiped away the sudden moistness on his palms and muttered a spell under his breath.

The Lieutenant watched with amusement as Razaless pointed two fingers towards him and a ring on his finger flared brightly. Wisps of Fog swirled around his hand as the spell was completed before drifting through the air towards The Lieutenant and into the gems mounted at the crosspiece of his sword.

The Commander’s eyes went wide in surprise as he realised that his torture spell had not worked and he looked at the prisoner, puzzled. The Lieutenant returned the Commander’s confused expression with a mocking smile.

Razaless’s face went red in embarrassment and he tried again to cast the spell of pain, but the same thing happened.

“Are you enjoying yourself now?” The Lieutenant smiled, causing Razaless’s face to convulse in anger.

The Commander gnashed his teeth. “There is more than one way to make you talk, scum.”

With a flick of his wrist a magickal dagger appeared in the man’s fat hands and the Commander took a step towards him.

“You are no Lieutenant,” Razaless sneered. “You should not have even been labelled as a Private. You’re nothing but a witless cur, scum of the earth, and I will make you talk, one way or another.”

The Lieutenant did not reply and in fact he was no longer even paying attention to the Commander, as he realised that something else was terribly wrong with him. The throbbing at the side of his head had increased and was now blinding him with pain. A pulse of agony flashed before his eyes and he tried to yell out, but all that came was a guttural roar. White dots appeared in his sight as the torment increased and he desperately pulled against the bindings on the chair, twisting the magicks that held him. Suddenly his hands were free and he grabbed franticly at his skull trying to suppress the pain. He twisted in the seat grabbing the arms of the chair, his nails tearing apart as he scratched across the glassy surface, but all he could feel was the burning throb in his head. He could feel the warmth of his blood flowing down the side of his head and neck. Lightning bolts of pain pulsed through his body making his joints pop in convulsions, his stomach twisted and he felt as if he might vomit. The torture was too much to bear. He heard the bone splitting crack of his skull and blood erupted from the side of his head as he fell into unconsciousness.

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

His consciousness came back as the hard ground slapped against his face. There came a clang of metal on rock as his sword was thrown down beside him. Rolling onto his back The Lieutenant coughed the dust from his lungs, and rubbed away the bright stars behind his eyes.

“What happened?” he mumbled to himself and coughed again.

Rubbing a hand across his face to try and push away the grogginess he still felt, he forced himself to stand so that he could be rid of this place. Dusting off his dark blue vest and loose pants that were tucked into his tight knee-high boots, he looked to be on his way out of the prison. Before he even took a step, a sudden wave of light-headedness came over him and he stumbled to the side. Concern gripped him as he stretched the dullness from his fingers; for some reason he had not fully recovered.

Stubbornly he shook away his disorientation and lethargy and turned to pick up his sword, but it was no longer there, and instead it rested in the hands of a large fat man who was showing it off to a gathered crowd.

Anger flared within him as he saw his beautiful blade in the hands of such an inept fool, the silver sharp edge along the black blade glimmering in the light of the sun Inüer.

“Welcome to hell buddy,” the man with his sword said, laughing at him. “Did ye have fun with the Commander?”

The Lieutenant glared at the large man and slowly surveyed the laughing crowd.

“No way you’re getting out of this prison boy,” the man holding his sword continued. “But I’ll tell you what, do everything I say an’ you might actually enjoy yourself here.”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the crowd, and The Lieutenant narrowed his golden eyes dangerously.

“Return my sword,” The Lieutenant said calmly.

The large man regarded him curiously. “I’m thinking it be mine now.”

“You’d be thinking wrong,” he replied coldly, causing the man to regard him cautiously.

“Slice ‘im in two, Haster,” someone shouted from the crowd.

Before the man in the crowd had even finished speaking The Lieutenant dashed forward and slammed Haster in his ample gut, blasting the wind from his lunges. A quick and powerful kick followed, breaking the brute’s leg at the knee. Without slowing his movement he grabbed Haster’s wrist and pulled it away from the handle of the sword and in the same motion he pulled the arm from its shoulder socket. Pulling his sword back from Haster’s hand he took a step back and looked down at the kneeling man who was shaking with pain. With one swift swing of his sword Haster’s head fell to the dirt and was followed quickly by the rest of his body.

Flicking the blood from his sword The Lieutenant clipped it back onto his specialised shoulder guard and headed off into the rest of the compound and away from the stunned crowed. Before he could walk ten paces an acute sting shot through the side of his head and his vision blurred.

“Not again,” the Lieutenant growled. “Why have I not recovered?”

Throbbing pain shot through his face and neck again causing him to fall to his knees and scream out in anguish. He heard the sound of bone cracking and he felt the flow of his own blood and once again darkness took hold of him.

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

Cold steel and bright monitors filled the dark room each with flashing lights and dials, each designed for a specific purpose, and at each of them someone sat, staring at the dials and lights. In a room full of sounds of machinery and technology it was hard to believe the level of silence. Not a word could be heard from the silhouettes watching the screens so intently, their focus was fixed, which they had learnt to not let slip from their tasks.

Discipline had been drilled into them since they first set foot in the world, the weak fell and the strong continued on. Only the best survived in this world, and here they were, in a small room staring at monitors, such menial tasks set for warriors of great skill. After years of brutal training they had reached great heights of physical and mental ability, and yet here they were sitting in front of a data screen, their faces stamped with boredom.

“Sir, here are the reports you requested,” she said as she handed the Commander the file.

“Thank you,” he replied without giving her much regard. “What is the latest report on Number One?”

“It is showing some abnormalities, but core functions are working properly,” she reported. “I will have the official report for you tomorrow.”

“Good.” The Commander nodded. “Before you go back to your station send this to the High King. That will be all.”

“Yes sir.” She took the piece of paper from the Commander and walked slowly over to the internal document transfer.

As she strolled across the room she absently glanced at the paper hoping for something interesting, but it was just the usual internal memorandum: a status report, predicted events and misinformation for the High Commission in Essinendeür.

With a sigh of boredom she sent the report and headed back to her work station.

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