Return of a Legend

((Closed until we actually are in the Garden itself. Once we, being Sorahn and myself, are in the Garden, feel free to interact with us!))

The frigid, blistering winds of the far northern reaches of Salvar were nothing to be trifled with. No, without the proper equipment and garb, one would surely find death's cold embrace in that rigid land. It was not enough to keep nomads and adventurer's from journeying to the barren lands seeking treasure or food or new lands. The scattering of frozen bone and flesh was testament to that.

Still, somehow in an ancient time, perhaps one where Salvar was not the frozen tundra it was now, man had built a massive structure. One would likely consider it a castle or a fortress. It had withstood the ravages of time and the destructive nature of the cold land. The decrepit building was not without its flaws, but yet it stood as a frozen statement of times past.

Inside the massive structure were the preserved and mostly untouched remains of some ruler from the past. Banners still hung, though torn and chewed upon by resilient furred creatures. Dust laid thick over wooden tables and chairs throughout the structure. Burnt out torches still sat in their holders in the hallways. Bronze sculptures still sat magnificently, yet green and sickly. It was a shrine that seemed frozen in time.

However, the entire castle was not empty. In one small corner of the building, torches were lit and the dust had been swept away. A single bedroom with a connected kitchen was warmed by fireplace. A warm arctic pelt draped across a large bed and another pelt lay upon a smaller bed. A young platinum haired boy sat at an oak table eating some sort of porridge, with a slice of bacon from some Salvarian creature. A small brown dog sat under the boy's chair, watching diligently for any food that might fall into his grasp.

Massive armor hung from a stand across the room from the massive bed. A large horned helmet sat perched atop it. The blue and black armor was polished and light from the fire flickered off it brilliantly. A single short sword leaned against the wall behind the armor, almost hidden from the room.

The boy glanced at the window. It's snowing again outside, he thought to himself as he slid another spoonful of the porridge down his throat. He really did not like porridge, but he suffered it for his father. The boy fingered a long thin wooden wand that sat on the table in front of him. He was becoming an expert wizard, having mastered yet another spell.

The door to the room opened, and wizard boy looked pridefully up at his father, the great Zieg dil' Tulfried, High General of the Demon Army. His father would probably disagree with the great part. He would likely also deny being the High General anymore, as well. Still, his son knew him well enough. Zieg dil' Tulfried was a great demon.

Zieg had his long crimson locks tied back into a ponytail, much as he always did. He wore a simple cream colored shirt and black pants, with his delyn boots upon his feet. One arm, however, still wore that blue and black armor, for underneath was an arm made entirely of fire. Another short sword, identical to the one that leaned up against the wall, hung at his hip. His blood red eyes narrowed as he saw his son staring up at him.

"Why haven't you finished your supper yet, Kaza? You need to get your evening training in before bed." Zieg strode over to the fireplace and stirred up the flames with a metal poker.

"Papa, when are we going to leave this place?" Kaza asked suddenly. His face became very serious as he looked up at his father. "I want to go home."

Zieg pulled out a chair across from his son and looked the boy in the eyes. "Kaz, this is our home now. We have nowhere else to go."

Kaza stood up violently, grabbing his wand in his tiny eight-year-old hand. "No, papa! This is not our home! Our home is in Haidia, with all of our people. With Aidos," he shouted, referring to the young king that had become his friend, "with the demon people that look up to you!"

Zieg eyes slid down to look at the table in front of him. "Son, the people of Haidia will never accept me back. I've let them down too many times." He pulled out the emerald headband from his pocket, rubbed his fingers over its surface. "Rakthean would have done so much better for them. He would have led them to the surface, would have kept everyone safe. Instead, that job fell to me and I failed them, all Haidians."

You know that is not true. A voice stated in both Zieg's and Kaza's heads. The only time you let them down was when you ran away to here. It is not too late to change that fact. The dog trotted out from under the table and looked up at the demon knight.

"I only wish that were true, Xeppa." Zieg stood and walked over to the window and stared silently and wistfully out at the wilderness.

Sorahn shivered violently against the bitter cold. A delicate layer of frost was beginning to form on his already white fur; a feature of his anatomy for which he was extremely grateful at the moment. Even his short fur helped to dampen the wind and preserve his precious body heat. Without it he probably would have died in the frigid wind. Especially since the only clothing he wore was a pair of tattered black pants.

His breath formed a small puff of steam in front of his face, which seemed tiny compared to the great cloud that issued from the nostrils of his mighty black dragon, Nyris. He sat securely in a saddle on the dragon’s back; soaring just above the frozen tundra of Northern Salvar.

He looked up to the darkening skies; his eyes narrowing with frustration. Snow was falling just ahead of them, and with the sun obscured by clouds, the temperature was already dropping. The wind was beginning to pick up, adding to the chill of simply flying through the air. He could feel even the great dragon shuddering beneath his legs.

Nyris, we must find a place to land and shelter ourselves. We can not continue through this storm. Sorahn thought, though the dragon understood him perfectly. They shared a mental bond that transcended mere words to include even thoughts, feelings, locations, senses, and possibly more.

Sorahn scanned the terrain with his sharp eyes. In the distance he saw an odd formation protruding from the endless sea of snow and ice. It didn’t appear natural, and he feared it was inhabited. From his experience, residents of Salvar didn’t take kindly to strangers. He looked closer and couldn’t see any lights, but he couldn’t be sure.

He glanced around him. The rest of the terrain was an empty wasteland of snow and small hills. This place appeared to be their only hope for shelter. They had to try.

With merely a thought, Nyris adjusted course. He beat his powerful wings with a loud “whump” and it wasn’t long before they had closed the distance to the structure. They made one quick circle overhead to survey the area and upon finding no signs of life, decided to land.

Nyris landed gracefully with a soft crunch as he sank into the deep snow. Sorahn leapt off and plunged into the snow up to his chest. Recovering from this initial shock, he shook the snow off, and began digging his way out toward the structure. By now he could tell that it was some sort of castle; a grand effigy of an age long since passed, lost and forgotten, left to the steady decay of time.

Sorahn carefully pushed open the massive wooden doors of the frozen castle. He found himself in an open courtyard, piled high with snow. He looked around at the tall turrets and structures that formed most of the castle around him. There were no rushing guards, no weapons drawn, no alarms. It appeared this place had been deserted centuries before he was even born.

Nyris, come in here. This courtyard is big enough for you and the walls may be high enough to shield you from the wind.

The dragon obeyed, sailing over the high stone walls and touching down in the middle of the courtyard. He tucked his wings and laid in the snow, nestling himself in and using the snow to insulate him. Sorahn could feel that he was quite content. He laid his head down in the slow and tried to get some much deserved rest after a long day worth of flight.

Meanwhile, Sorahn trudged his way toward the main keep. With a wave of his hand, black fire swirled around him and shot out before him, melting the some of the snow and easing his path. When he reached the door, he pulled it open and quickly closed it behind him, shutting out the cold.

Immediately he slumped down and sat on the floor, resting against the wall. It had been quite a hard day of travel, and it felt nice just to sit and relax in the relative warmth, out of the wind. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

Is this man really worth it? He thought to himself. He had set out on this journey in search of a particularly noteworthy demon named Zieg dil’ Tulfried. He was the High General of the Demon Army and a man of great power. Sorahn had met him only a handful of times. One of those chance meetings was the reason he had the dragon that was now sleeping outside, though he was a good bit smaller back then.

But this great demon had vanished. Not even the Haidians knew where their general had gone. So, knowing Zieg was not in Haidia, he turned to Salvar, where they had first met and where he knew the demon spent a lot of time. He found it ironic that a creature of flames would seek the cold, but such is the way of expectations. They are often wrong.

Sorahn was doing all of this for the benefit of his beloved clan, The Red Hand, of which he was the Chieftain. He hoped that Zieg would join their cause, perhaps grant an alliance with the Demon Army, and offer his considerable skills as a warrior. Although he had to admit that part of him also wanted to ascertain the fate of one of the few that he had come to truly respect and revere during his time on Althanas.

He shook his head. His journey could continue tomorrow. For now this deserted castle appeared a nice place to spend the night.

He used his magic to form a bright orb of light above him and looked around. He seemed to be in some grand entrance hall, complete with banners and tables and elaborate sconces, now badly tarnished and worn but no less striking. Whatever people had once inhabited this fortress, they were quite mighty. As he stood and walked around, he couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the ancient artisans.

Eventually, his ever practical warrior mind began working once again, and he wondered if the deep recesses of this castle might still contain some bedding and blankets that might stave off the cold and ease his rest.

So with one last glance around him, he took off down one of the dark hallways, using the orb of light to navigate the corridors.

The resounding creak that echoed through the entire lower floor of the castle as a result of the ancient door being opened sent a shiver down Zieg's spine. He spun on his right heel with military precision and was at the door in a second, staring out into the darkness beyond. No movement caught his vision, but he was not satisfied. The doors of this castle were sturdy enough to withstand the battering winds, which meant someone had entered his sanctum.

Grabbing the sword that leaned up against the wall, he drew the blade and tossed its sheath carelessly onto the large bed. "Xeppa, protect Kaza. Someone is here and I intend to find out who." The large demon grabbed a pair of dragonhyde gloves from the armor stand and pulled them on his hands before heading to the door.

You are going out without your armor? Is that wise? Xeppa asked.

"Wise or not, there is no time to put it on. Stay safe." With that, Zieg was out the door and into the darkness. The dark corridors were very dimly lit, but Zieg's eyes adjusted to the moonlight that shimmered through the narrow windows. His mind was racing and he sped through the halls toward the courtyard, where the sound seemed to have originated.

As one of the most powerful demons in Haidia, as well as the High General of the Demon Army, Zieg had made a number of enemies. Likely whole nations of people feared him and wanted him dead. Any number of his enemies, assassins, bounty hunters, or whomever could have tracked him here with intent to kill him. The knight may have failed his people, but he would not fail his son nor his companion. No more would die under his protection.

Why did anyone have to die at all? It was a question that Zieg continually asked himself. He had not led his people to the overworld to conquer or destroy. He merely wanted them to have a chance to live in the light of day. Instead, they were attacked. Warriors were killed, women raped and children beaten. Zieg had been oblivious to a majority of it, the platoon he led far away establishing a new outpost along the northern border of their new home, or rather their new graveyard.

Once he learned of what had transpired he led his men back, but it was too late. Those that weren't dead were running for their lives back into Haidia, to the homes that they once had known. Back into the hands of the vengeful dwarves who had sought to murder more demons. Zieg had fled into Haidia to find his son, and together they had escaped to the castle in the snow. There had been nothing Zieg could do for his people.

Rounding a corner, he saw a strange flickering light at the end of the hall. A blade in one hand and another at his hip, Zieg crept down the hall toward the light. Once he nearly reached the end of the hall, he knew that whoever it was that had intruded into his home was right around the corner. He could hear doors being opened, peace disrupted. Anger flooded Zieg's veins and as he stepped around the corner, the blade in his hand, the Gamygym, burst into flames.

Without a thought and nary a sound, the demon knight leapt at the intruder, taking no time to see that it was, in fact, one of the few people that he called a friend. Instead, he pulled his blade back to strike at Sorahn's head, flames licking the metal of the blade.

Sorahn worked his way through endless corridors. Each hallway was filled with more old wooden doors which led to more deserted rooms. His orb of light shone brightly against the dull gray stone which lined the halls. There were only a few small windows which shed almost no light from the blackened sky.

He trotted down the corridor purposefully. His bare feet made soft noises against the cold stone floor which echoed in the hallway. He was growing increasingly agitated as the sun was beginning to set and the cold was creeping in even more than before. He was weary from the day’s journey and was ready to get some much deserved sleep.

Finally he climbed a narrow spiral staircase leading to the living quarters. Eager to rest for the night, he moved quickly down the hallway until he heard something.

He froze instantly. His sharp ears strained to listen in the silence. His own heavy breathing filled his ears. With only a thought, his black spear appeared in his hand in a cloud of smoke. Slowly and silently, he moved forward toward the corner in the hallway. Adrenaline had begun to flow through him and his heart began beating quickly. All his senses were heightened and on full alert.

Finally he reached the corner. He raised his smoky black spear to the ready. He could tell the man was close. He could hear his breath; deep and rhythmic, like his own. Both were ready for a fight. Tension was building like a rope stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.

Suddenly he heard his assailant jump and immediately he put out the light, plunging them into disorienting darkness. But through the darkness shown a bright orange light from a flaming sword, which was descending upon him with bloodlust.

He brought his spear up and parried the sword, feeling the heat of the fire as the flames passed him with a woosh. Using this momentum, he spun and sliced toward his attacker’s midsection. Then he twisted to bring his blade down on the man’s head.

His eyes were quickly adjusting to the dim light, but he was too distracted by the fight and the flaming blade to realize that the man he had been so tirelessly seeking this whole time now faced his own blade.