Trashed Novel

[Vigil StarGazer]

Prequel

 

 

“Move it, quickly!” The ominous voice spoke with a desperate edge from inside the green hood. The tension was slightly increased, if there wasn’t enough tension for one day already, but Santarel could not help but continue to trample across the knee deep snow, pushing ahead with all their strength and then some, moving silently away from their pursuer hoping their will escape. But they all knew it was no use, as the dwarven crafter Thargar said, “blind human could follow their tracks!” and their pursuer are not blind, and they are definitely not human.

 

A shoveling noise in the snow is behind Santarel and a hand grabbed him. He turned around; ready to draw his sword when he realized it was one of his companions. “Santarel, I can’t go on. Just go… without me.” It was Tartri, dressed in his thin white robes. His face has also become as white as his robes and the snow on the ground.

“Leave him.” Uttered a dark cloaked figure as he looks down at the young robed man. ”Or else well all perish.”

“Solacruise,” Santarel set his luminous green eyes on the black cloaked figure. “We are not leaving anyone behind.”

Santarel though he caught a smile behind the man’s dark hood. “Then I guess we better help him.”

Slowly the two of them place Tartri’s arms on their shoulder as they supported the fragile young man up his feet and half-carry, half-dragged his body through the snow.

“Hush…” Thargar whispered as he suddenly stop in front of them. Tartri placed his arms and lean on the shorter dwarf. This annoyed the dwarf, but he was too nervous to care.

“I don’t see…” Solacruise said and then grew speechless. Five of ‘them’ was just about to ambush them. Seeing their prey not falling for their trap they rushed them instead. Two of them going headfirst, two coming out from the side, and one tried to circle from the back.

 

“What are these things?!?” Shouted Solacriuse. Santarel has seen them burned down and raided their village, massacring their friends and neighbor in the night. He woke his remaining friends before the band of pillager reached their homes. He saw only their blur images in the night and now he saw then clearly in the dawning daylight. They have humanoid shapes, but they stood seven and a half feet tall with sickly yellow skins. That alone was horrible enough, but the true horror was on their face. It was twisted, as if they tear off their face with their own claws. Santarel could hear Solacruise muttered continuously like a broken record, saying “tell me this is just a bad dream, tell me this is just a bad dream…”

 

[SIZE=7]Chapter 1[/size]

 

Magic, Elven Blood, and a bloody Map

 

“Ack-Aumn-Elissim-CigaM.” A familiar muttering of arcanic words came out of Tartri’s mouth as he pointed his finger toward the on-charging brute. Three missiles dart toward one of them. Smoke and yellow ooze drips from its wounds as the yellow giant fell soundlessly to the snow.

The rest of attackers seem shocked, as they growl in unintelligent language and fearing the white robbed figure. Santarel was shocked as well as he looked at the maggots coming out from its wounds, devouring the body. In no time covering every inch of that yellow flesh.

“Santarel, look out!” Solacriuse’s voice wakens him from his horror as another one of them attacks him from the side. A heavy fist sank into his guts painfully. Another punch could have landed on Santarel and snapping his spine if not for Thargar’s timely swing of his war-hammer, hitting the attacker squarely on its face. Solacruise is battling with another, trying to avoid its heavy blows. The flesh colossus has knocked down few trees, and might have knocked down Solacruise too, if not for the young man’s guileful evasive skills and a bit of luck. A few of Solacruise’s daggers stick uselessly on to the yellow tinted skin like bee stings on a bear. Santarel jabs his sword instinctively as he saw a flash of yellow. The sword penetrated the unnatural skin easily, but as he pulled out his sword he realized that the yellow ooze begins to corrode his sword. Thargar’s hammer fell another as Solacruise circled the big humanoid and stabbed its exposing spine. The dagger’s blade vanished immediately, dissolved by the yellow ooze, but the giant felt nevertheless by the stunning blow. Maggots came out of the back of its neck and begin to cover the body like a black funeral sheet. Quickly Santarel wiped his sword with the snow, hoping to stop the acidic corrosion, and the sheathed his sword.

“Come,” he said to his shocked friends. “We must get out of here before more of them start coming after us.”

They marched on the whole day without another incident.

 

For two days they traveled on quietly, marching into towns and villages, finding nothing by burnt houses and dead bodies instead. From the ruins they could find little food and even less solace. Tartri noticed a half-naked female corpse. He averted his eyes; grabbing a nearby cloth from a ruined house he covered the body and closed her eyes.

“Santarel! Come here.”

In response he dashed toward the voice, as did the others. In a caved in house he found Thargar with another body. However this one appears to be alive still, to his dismay. One of his hands was torn off from his body, literally. Ligaments are still attacked to the joints, which is made visible by the wound. The rest of his body lay trapped under a pile of rubble. It was a surprise how he lived that long. The man’s eyes grew wide but gives off a dying light. Both Tartri and Solacruise were more then shocked. They have seen the dead, the wounds were gruesome, but the origin of their surprise came not from the wounds by the face itself: Soft cheekbones pointed ears, luminous emerald eyes. It was the face of an elf.

“Help… me.”

“We will,” Santarel tried to comfort the man. The injured elf raised his eyes with his last effort, and then his eyes widen in recognition to Santarel. “A fellow kin! What is our elven blood in this part of the world?”

“Long story.” Santarel replied shortly, blushing because his heritage is revealed to his companions and at the same time brushing away old memories. There is no time for embarrassment or old torments Santarel though. The man got moments to live.

“Well, my elven friend.” The dying man’s spoke softly in elven as he handed Santarel a crunched up piece of paper. “Take this to ‘The Warmth Tavern’ a warrior and a cleric will pass by on the seventh day. Take them out of that place and away from danger!”

“Take them where?” Santarel retorted in elven, a language he was forever banned from speaking. For a moment his felt the old pain returning to him. Why this? Why now? He put aside his thoughts and looking for a reply from his kin. None came. The man was dead.

 

They all fell speechless, and begin to seek shelter to rest of the night. Solacruise announced that he found the cellar of what used to be the inn, with kegs of wine and beer. Thargar muttered something about “dead man’s beer” and refused to even have a drop of it. Solacruise drank some and salute it to the dead. Santarel pour some of the stronger alcohol on the dismembered dead bodies and light them up with fire. As he watched the bodies being disposed of he observed Tartri. The white robed young man found a place under a burnt wall and begins to read from his spellbook. Tartri is a magic user, an apprentice of the strange arcane arts, but Santarel also know Tartri studies magic as a scholar studies history. Tartri had never used his magic to kill, until yesterday. That must have frightened the wits out of him.

Slowly Santarel edged toward the mage, hoping not to disturb him. To Santarel’ surprise Tartri turned as if he was expecting his already. Closing his spellbook he was cursed to study from everyday he looked upon the elf, waiting for him to speak.

“They seem to fear your magic.” Santarel patted the young man on his shoulder, and then started to feel the pain in his ribs after that heavy blow from two days ago.

Tartri smile in an odd amusement and then shook his head. “No, they do not fear. Not in that way.” Tartri paused, and then continue. “They fear it as if it was something they never seen before. Like natives seeing guns firing at them back before the sundering.”

“Sundering, old myths.” Santarel smiled, and then seeing the seriousness in the mage’s eyes he swallowed and continued. “At least they….” Santarel begins speaking again, but the mage cuts him off.

“No, they will not for long. Have you pondered how we could have killed those things easily? They knocked down trees with bare fists. They could have easily strangled the air out of us like those corpses that laid there.” Tartri pointed to the burning pile of corpses that Santarel is burning to preventing it from being eaten by the birds. The flame flickers softly in the cold winter night.

“Do you mean they have never really fought before? That they are mindless?”

“Yes, They particularly ran into your sword and just striking witlessly. Though I doubt that will last for long. They will begin to learn and assimilate what they learn, I fear.”

“And you have made your first kill.” Santarel said appreciatively, but then he detected a fear in the mage’s eyes and a slight trembling of Tartri’s hands.

“I do not know, Santarel. I study magic with no ambition at heart. Do you know I could barely remember the spell at that moment? I was trembling, panicking, almost fainting…”

“And?”

“Something inside me spoke the word, and the next thing I know was that he laid there dead.”

 

The mage felt silent. Santarel begins to ponder, and then wanting to ask the mage some questions. What are these things they are fighting against? What is the incident with the dying man all about? He was hoping for an answer that the young man could not possibly give. He was willing to ask anyways, but when he turned back to Tartri, the mage had already departed.

 

Waking up gloomily just before sunrise, Santarel sat beside a burned post that used to support a house and begin to ponder. I could never though he could get into this mess. What could one crunched piece of paper have any relationship with the sudden appears of these seven feet tall yellow skinned pillaging giants? Ever since he left the Aspen woods he had tried to live a normal life. Well, things haven’t been exactly been normal with Thargar, Tartri, and Solacruise. However, this was catastrophic! To think that suddenly one day you have your home burned down to the ground and the whole world seems to be in aches next. Angrily he hurled a stone into the lake. It chipped across the half-frozen water twice, and then sank into the oblivion.

“So,” said Solacruise suddenly appears out of nowhere. “What is in that piece of paper?”

Santarel hand it to Solacruise to satisfy his curiosity. Solacruise twiddle his thumbs and smiles happily at first, but then his grin turned to a disappointed frown.

“It is just a bunch of scribbles!” he exclaimed. “Is this a bad joke?”

“Trust me,” replied the elf. “A dying elf never lies, or in this case ‘makes bad jokes’.”

Remember about the dying elf’s last word Solacruise spoke. “The Warm Tavern is in Trestle. I know a quick route there.” Offered Solacruise as he handed back that piece of paper back to Santarel. He would have kept it if it was some royal letter or a treasure map, and since it was neither it holds no value to him.

Solacruise also tries to remember about his trip to Trestle and how it ended up. He seemed to forget that on his last visit he was chased out of town by Trestle’s guards when he was caught robbing the mayor’s house and seducing his daughter at the same time.

“I guess we should be headed there at once. Seven days are just about enough time to get there.”

“And with all that yellow giants along the road, we would be luck if we arrived in one piece!” Thargar roared. “Think, Santarel. How are we going to get pass them?”

“Do not worry about that, my dwarven friend. I have my ways.” Solacruise grin mischievously.

Santarel looks toward Tartri, who listens to this conversation silently while drinking the icy cold water. Tartri looks back and apparently shrugged. Santarel sighs, slowly picking up his packs and followed Solacruise into the darkness.

 

Chapter 2

 

“The Seven days of nightmare”

 

Thargar refers to Solacruise’s secret path as “The Six days of nightmare” although they could only remember a few details during that trip. Solacruise led them right into the middle of a bayou and after a day of restless travelling. Tartri remembered Thargar cursing that they are running to nowhere, walking around in circles. They could never sleep in the night as they heard large fearful shadows swooped pass their camp and strange sounds emitting in the depth of the never-ending darkness. Thargar accidentally sank into one of the swamps on the second day and they pulled the dwarf just quickly enough before a dark tentacle made a lung for its would-be dinner. Santarel though he saw a mouth with jagged teeth appears on the surface of the water, and quickly hurried the companions on their way. On the fourth day thronged vines tangled Tartri’s foot and pulled the young man straight up into the air, leaving him hanging him upside down. The vine begins to suck the blood out of Tartri’s foot, drinking the blood and feeding on its warmth. Santarel had to cut Tartri down. The vine was coated with a hallucinating poison that left Tartri feebleminded for the rest of the trip. They all remembered walking passed a field lay with white, membranous spheres on the fifth day.

“What are these things?” Solacruise asked as he gave one of those spheres a poke. It was surprisingly soft and slimy.

“Don’t you know?” the dwarf retorted. “You said you’ve been here!”

“Not in this time of the year,” Solacruise jabbed back. “It must be a seasonal pheromone.”

“It’s the eggs of an eleven-feet tall armored worm.” Tartri replied softly.

“A eleven-feet what?” Solacruise asked sarcastically.

“How do you know?” Thargar turned to the mage. Tartri smiles childishly and points to a dark shadow in fount of them.

An eleven-foot tall armored worm stared back toward them with its many eyes.

 

Santarel never saw such dark horrors in his life. The Worm has red glowing eyes on it’s entire shelled body, in its fount is a month wide open with long cilia slowly growing out from the worm’s dark hole, grabbing everything, including themselves in. Santarel cut one off as it came reaching toward him. It wiggles and then lay dismembered on the ground as dark maggots quickly surrounds the dead meat.

“Everyone get out of here!” Santarel yelled, and ran as fast as possible.

The rest of them didn’t wait for that command to know what to do. They are already running.

 

Just when they are reaching out of the pool of eggs they heard the sounds of something squishy, like the sound of someone splitting an orange. Then they could see little three feet long worm-lings spawning out from the eggs, their little cilia breaking the membrane holding them and start wiggling in the air hunting for food. Tartri locked his eyes with the worm-ling. The worm-ling slowly wiggled its cilia toward Tartri thinking it was food. The mage steps closer, lured by the worm’s rounded, innocent-like eyes, begins to inspect this strange species, and would probably be nothing but dinner if not the dwarf grabbed him away.

“I do appreciate your dedication for intellectual studies, but this is neither the time and place for it!”

“I do appreciate your sarcastic wisdom,” Solacruise mimicry turns to a shout. “But I afraid we are all going to die!” Already a few of these worm-ling made their way out of their shell, and the mother worm is closing in.

“Leap over them!” shouted Santarel. He was already killing a few of these worm-lings and eggs, newborns or not. He doesn’t believe babies are that entirely innocent, not anymore.

 

Suddenly a loud buzzing noise filled the air. The worm-lings, with their in-born instincts, all quickly scurried to the ground as the mother-worm stood still, waiting to protect her young.

“Don’t tell me this time.” Solacruise shouted before Tartri could intercede. “It’s a Six-winged blood-sucking gigantic fruit-flies with all the other horrors that will make me drop dead.”

“No,” Tartri smiled gleefully, still affected by the hallucinating poison. “Many.”

Solacruise looked up, and then he fainted.

 

Santarel had to carry Solacruise out of the niche in total darkness and dragged the witless Tartri along with him. The ‘giant fruit-flies’ as Tartri termed them had blocked off all sunlight, which easily covered their escape in this natural chaos. From a-far Santarel observed the mother worm trying to covered as much worm-ling as she possibly can while the fruit-flies placing their straw-like mouth into the ground, sucking wormlings out of the nest, and battling the worm at the same time.

They left without looking back to see who won.

 

“First I almost drown in mud, and then there are blood-sucking plants, and yesterday we rang into gargantuan bugs!” The dwarf’s roar could be heard all over the bayou. “What are we going to meet today, eh? The Grim Reaper himself? ”

“The right path, at last!” exclaimed Solacruise. He appears out of the woods with a few scraps on his cloak. He began to lead the rest of his friends away, making a path across the frozen ground. The rest of them were too tired or too feebleminded to complain. As they continue to follow Solacruise’s path they noticed that the ground gets firmer and firmer, and the dark forest gets thinner and thinner until they stood on a gray clear path. The bayou is nothing but distances away.

“Look,” the dwarf inspected the ground, commenting. “The ground is made out of gray flat rocks!”

“And with no joints.” Santarel added, and then he inspected a crack on the edge of the ground. The layer of the joint-less, smooth rocks was only an inch thick. Santarel turned and looked at Tartri. The feeble mind poison seem to worn off and he was thinking more clearly today, although he just stared at the place bewildered.

“I’ve told you there is a secret path!” Solacruise announced proudly. “And no head-bashing mutants.”

“I would probably choose the normal route instead! At least I won’t be eaten alive by plants and insects.” Thargar snapped.

“You never knew if those yellow monsters didn’t eat people.” Solacruise retorted.

“How did you made it alive passing through here last time?” Santarel cold voice was followed by a moment of silent.

“Oh,” Solacruise replied. “It was a long story, you see…”

Everyone’s eyes were on Solacruise.

“You see. I was wrong about the secret path.” Solacruise stated innocently. “This smooth path to which you were standing on extend all the way back to our old village. It’s just that I miscalculated by about a few hundred miles and have to make a little trample over the woods instead.”

Santarel’s eyes widen, but Thargar had already gone passed that. Already he was on top of Solacruise, battering the man down with his bare fist.

“You what??? Are you telling me that we could have avoided all those horrors if not for your stupid error?” The dwarf’s anger was beyond words. Santarel had to pull Thargar away before he pummeled Solacruise to a bloody pulp,

“Sorry.” Solacruise said with an apologetic tone of voice and a more apologetic face. The seasoned dwarf’s blows are punishing, but where it hurts was the pride. Solacruise spat out blood and muttered remorsefully. “It’s not like I wanted everyone to die.”

“It’s alright, Solacruise would never have known.” Santarel patted on Solacruise’s shoulder and slowly calmed the angry dwarf. Then Santarel send Thargar away to get some fresh water. When the dwarf’s shadow disappears he turned to Solacruise.

“So, how far are we now from Trestle?”

“One day of climbing,” Solacruise replied surprising that no blame was laid on him. “We have to climb up the hill up there and scale down to the other side. Then we will find ourselves on the outskirts of Trestle.”

Santarel nodded. His mind was never on the six days of horror at all. His thought was on the paper. Perhaps something has happened in the Aspen Woods? What if those yellow monsters are attacking his beloved homeland? He shivered at that though, and focus on what he could do. Tomorrow he will find out about the strange paper, which he kept in his hidden pocket, and hopefully get to the bottom of this. Remembering one more thing he turned toward Solacruise.

“Do you know what made this path? And how?”

“I guess you’ve better ask the mage, but I think the poison is still getting him.”

Santarel looks as Tartri was talking to his shadows, and giggling at the same time. Santarel sighed; at least they are still alive, for now.

 

The companions rested for the rest of the day, and decided to make their climb by night. Tartri has awakened from his bewilderment with the help of some cold water splashed on his face. When Santarel told Tartri about the joint-less paved path he looks to the ground.

“Asphalt.“

“What?”

Smiling, Tartri began to explain. “It’s the alchemy of the ancient world. A technique that could melt rocks and shape them to their desire.” He gave the pavement a little tap with his food, and then nodded to himself. “We have stumbled on the lost highway.”

“But I though the sundering is untrue. Surely they don’t have death-wands that could kill people by pointing it at them, tall houses that reached the heavens, horseless carriages, or lamp without fire.” Santarel exclaimed.

“And some say elves are nothing by mystical creatures.” Tartri retorted coolly. “Strange, you never told us you are an elf before, and I thought I had never seen one until today.”

Santarel turned speechless. He chewed his bread silently, took a gulp of water, and begins to march toward the hills.

 

They scaled the hill easily under the huge, full moon and its reddish light. While they took time to rest they stared at the valley down below. Strange reddish sparkles mixed in with the blue dancing flames. While it looks beautiful from afar, they all know the horror that makes those reddish sparkles. As for the blue dancing flame, they dared not imagine its source. Solacruise reached the top first followed by Thargar and then the tired Tartri. He commented that they should just left him muddled from the drug, since he has a fear of heights. As the reached the top Santarel look down on the other side. He begins to realize why no humans in the last four hundred years could have discovered the lost valley and its highway. The valley itself was a huge unreachable plateau that the people thought was a huge mountain instead. He could see miles and miles away at a distant. He saw the huge waterfalls pouring down to the Great Lake and across it, sitting on the bridge like a jewel on a scepter was the city Trestle. At a distance from Trestle He saw reddish sparkles again and for a sick moment he though that is was another deranged forest waiting for them, but as he looks closer they are campfire, and surrounded it are camps and camps of yellow mutants.

Santarel felt more sick then ever.

 

Chapter 3

Inns and Strange dreams

 

After a tiring climb down the cliff and a long grudging march down the snow-covered plain they arrived at the city of Trestle. They have no trouble finding The Warmth Tavern, since everything is on one street. In fact, the whole city of Trestle has only one street. Trestle is founded on a bridge, a mammoth construction that extended itself hundred of miles from one side of the sea of blood to the other, and is perhaps the only technological wonder left from the previous ages. The bridge is the only gateway to Arcadia. The east is blocked by the raging river leading to the ocean and the south by the inhospitable rock desert. The city develops from the bridge’s two ends working itself toward the middle. Santarel and his companions made its entrance at the northern part of Trestle, trying to strain their last energy to look for an inn.

Santarel felt a tug on his sleeve. “Someone is spying on us.” It was Tartri. He was barely standing and is leaning on his staff for support. Santarel looked around, noticed a few pedestrians walking around the streets at night, going on their business. Frankly, Santarel does not care. He was too tired to even think, lest worry about stalking thieves or general snoopers. “Lets just go find an inn to rest.” He thought he muttered, and are not sure of his friends even did replied. Solacruise pointed to a distant house on the only avenue, and the rest of them mindlessly carried their bodies in the door.

 

“Santarel,” he heard of voice calling him in the darkness, not even his elf sight could bring him to see in this obscurity. Santarel found himself in familiar ground, but he could not place a name on it. Huge mist gathers around him, surrounds him, and engulfs him. In this strange mist he finds himself falling, descending into an eternal dark void. Waving his arms frantically he grabbed something: vines. The vines are traced with sparkles of small silver thorns, elven vines that bore silvery grapes, which refined into the rich bitter-sweet elven wines, vines that can be found nowhere else in this world. He hangs from the fragile vine dangling helplessly as the maelstrom below, but slowly his hands slips, burning his palm as he descends further into nothingness. The void below turned to a glowing purple that matches Santarel’s iris.

“Let it go,” a voice within his own mind boomed. “Can you not see that it is hurting you?”

Santarel felt something warm flowing in his hands. Blisters from his hand starts to bleed, the vines accepted it, sucking it away greedily as it turns to a darker red like the ones found in the deranged forest. He gasp as the horror, and for a moment it seems that he will give up, letting himself fall. But then he percepts a great sense of fear below. A fear he does not understand but feels nevertheless: a darkness darker then anything Santarel has ever encountered. The voice within his head continues to indulge the elf’s mind, pleading for him to let go, as his hand keeps on slipping from the blood-soaked vine. At the desperate hour he made his last stand: With a last effort he gave out a loud cry. “Never!”

Shadows and voids fled from his mind, and then Santarel begins to fall

 

… and landed face down onto the floor.

 

Santarel found himself in the most awkward position. He was on the flood with sheets entangling him whole body. In another second Thargar falls right on his back, caused by Solacruise’s reflexive stretching of his legs. Santarel bore the dwarf’s falling weight on his back, and just as he was about to get up from this rabble. Solacruise gave a loud laugh at this, the vengeful dwarf responded by pulling the rest of the sheets from the bed, causing the sly young man to fall right onto his two friends. They all tried to scramble as the servant girl enters into the room.

“I think I should not interrupted your business.” A flush of red appears on the girl’s face as she quickly slams the door shut and fled downstairs. Tartri, who slept on a corner of the room, could not stop his laughing.

The three of them gave each other a look as only one thought passed into their minds. With singular minds they grabbed the sheets and sacked the mage with it, and then start giving him beats.

“Alright, Alright!” shouted the still giggling mage as he escaped from the blank whiteness of the sheets. “Aren’t we suppose to meet someone today?”

All sense comes back to the four of them, and merriment was washed out of their minds by anticipation. What is this piece of paper all about? Who are the cleric and the warrior? And in Thargar’s and Solacruise’s head were treasures beyond imagination for either their reward or from the information it holds. For Tartri, he hoped it to be a spell of awesome power, although he doubts it likely to be. Santarel only thought the paper is important enough to have an elf shed his blood on, so it must be dire if not aiding to his elven kinsmen. Following a bath, washing their travel-worn clothes, shaving (except the dwarf who don’t shave at all), and begin to breakfast. Solacruise volunteered to gather information and restock provision for upcoming travels, and the first piece of information Santarel find out from Solacruise is that they are in the Warmth Tavern itself! The second piece of information Santarel finds is that one shall never let Solacruise wanders out of sight, for he never showed up until the evening, and when he did he smells like a drunken sailor. Both provisions and the money for it came back with Solacruise, which left the elf pondering with concerns.

“Miss me?” Solacruise made his timely appearance behind Thargar. With a sweep of his legs he caused the dwarf’s stool to tumble, leaving the dwarf on the ground muttering “no” for an answer.

“Where have you been all day long?” Santarel started his interrogation on the drunken young man but he seems not to catch the elf’s serious overtone.

“You sounded like my father!” Solacruise retorted caustically and then gave a loud burp. “I bet your brain is as fossilized as his.” Santarel just sneered, for Solacruise did not understand the truism in his words. Elves lives on for a few hundred years. He could possibly watched all his friends wither and die while he is still in his youth. He has also known and ventured with Solacruise’s father, one of the first few humans he as ever met. A man Santarel has never regret knowing. Looking at Solacruise, he knew that his and his father are different as day to night, but somehow he still sense his father’s character in this teen, behind his irritating manners and beguiling eyes.

“So,” Solacruise attempted a switch of topic. “Meet the warrior and cleric pair yet?”

“We have been sitting here all day while waiting for you, and have not seen someone as such.” Tartri remarked. Solacruise shook his head in disbelieve. Clearing his mind from the ale he observe his surroundings. Most are citizen and neighbors coming in for a drink and something to eat, some are merchants with their bodyguards. One table sat a group of soldiers relaxing after patrols, and two women sat at the table near the fireplace, chatting over town gossips.

“No warriors and clerics here.” Muttered Solacruise.

“The only two person I see are the two women. I think this is all a ruse.” Santarel could only gaze sharply at Solacruise’s reply.

Tartri offered something logical. “Perhaps they traveled in groups with escorts, to cover their guises.” Thargar nodded at that, but he still displays worries in his eyes.

Slowly the conversation drifts to their past adventure in the dark twisted woods.

“Have to climb a cliff, both up and down. I should have made you carry me, young man.”

“No, because you are too heavy and we will end up tumbling down back on the hillside.”

“Those yellow half-humans,” suddenly Tartri’s voice lifts up in a sagacious tone. “what shall we call them?”

“Half-humans?” Solacruise replied. “They don’t even look half-humans to me!”

“They got the brains of one! At least to some humans.” Reprised the dwarf.

Before Solacruise could say anything, Santarel tranquilized the conversation with his sentimentality.

“The statues of their body reminds me of the strong aspen trees in our homeland; their yellow skin reminds me of the leaves in our autumn forest.”

“Six words: There skin reminds me of piss.” Solacruise coolly responded.

“I think we shall just call them The Autumn Piss.” Tartri spoke, and then the rest of them just laughs.

“Autumn Piss. That’s a good one.” Roared the dwarf.

“To the Autumn piss.” Solacruise announced as he raise his beer mug for a cheer, and both the dwarf and human swallowed their drinks, and then another.

“Let’s just call them the yellow mutants.” Tartri tried to withdraw his suggestion, but Solacruise just holds the young mage as Thargar pours beer into his mouth.

 

“Help!” Tartri tried to reach for help as he gulped down another mug of beer. He tugged Santarel’s shirt, but the elf was not responding. The elf looms with a bored expression on his face. He enjoys the company of his friends, but something else draws his attention away. It was his talk of the woods and his leaves, the songs of the grass as it cuts its blade through the winds. Slowly the image of the inn and the customers melted. The wood beams become living trees, once again he was back in the Aspen Woods, the warm sunlight shines on his face, as he was a child again, running wild in a game of demon slaying. Elven child battling against dark demons that only exist in legends. Child dressed up as warriors wielding wooden swords to drive off the army of darkness while druid summon the magic of the forest to aid in battle and occasionally bring a demon down with the powerful swing of his staff, while the girl-elves sits on the other side of the grove, playing with their dolls, pretend to have tea, or giggles at a few of the handsomer elves.

“You are not like them. You are not with them.” A voice echoes in his dream. Santarel looked around for the voice, but he found himself instead. An image of his childhood flashes before his eyes. He was behind a shadowed tree, for the other children did not wanted him in their play. Suddenly the battle stops. A young elf, still a child but a head taller then the rest of them halt from their last charge. He was their leader, Polonaise. All the elven children accepted him as their leader, and more then a few girls giggles behind his back. With ease Polonaise marched toward young Santarel behind the tree, the tall elf extended his hand. “Want to come out and play?” Santarel’s face turn pale white. No. Santarel mouthed, but no words came from his lips. The young image of Santarel accepted the invitation eagerly. A few of the other elves look frustrated, but they dared not say a word. Then suddenly one brave boy spoke. “Which wing will he be placed under?”

“Neither.” Polonaise answered sharply. “For he will be the demon!”

The children all roared, and all at once raised their swords at Santarel. Santarel tried to run, but he found himself encircled. Polonaise’s wooden broadsword landed on his chest. He was beaten under, with wooden swords all over him, jabbing into the child’s fragile body.

Santarel said nothing. He could feel the pain of each slash, even now. He will then be rescued by the coming of the few elders that day. And from that day on after he will be their “demonic refugees” after as the elven children hunt him down and gave him beatings afterwards. But then there is suddenly a change of fate. Slowly the imaginary demons become real fading in from the background, with their dark shadows becoming the yellow mutants, slaying the now grown elven kin. Santarel now watched in horror as the yellow mutants came to their “rescue”, slaying the other elves and watching them suffer mortal wounds and then death. He heard, for once, the screams of a real battle. The clashing of weapon, the gushing sounds of blood, the agony of death…

 

“Santarel!” the sound of battle still ring in his elven ears. He shook in disbelieve, but the sounds are as real as himself or Thargar’s grip on his forearm. Turning, he looked at the dwarf. His battle-hammer ready. Outside, the citizens are running, while the siege bell is ringing. “What is going on?” Santarel asked.

“Blasted! They’ve broken through the gates!” Solacruise yelled as he climbed down from the roof. A flash of realization comes to Santarel’s head. The Mutants! He saw them at the top of the cliff, thousands of them gathering!!! He should have know about the invasion! He would have warned the town about the invasion!

“What was I doing for the last five minutes?” Santarel shouted at his friends. “Why didn’t someone try to wake me up?”

Slowly Tartri looked up at the angry elf. “We are all trying to.” He said apologetically. ”You were just crying and sobbing the last few minutes and we shouldn’t shake you awake.”

“Now what are we going to do?” Solacruise asked, and the answer just came busting through the door.

 

“Piss face!” Thargar howl at the first yellow mutant charging through the door, with accurate timing the hammer impacted the mutant’s brain, splattering green blood and brains onto the floor.

At once the blood foams and maggots grew out from it, but there is more then just that Thargar have to worry about. His swing has caused the dwarf to be out of position for the on-coming mutant…