With permission from my fellow Monarchs, I am releasing the first in my series of stories to the public. I hope you enjoy
The Story of Zera: Part 1
An empty dawn rises slowly. The dull reddish light that weakly penetrates the room almost seems to beg the pardon of he whom it awakes. A young man lays in miniature on an enormous bed in the center of a circular room. As the sleeping man is dwarfed by the size of the bed he is on, so is the bed dwarfed by the size of the room in which it resides. The walls and floor of the room are of crudely hewn blocks of stone, and almost black in appearance. The sheets of the bed are also black. The only objects in the room not that dismal shade, are the bedposts at the four corners of the bed.
The posts of the bed are intricately carved spirals made from the trunks of young brown trees. The roots of these trees are not planted into the ground, but instead are laced together, almost delicately, to form a cradle that supports the bed itself. The tops of the trees, which must be supporting the bed, disappear into a darkness that the light dares not penetrate. The foot of the bed has steps, also formed from the woven roots of the tree-posts; those that seem suspended magically above the floor.
A soft wind whispers through the one apparent opening, the same door through which the light has guiltily crept. It is the wind, and not the light that wakes him, quickly, yet calmly, from sound slumber. His hair and brows are black; his skin is tanned from endless journeys. The muscles that ripple beneath show the grace and surety of one who communes with the animals of the forest. He rises, naked, from the bed and looks carefully around him. The look in his eyes is not curious. Nor is it fearful, defiant, or angry. They are simply"¦there. Looking about. Almost soulless.
He begins to descend the steps at the foot of the bed, but notices that the wind which woke him carries a chill. Glancing about, he takes the only available cloth, the bed sheet itself and wraps it around his waist and carelessly slings it over his shoulder. The sheer size of the cloth causes it to drape behind him, a train fit for a sultan with twenty servants. But, he is unencumbered by the cloth and moves quickly towards the light and wind and the open door.
The door is merely an opening, arching above hem to a point nearly fifty feet above his head. Outside, there lies a balcony of a size more fitting to a stadium. Everything about him, since his awakening seems fit for a giant. The balcony is shaped like half of an oval, with a tapered point at the far end, reminiscent of the door's own shape. Nothing is visible on the balcony, save the dull gray stones. However, far in the distance the man spies movement and with but a moment's hesitation walks towards it.
He is almost upon it when he recognizes what he sees. It is a perfectly circular hole cut in the floor and lined with a much shinier and pure black stone, compared to the rest of the balcony. A sickly, oily mist rises and falls from the pit, the color changes from brown to violet with each twist and turn. Sparkles of yellow flash back and forth. With each step, the man finds fear creeping into his heart. The sounds that awoke him came from this mist. The wind took on the tune of crying, wailing,"¦screaming. He shivers and sinks to his knees. A cold knot of bile builds in his center, but he cannot resist another glance. That one glance tells him too much, and poses questions of its own. For the glints of yellow he saw become eyes. The mist becomes faces of tortured expressions, with yawning openings for where lips and mouths should have been. But worst, there was a figure at the base of the pit, visible only from the shoulders up, bathing.
"Begone". And like that, the sounds, the fear, the weakness, and the mist itself vanished. The young man rose quivering slightly to meet face on the devil before him. Instead, he saw simply another man. This man was definitely older than he, but it was impossible to define his age. He had a shaven head and shaven eyebrows. The only hair visible was a beard on his chin: black, wiry, unkempt, and so long it rested almost upon his waist. He was of average height, and average build. Brown eyes, and a soft mouth. But his skin changed shades as he moved from alabaster bluish-white to a golden tan that could only be brought about by hereditary. And his expression, though not malicious, was hard and cruel nonetheless.
He arose from the now clear waters of the pit and donned a dark brown robe, dirty and spotted with crust and filth. "Why bathe, if you are only to wear that?", asked the young man. "Why wake, if you are only to wear that?", was the reply. The shaven man circled the other, slowly, eyeing and judging him as if deciding whether he were a fish worth keeping or throwing back. "You strike a handsome pose, young lord." The robed man said, coming to a stop at the edge of the precipice, with his back to the vast, empty sky. "One worthy of Prince Baou himself, I might add".
"You address me as "˜lord'. Who am I?", the young man asked. "Do you know me?"
"No. You are a guest. And you shall be treated as a lord, as long as you are here." With this, the robed man gave a gentle nod of his head. "But, do I have a name? Where do I come from? Why am I here? Where is "˜here'", the young man pressed.
With a smile, the robed one beckoned the young one to him, at the balcony's edge. "Those are a great many questions. I cannot answer all. I do not know your name. I, and others, will address you as 'Lord', unless you desire a different name. You came from the land of man. We both did, really. Though, it's been a long time since I've tasted its air.
You are here to learn. Like many before you, you have come in search of power. You are a duelist, a warrior. This is but one Realm in which for you to hone your skills. This particular Realm is not an easy place to learn, but those who pass through its final gates are among the greatest known. You want to know where you are? Look." The robed one spreads his arm gesturing towards the expanse. A clear reddish sky overlooks dark mountains, oozing volcanoes, crags, cliffs, castles, rivers blood red, and numerous villages in between. "You are in the land of the Dark Ruler, Ha Des be his name. You are in Hell."
Panic comes into the young man's eyes for a split instant, then is quickly covered with a look of hardened resolve. Not before it was noticed, however. "Its smart to have some fear, Lord. Arrogance will not do you anything. Temper your emotions though. Fear becomes caution, anger into cunning. Keep the fear and anger, but only as objects that you fill your opponent's with, in battle".
Lord turns from the landscape to look back at the tower from which he came. "Is that His chamber, then, in which I slept? Am I of that great importance?"
"HA! His chamber? No one knows where that is. Or, even if He sleeps. Arrogance such as that might make him laugh before he pulls out your entrails". The robed one strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Hmm, though it might simply make him laugh just to pull out entrails. So, it's really hard to say. Either way, you will be in pain. I told you: temper your emotions. Arrogance concerning His Majesty will be your undoing."
"We are actually in the abode of he who stands guard over the former King of this land. I am not permitted to say his name, but his title is the Invader of Darkness. He is able to travel deep into the lack of light, and it is he who guards the, now, Dark King of the Abyss. Enough questions for now. We must dress you properly to go about. We can't simply stay here. Gracious as the Invader has been to allow you to rest upon your entrance, here, it is not likely that he will be pleased to see two humans lounging about his quarters as if it were their own. Now, come."
"Wait! Just one more question for now", Lord demanded. "What is your name?" "I have no name now", the robed one replied. "I am simply the Keeper of the Asylum. However, if you must, I was known in the world of man, eons ago, by the name Hunter. Others here know that name too and can lead you to me, if you have need."
"Now, for the last time: stop talking and let's go. I am bored of waiting. Go to the pool and spit in it twice. Then simply jump in. Like this." With that, Hunter took a quick breath, spit twice into the pool, and walked forward dropping silently into the pool. The water was not disturbed in the slightest, beyond the ripples made by the spitting. Lord had just barely caught the sight of a blue hair light that appeared between Hunter's body and the pool.
Lord dropped to his knees and put his face close to the pool's edge. He spit twice into the water, then carefully lowered his fingertips towards the water's surface. Within bare centimeters of touching, a faint blue line grew from the center of his fingertips and began to spread. What started slowly, suddenly jumped within a blink of an eye, and Lord felt himself immediately pulled into a vacuum. Within an instant the balcony was quiet.
The weak reddish light of the sky never grew stronger, nor did it dare to intrude further into the quarters of the Invader. Slowly a whispering wind began to cry, then wail, and finally scream. The mist that Hunter had caused to vanish returned, twisting and turning its smoky, oily coils over the pool at the ledge overlooking Hell.
The Story of Zera: Part 1
An empty dawn rises slowly. The dull reddish light that weakly penetrates the room almost seems to beg the pardon of he whom it awakes. A young man lays in miniature on an enormous bed in the center of a circular room. As the sleeping man is dwarfed by the size of the bed he is on, so is the bed dwarfed by the size of the room in which it resides. The walls and floor of the room are of crudely hewn blocks of stone, and almost black in appearance. The sheets of the bed are also black. The only objects in the room not that dismal shade, are the bedposts at the four corners of the bed.
The posts of the bed are intricately carved spirals made from the trunks of young brown trees. The roots of these trees are not planted into the ground, but instead are laced together, almost delicately, to form a cradle that supports the bed itself. The tops of the trees, which must be supporting the bed, disappear into a darkness that the light dares not penetrate. The foot of the bed has steps, also formed from the woven roots of the tree-posts; those that seem suspended magically above the floor.
A soft wind whispers through the one apparent opening, the same door through which the light has guiltily crept. It is the wind, and not the light that wakes him, quickly, yet calmly, from sound slumber. His hair and brows are black; his skin is tanned from endless journeys. The muscles that ripple beneath show the grace and surety of one who communes with the animals of the forest. He rises, naked, from the bed and looks carefully around him. The look in his eyes is not curious. Nor is it fearful, defiant, or angry. They are simply"¦there. Looking about. Almost soulless.
He begins to descend the steps at the foot of the bed, but notices that the wind which woke him carries a chill. Glancing about, he takes the only available cloth, the bed sheet itself and wraps it around his waist and carelessly slings it over his shoulder. The sheer size of the cloth causes it to drape behind him, a train fit for a sultan with twenty servants. But, he is unencumbered by the cloth and moves quickly towards the light and wind and the open door.
The door is merely an opening, arching above hem to a point nearly fifty feet above his head. Outside, there lies a balcony of a size more fitting to a stadium. Everything about him, since his awakening seems fit for a giant. The balcony is shaped like half of an oval, with a tapered point at the far end, reminiscent of the door's own shape. Nothing is visible on the balcony, save the dull gray stones. However, far in the distance the man spies movement and with but a moment's hesitation walks towards it.
He is almost upon it when he recognizes what he sees. It is a perfectly circular hole cut in the floor and lined with a much shinier and pure black stone, compared to the rest of the balcony. A sickly, oily mist rises and falls from the pit, the color changes from brown to violet with each twist and turn. Sparkles of yellow flash back and forth. With each step, the man finds fear creeping into his heart. The sounds that awoke him came from this mist. The wind took on the tune of crying, wailing,"¦screaming. He shivers and sinks to his knees. A cold knot of bile builds in his center, but he cannot resist another glance. That one glance tells him too much, and poses questions of its own. For the glints of yellow he saw become eyes. The mist becomes faces of tortured expressions, with yawning openings for where lips and mouths should have been. But worst, there was a figure at the base of the pit, visible only from the shoulders up, bathing.
"Begone". And like that, the sounds, the fear, the weakness, and the mist itself vanished. The young man rose quivering slightly to meet face on the devil before him. Instead, he saw simply another man. This man was definitely older than he, but it was impossible to define his age. He had a shaven head and shaven eyebrows. The only hair visible was a beard on his chin: black, wiry, unkempt, and so long it rested almost upon his waist. He was of average height, and average build. Brown eyes, and a soft mouth. But his skin changed shades as he moved from alabaster bluish-white to a golden tan that could only be brought about by hereditary. And his expression, though not malicious, was hard and cruel nonetheless.
He arose from the now clear waters of the pit and donned a dark brown robe, dirty and spotted with crust and filth. "Why bathe, if you are only to wear that?", asked the young man. "Why wake, if you are only to wear that?", was the reply. The shaven man circled the other, slowly, eyeing and judging him as if deciding whether he were a fish worth keeping or throwing back. "You strike a handsome pose, young lord." The robed man said, coming to a stop at the edge of the precipice, with his back to the vast, empty sky. "One worthy of Prince Baou himself, I might add".
"You address me as "˜lord'. Who am I?", the young man asked. "Do you know me?"
"No. You are a guest. And you shall be treated as a lord, as long as you are here." With this, the robed man gave a gentle nod of his head. "But, do I have a name? Where do I come from? Why am I here? Where is "˜here'", the young man pressed.
With a smile, the robed one beckoned the young one to him, at the balcony's edge. "Those are a great many questions. I cannot answer all. I do not know your name. I, and others, will address you as 'Lord', unless you desire a different name. You came from the land of man. We both did, really. Though, it's been a long time since I've tasted its air.
You are here to learn. Like many before you, you have come in search of power. You are a duelist, a warrior. This is but one Realm in which for you to hone your skills. This particular Realm is not an easy place to learn, but those who pass through its final gates are among the greatest known. You want to know where you are? Look." The robed one spreads his arm gesturing towards the expanse. A clear reddish sky overlooks dark mountains, oozing volcanoes, crags, cliffs, castles, rivers blood red, and numerous villages in between. "You are in the land of the Dark Ruler, Ha Des be his name. You are in Hell."
Panic comes into the young man's eyes for a split instant, then is quickly covered with a look of hardened resolve. Not before it was noticed, however. "Its smart to have some fear, Lord. Arrogance will not do you anything. Temper your emotions though. Fear becomes caution, anger into cunning. Keep the fear and anger, but only as objects that you fill your opponent's with, in battle".
Lord turns from the landscape to look back at the tower from which he came. "Is that His chamber, then, in which I slept? Am I of that great importance?"
"HA! His chamber? No one knows where that is. Or, even if He sleeps. Arrogance such as that might make him laugh before he pulls out your entrails". The robed one strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Hmm, though it might simply make him laugh just to pull out entrails. So, it's really hard to say. Either way, you will be in pain. I told you: temper your emotions. Arrogance concerning His Majesty will be your undoing."
"We are actually in the abode of he who stands guard over the former King of this land. I am not permitted to say his name, but his title is the Invader of Darkness. He is able to travel deep into the lack of light, and it is he who guards the, now, Dark King of the Abyss. Enough questions for now. We must dress you properly to go about. We can't simply stay here. Gracious as the Invader has been to allow you to rest upon your entrance, here, it is not likely that he will be pleased to see two humans lounging about his quarters as if it were their own. Now, come."
"Wait! Just one more question for now", Lord demanded. "What is your name?" "I have no name now", the robed one replied. "I am simply the Keeper of the Asylum. However, if you must, I was known in the world of man, eons ago, by the name Hunter. Others here know that name too and can lead you to me, if you have need."
"Now, for the last time: stop talking and let's go. I am bored of waiting. Go to the pool and spit in it twice. Then simply jump in. Like this." With that, Hunter took a quick breath, spit twice into the pool, and walked forward dropping silently into the pool. The water was not disturbed in the slightest, beyond the ripples made by the spitting. Lord had just barely caught the sight of a blue hair light that appeared between Hunter's body and the pool.
Lord dropped to his knees and put his face close to the pool's edge. He spit twice into the water, then carefully lowered his fingertips towards the water's surface. Within bare centimeters of touching, a faint blue line grew from the center of his fingertips and began to spread. What started slowly, suddenly jumped within a blink of an eye, and Lord felt himself immediately pulled into a vacuum. Within an instant the balcony was quiet.
The weak reddish light of the sky never grew stronger, nor did it dare to intrude further into the quarters of the Invader. Slowly a whispering wind began to cry, then wail, and finally scream. The mist that Hunter had caused to vanish returned, twisting and turning its smoky, oily coils over the pool at the ledge overlooking Hell.