The Prose

The Ritual
Th-Thump.
Cowards. Iron on my tongue. Head splitting like a miner's prize. Forced onto a flat stone; I could sleep. I should sleep.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
Everything is dark. A sky with no stars or moons. I strain to keep my eyes open. I can hear you, but I cannot see you.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
"Wake up!" I hear him cry as something grabs my hair and pulls. The sack and a handful of crimson hair leave my head in a painful flash. Fire licks the sconces and shows me four faces. All elongated, pale, with pitched holes where the eyes should be. Each bearing large twisted horns. Surrounding me linking hands. Something warm and heavy is in my lap. I reach to feel the obtrusion but my arms will not budge.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
My gaze leaves the rose robed assailants as my head slumps down. Light sapphire complexion with a wide bone structure, dripping a familiar crimson liquid below its jaw; the lovely companion I had met just days ago. My involuntary scream deafened underneath an iron and salt cloth.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
Their motion is purposeful. A dingey on a churning ocean, back and forth. Their words piercing, foreign, the more I focus on them the harder it is to understand. I look past them. Markings, crude drawings, on smoothed stone walls. The light from the torches flickering to reveal large formless beings. Doors. Two large wooden doors are shut and stained red in some parts.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
Over my shoulder, I see what has been keeping me upright. My brother. Montionless caught in a contest of wills with a towering monstrosity. Midnight colored armor covered in dark feathers stood against a depiction of nightmares. Large and formless, too many eyes, two appendages reaching around the champion with palms of teeth and void out. Then a crack of a whip against my bare cheek wet and hot. My head forcefully met with a creature unlike any other. Dominating my view a head larger than a horse's with four long bone-white whips sprout from behind fish scales. Swimming through the air with blackened fins. Eyes thrice stacked atop a gaping maw of tiny blades. The whips envelop me, pulling the beast closer to me, me to it. The last of the Oryl wiped out by a creature not made of this earth. It's jaw creaks open, a door long since used, a sky with no stars or moons.
Th-Thump.
Shrieking. The pain of a nightmare realizing its fate. I am released from its grasp to see an arrow driven deep through the maw. The doors. A ghost-quiet figure with aged hair but a young wine-colored face, standing proudly in the threshold of the now opened door, recurve in hand reaching for another wooden savior. The armored champion is the first to respond slamming its onyx blade tip onto the stone, force rippling away from the impact, directed towards our defender sending her soaring back through the door crashing into what I can only imagine is a wall. A gust filled with midnight feathers envelopes the armored champion obscuring it. Just as quickly as the gust came, it dissipates but with no champion to be seen.
Inspiring thunder echos from beyond the doors. A dragon on two feet with smelted bronze scales and tremendous blade in hands follows the thunder. Accompanying them, a familiar body. Wide bone structure, pale skin, large furrowed brow wielding a formidable mace and a shield adorned with a holy crest. Both haven't seen me, only my crimson-robed captors. The dragon's sword connects, slicing through cloth, flesh, and bone with expertise. The holy man, back against a wall, keeps the attention of two masked assailants. Another thundering roar ends the dragon's prey as it sinks its blade to the hilt.
I cannot move my arms. I cannot find my voice. I cannot warn my defenders of the dark forces being pulled into this chamber by the final robbed being, mumbling powerful words. The sound of metal on stone rings in my ears as a shield is tossed aside. The assailants plunge their dirks into the man's stomach, each strike bringing more fear into eyes locked with mine.
A flurry of movement from the doorway. A javelin, a whip made from vines, and a flaming sphere sent to defend their companions. All hitting their targets. With a flourishing blow, the holy man swings his mace with enough force to finish off both attackers. The origins of the projectiles spring into the room. They seem to be enough to overpower my captors. With a blur, they are posed to incapacitate anything they wish to. The feeling of dread washes away as the final worshipper releases whatever spell was being cast. The surrendered figure takes off its mask to reveal a twisted smile on top of a hardened woman's face.
"You cannot stop this. These plans were long in motion before you stepped foot on Aliria's soil!" She cried, looking around at our savior's perplexed expressions, chuckling low under her breath. "Oh, you did not realize? You poor foreigners. Brought here to fight a fight that is not yours. Our Master will be expecting a result from this ceremony. If the Grand Magus does not get word of our success where do you think they will look first?" She could barely contain her laughter, knowing more about the fate of this group than I.
"What purpose do you and your pathetic cult serve?" The bronze Dragonborn bellowed, voice echoing in the chamber reinforcing the weight of its words.
"We worship the one true Master." The cultist's eyes gleam with excitement as a heavily armored, pure winged being, unmistakably Aasimar, unsheaths a small ax. "Please. Please bring me to him. Use your blade. Right here." Lifting her chin to expose her neck. "I yearn for His embrace."
"Who is this 'Him' and 'True Master?'" The owner of the whip of thorns, a smaller Firbolg dressed in ornate forest leather gilded with a sigil of a proud city, asks.
"Oh, I dare not speak His name no. I do not even possess the strength to try." She says shaking her head, still held high. "However I will tell you that you are far too unprepared for what is to come. You do not fully understand this world and that will be your downfa-."
Her coarse prophecy cut short by the small steelhead of the Aasimar's ax. With a heavy boot on her shoulder and a tight grip on the handle, the Aasimar easily withdraws its ax from her skull. They bicker amongst themselves over how much information was to be gained from the cultists, completely oblivious to the two beings atop a stone altar in the center of the room.
I gather up all the strength I have to let out a muffled roar, my brother joining me in the effort. Startling the companions the robed figure carrying a book much too large for a normal shelf, very clearly of Human and Elven descent, races over to take the blood and sweat-soaked rags from our mouths. Finally free to communicate. I can see the hesitance in the young wizard's eyes.
"My name is Urdul and behind me is my brother Grodu," I explain hoarsely, I do not know how long it's been since I used my voice. "We would have been minced meat if it was not for you and your party, I thank you."
The wizard backs up and convenes with his group, whispering. Unanimously they walk over to us. The Dragonborn and the mace wielding Firbolg grab us and lift us off the pedestal with ease. With their guards still up they untie us. Never have I enjoyed the free movement of my arms. I turn to see my brother. He is injured worse than me and might not make the journey back home. "Holy man, I have done nothing to earn it, but my brother could use your strength." I plead.
"I have no strength, it is my god that uses me. And your luck is in, today I can heal his wounds." The cleric's words light but fierce. He bends down to eye level with Grodu and grabs my brother by the shoulders. The injuries start to fade as the cleric speaks to his god under his breath. "Grodu is out of danger for now, but needs to rest and drink healing medicine."
"Many thanks, kind strangers. We are grateful for being rescued. If there is anything we can offer you, please just ask." I say, eager to repay them, and eager to leave.
"Actually there is, what does a cult worshipping otherworldly beings want with a couple of dwarves?" The slender, wine-faced Drow asks. "Are you new recruits? Are you deadweight?" She is right to question.
"From the cultist's words, it seems like you all are not from this part of the world. Grodu and I are supply runners for an ancient Dwarven city name Unduum." I explain. "Though our numbers have dwindled because of the cult. There have always been cults worshipping gods no one fears. But this cult has been damaging the coast for some time now. We were headed north to seek help when we stumbled into the woods. We both must have dozed off staring at the moons because when I awoke I was gagged and blinded by a sack over my head. I have no idea how long we were out or how far we traveled. All I know is that we would never agree to join a cult as despicable as this one." With the last of my will, I spit on a cultist's corpse.
"Well, that is good news." The Dragonborn speaks. "We came here in search of a thief and information on the cult. They attacked our city not two weeks ago, and we are trying to figure out how they knew where to find us."
"Perhaps you could tell me that story on the way to Unduum?" I say perplexed by what he says. "We could use the help of a strong party like yourselves. You would make quick work of the problem we face, and the reason our numbers have fallen."
"What problem?" The Drow says shrewdly.
"It would be much easier if we showed you." Grodu chuckles. "The capital has failed to send us help so we are forced to find it."
"I apologize, but we have to go report our findings to our Mayor and the Queen." The Aasimar explains as he wipes his ax clean.
"The Queen?" I ask, flustered. "You mean Queen Na'Daer?" I knew the answer but still needed to know.
"Yes." Together they confirmed.
I drop to my knee. "Forgive me, if you were sent by the Queen, you must be busy with very important matters." I can feel my face redden. "But if you could please tell the Queen that Unduum needs aid, I am sure she would agree to help. Grodu and I were on our way to The Praery Woods to seek her audience when we were captured."
"We will talk to her for your sake and your city's." The cleric's words fill me with a new hope I have not felt in some time. Maybe, just maybe, Unduum has a chance.
"Our work here is done. We have to leave this place. The slaves we rescued here are waiting for us at the surface. We must get moving if we are to return home with them still intact, and report our success." The Dragonborn says sternly, clearly wanting to be out of this hellish place.
"Hang on, one moment." The wizard seems interested in the altar my brother and I were tied upon. Clearing away the remains of the Firbolg Grodu convinced to join us on our journey to see the Queen, he studies the surface. Tracing his fingertips along the raised slab of solid stone, muttering unintelligible words under his breath. Carved into the center of its oval surface a ring of seven eyes. All slightly different shape and design. One of the seven eyes is closed.
The wizard continues his research as the Dragonborn gathers his group and introduces us to them formally. Rith the Bronze Dragonborn. Filfae the Drow. Chris the Druid Firbolg. Zoom the Cleric Firbolg. Okrin the Aasimar. Adrin the Wizard. As we finish Adrin speaks "Strange. I feel the slightest twinge of magic in this stone, but not enough to reach out and grasp."
The forest Firbolg presses the fletch end of an arrow against one of the eyes, expecting something to happen, but nothing. "We should tell the Queen about this too, maybe she has answers." She hesitantly says to the group.
"Alright, now we must go." Another stern, almost warning, from the Rith. "Urdul and Grodu, I am glad to have met you, we will come to Unduum as soon as we complete our tasks and talk with the Queen Na'Daer. Until then, I bid you farewell." With that, he puts a hand on the cleric and motions for everyone to follow him. They do, but not before sparing us a few days supply of rations and water.
"And I was just starting to like this place," Filfae mumbles quietly.
"Oh! Wait!" Grodu protests. "Pay Brutus no mind at the gate to Unduum, he is just cranky and bored." We both break out into a burst of uncontrollable laughter as our new friends leave us looking rather confused. It feels good to laugh again.
"We should follow them out Urdul. I feel rested enough to at least get out of this place. I do not want to be here if more of those cultists come to find out how their ritual went. Perhaps we could even find a warm inn to stay at and some summer ale to fill our bellies with." Grodu chuckles as he kicks around the room, tossing over the corpses of the cultists, grabbing a shortsword and crossbow for us both to defend ourselves.
"I could not agree more," I replied. "Let us see if we can figure our way out of here."
Our new companions are loud enough to follow behind. Snaking down long brightly lit hallways. The walls had carvings of strange humans with a snake-like body where their legs should be. We reach a room on the surface through a small trap door, but the party is nowhere to be seen. Looking around us we quickly realize we are not clear of danger yet. Above two great moons dominating the night sky. In our immediate visinity what appears to be a long-forgotten or demolished town devoted to the snake-like humans we saw depicted on the dungeon walls. The stench of dying trees fills my nose. A horizon of broken, dilapidated willow trees. Dread sinks into my stomach as the realization hits me; I turn to Grodu.
"The Withered Willows!"

"The Withered Willows. Why did we come to a place with the name Withered Willows, voluntarily?" Okrin cries. "It is like we are asking for trouble. Not that I would mind. I just have not had a chance to sharpen my blade today. We have been traveling for days inside this forest and it is still night time. The moons are not out, but what is going on?"
"I do not see the problem," Filfae responds, the smallest flash of a smirk on her face.
"It has been a long day of travel, I think we should find a place to camp," Adrin suggests, perhaps the best thing I have heard in a while. "I may still have some wine left for us to split."
"Alright," Rith's voice always startles me. "This spot is as good as any. Let us move slightly off this road, into the tree line to obscure ourselves."
"If you could call this a road," Zoom says snarkily.
The treeline and the entire forest is comprised of a single tree type, willow trees. Although these are in pain. I try to reach out to them but the only response, the only feeling I get is pain from them. Seemingly kept in an eternal decaying state, these trees are very much alive. The awful smell that permeates the entire wood is coming from these rotting trees. The continuous nighttime sky, though, I cannot explain.
"We should set up a watch," Rith suggests. "Especially after last night. We all need rest, but we still cannot let our guard down around here."
"Yeah, I do not need any more bushes attacking me in the middle of the night," Okrin complains "Did you see that thing? It had skulls of every kind of forest animal, each with glowing eyes, and it was moving!"
"Yes Okrin, we were there," I say. "I will take first watch. I want to study the trees and the area a bit more. I will wake Filfae if I start to lose focus."
"Great." A whispered response from an area unseen.
We unroll our bedrolls as Rith sparks a fire for us with the flick of his tongue. Okrin sharpens his overly large ax until he falls asleep, a whetstone in hand. Rith had turned in while everyone was eating. Adrin, asleep with his spellbook clasped tight between his arms. Zoom prays to his foreign god before falling unconscious. Filfae is nowhere to be seen, but that does not mean she cannot see you, I expect she is in a nearby tree. Finally quiet. I stand up and walk a few paces away from the party, I do not want to disturb them. With the road and the sleeping group in my view, I sit and start my spell.
This spell requires no words. Nature does not understand the mutterings of mortals. I place my palms on the cold and withered grass and close my eyes. I feel the earth drawing me closer. Reaching inside myself I make contact with the world. I can feel my back growing warm as the magic creeps through me, a soft touch from a familiar friend. A frigidity coiling from the ground up my arms catches me off guard. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. I pull the coils funneling them through me, cleansing this small patch of whatever darkness has established its hold here. Filtering through me, the gloom is left inside me while the pure magic is released back into the world. The forest is in such pain. This small area has left me hollow and cold, withering and brittle. The plants of the forest are being held prisoner by this magic.
I can feel a draw deep within my mind tugging at me as if a rope is coiled to my soul. Too weak to resist I let it guide me. My head lifts to see our encampment everyone fast asleep, no idea of the misery the trees can fee. I blink, dazed. The camp is on fire, bright towering flames lick the sky. Burning flesh and charred leather fill my lungs as I breathe in panic. I cannot move, the darkness weighing inside me. Their screams boring into my ears, I need to help them but I do not think I can.
"Give in." A voice from the fires, deep, groaning. "You know you cannot help these foreigners. They do not understand your ways. They do not understand the magic of this land. Our land." A figure in the fire looks to be sitting on a stone throne. Hunched over, it reaches down for a longbow, Filfae's.
A light. Pureness. Warmth. Not from the fire. From the earth. The forest is lending me its strength. I pull from the ground as much will as it can give and expel the darkness from within me in a flash of pure energy. Standing, reinvigorated, I see the flames fade away. The figure sits between all of my resting companions. As I reach out with my mind for any pure magic to create a lengthy and thorn filled whip, the man in the throne starts to fade.
"Come find me." He taunts. "I am just west of here. I have what you seek."
And with that, the illusion is broken. My companions are sound asleep, Okrin snoring much louder than I would like. I look down to see the purified patch of grass I just saved already starting to be corrupted again by the approaching gloom. "We need to find out what is going on here and stop it. I am sorry for your pain." I mutter to myself. Mourning the pureness, the hairs on the nape of my neck stand as I feel an unnatural force on the winds coming our way. I quickly leap over to the campfire situated in the middle of our camp and stamp it out as quietly as possible. I slide behind a tree and look down the moonlit road towards the source of the force. I had to use all of my remaining strength not to regurgitate my nightly rations when I saw it.
A horse, but much larger than a stable horse. Each step causing something to fall from it. Its eyes non-reflective in the moonlight, but glowing a faint forest color and seemingly smoking. Hoof after hoof it ambles down the roar, closer and closer to our camp. A stone's throw away now I can see there is no rider, but a saddle set for riding. The horse stops, a larger tree covering most of it, but it is clear to me now that this horse is very sickly. Most of its jaw and face has been decayed and now chunks of muscle and flesh fall to the ground as it shakes its head, stomps the ground, then continues forward. Now level with the camp, and cleared of obscuring trees, the hindquarters are visible. Where a tail would be the horse is dragging a torso of a ghost-pale body. As I try and asses the horse, the torso begins to rise revealing that it is, in fact, a part of the horse's hind in a monstrous way, sewed together like a madman's attempt of creating a Centaur.
The torso, now fully upright, sits slumped, with pale and large arms dangling on its sides. It snaps upright, Then, slowly, the pale being on the horse turns its head towards our camp, towards me. My paralyzed gaze is met with the eyes of it. Lidless and hollow it stands starring at me. Its face is badly malformed and decrepit, decaying and missing flesh like the horse it sits upon. Raising one of its elongated muscular arms it beckons to me with long clawed fingers reflecting the moon's light. A lipless smile, too wide, begins to form on this grotesque creature's face. Its other arm now raising, pointing into the forest, pointing west.
I can feel something warm running down my hand. I look down to see I have been gripping my thorn whip too hard. I look, back up to see the horse starting to walk, continuing down the road. I look to the hind figure to see that its arms are still outstretched, beckoning me to go west into the forest, but its lipless smile has turned into a deep frown. Walking further the creature's eyes stay locked with mine, turning its neck fully around to maintain eye contact. As it nears a bend in the road I can see the monstrosity is now vibrating very rapidly. A violent fit of movement until I can no longer see it through the thick of the dying forest.
"Filfae!" I shout in a whisper.
A quiet touch on my shoulder, "What? Need some sleep?"
"Yeah I think so." I lay on my bedroll and stare at the night sky, filled with stars and two large moons until I finally submit to exhaustion.
"Everyone up!" Zoom shouts, clanging his mace on his shield. "Rith heard something."
Startled from my sleep, and still groggy I awaken to the party packing up the camp in complete darkness. I miss the light of The Praery Woods. "What did you hear Rith?"
"It was loud enough to wake me." He explains. "I could hear the bickering of two people. From the sounds of it, one of them has the Bronze Dragonflight's egg. We're here to find the missing scouting party and gather information on the cult, yes, but do not forget we still have to find that stolen egg. I propose we head in the direction I heard as soon as we're packed up and ready." Rith already completely ready with his belongings tucked away in his pack helps the rest of us. We set off directly across the road. Heading west.
Okrin is the first to break the silence after having walked a few hours, "You heard these voices Rith? From all the way over by our camp?" He is right to question, it could be that figure I met last night.
"I think they are also moving in the direction, look." He points to the ground. "Two sets of footprints." Sure enough, there were two sets of boot prints, probably human heading the direction we're moving. "Quiet! Do you hear that?" Rith draws his greatsword slowly, gripping it tightly. "Come on!" Charging through a thicket to our right he vanishes. Adrin sighs as he draws his scimitar and follows with Okrin not far behind. I look at Zoom and shrug pointing at the thicket and summoning the strength to will the thorned bush to create an opening for us. Filfae is nowhere to be seen.
Through the bushes, the trees open to form a clearing. The moons are out again shedding light on us in the clearing. Rith is standing still, staring straight on guard staring at the object in the center of the clearing. Everyone looking around assessing the area.
"Strange." I mumble, questioning my sanity. "I thought the moons were not showing themselves."
"I believe they were," Zoom reassures me with a gentle pat on the shoulder.
Stood in the center of a shallow pool of murky dark liquid, a tall stone slab with a rounded top. Something is carved onto its face but it is too difficult to make sense of. The liquid laps and encompasses a majority of this clearing making the ground we are standing on sink beneath us in a muddy mess.
"Adrin!" Rith bellows out. "Take Chris and circle around the pool left, I'll take Okrin and head right. No matter what do not go into the water until we know what's happening with it and if the egg is here." We step cautiously away from each other toward the opposing side of the clearing. Zoom flips a coin and heads off with Rith and Okrin.
"I curious and want to study this water. It seems kind of muddied, but it has a slightly oily look." Adran admits to me, clearly more interested in the liquid than the stone standing in it. "I will just take a small sample to study when we are not in this forsaken place." He bends down with an empty waterskin and fills it being careful to not get any on his skin.
We walk the outside of the pool very meticulously, watching every step as if we are climbing a mountain unsure of our footing. I can see Rith and the others across from us. I did not think the pool was so wide around, it is almost like a small lake. I hear shouting from them, Rith is being held back by Okrin and Zoom. It looks like he is trying to enter the liquid. Adrin and I pick up the pace and see that the stone is not just a slab. My heart sinks deep into my stomach. This is the throne from the illusion I was trapped inside. Sat on the throne is a slumped figure.
We are nearing the other group when Rith breaks free of their hold. He sprints into the pool wading down to his shins screaming, "That's him! That's Garrod he might have the egg!" We were tasked by the tavern keep of The Fallen Tree in Eirastir to find his missing brother who came to The Withered Willows in search of exotic plants to use in wines. I admit it does look like him. This figure, while wearing a dark-colored robe with the hood pulled up, still has a visible prominent nose as well as a long beard braided in a similar pattern to his brother's.
Having seen no adverse effects on Rith, Okrin and Zoom have now quickly followed him into the water, weapons drawn while Adrin and I stand back at the edges of the pool. I cannot for certain tell if this is the same being from my vision, if I try to remember it, I begin to forget. I feel almost a need to run into the water tugging at the back of my mind.
Rith slows and motions for everyone to slow down behind him. He is within reach of the being sat uncomfortably still on a slab throne. "Hello? Garrod is that you?" Rith tries to make his voice sound as welcoming as a Dragon can. "We were sent by your brother Anden." He leans in, "What was that? You have to speak louder."
A shriek from Okrin startles everyone. "S-Something touched me! In the water!" He cries. I cannot see anything in the shallow inky water.
"I am not falling for your tricks again," Adrin says chuckling.
Rith inches closer and places a hand on Garrod's shoulder. With that the body lurches to the side, almost recoiling from Rith's touch. The sudden movement threw back the hood of the figure revealing a withered and decaying head. Slumping down to the side we can see spots that have been eaten away. The figure's eyes are closed and it is unresponsive. I have no doubt this is Garrod. One of its arms dangles off the side of the throne almost touching the water.
"I heard him say something