The Son of God

This is the thread for my up and coming story 'The Son of God'. Please do not post on this thread - i will create a feedback thread on which i hope you will post your thoughts (Feedback here). So, without further ado...

The Son of God

Chapter 1

“…srala, srala, caran biem odryn…”
Sweat ran down the man’s sallow face, as he muttered the ancient words. He squinted at the book he was holding, afraid of breaking the rhythm of his speech. It was an old book, the pages yellowed and crumbling. The text was becoming hard to read, but Rin d’Nekrom was struggling through it anyway, convinced that the result would be worth is labours.

Coming to the end of the piece, his words became more forceful, and ended on a shouted
“lotro, encan, rein!”. He looked up almost fearfully, but as with all his previous efforts, nothing happened. He scanned the room again, looking for any sign of change. There was his table, long and wrought of polished oak. Perhaps the prettiest thing he owned. There was his bookshelf, looking sparse of anything useful. There was his servant Sarr, looking extremely bored – and with good reason; Nekrom had been trying this particular incantation for the past two days, yet nothing had come of it yet. Sarr was convinced it was a fake, though he did not dare say this to his master. Though Nekrom was not the strongest of mages, he could easily make Sarr regret any impudence.

He had been a strong man before they had come to the forest the year before, but he seemed to have shrunk. His tan skin had paled, his muscles which had not been huge, but substantial, had disappeared, leaving him looking very scrawny. His black hair, which had been long and regal, lay lank against his scalp.

“Akken orlon si, grafia cor lolan santa...”
Nekrom had started again. Sarr saw that his master’s fire had burnt down, and bent to throw some more of the purple powder into the flames. Immediately, the fire roared into strength again. Sarr rested back on his haunches, contemplating the significance of the powder. He did not like the purple flames his master needed for this spell – he had been burnt by one, and the wound was still fresh. The small magic he could do without his master noticing could only relieve some of the pain.

Then something changed. Something tangible and electric charged the air in the room. Nekrom carried on chanting, and the pressure kept on building. Sarr looked up; a mist had gathered around his master.

“LOTRO, ENCAN, REIN!”
Finished Nekrom, and the pressure, the charge in the air seemed to shift, to consolidate into one position near the corner of the room. It began as a cloud. A darkness seemed to bond together, to become something with being, something tangible. Then, in an instant, the cloud morphed and formed into a figure, and settled.

The figure was tall, robed and hooded all in black from top to toe. Nothing could be seen of the actual... whatever it was – inside the hood there was simply more darkness and the sleeves covered his arms as the hem of the robe swept the floor. There were figures (letters) of white on the collar and hem of the robe.

A sigh came from the robed figure.

 

Chapter 2


Chapter 2

"A-are you Fyren of Allof?” Stuttered out Nekrom. He had spent the past two days striving after this goal, and months before preparing for it. Now he had managed it, however, he was scared. He had broken one of the Mages Guild’s biggest laws – To not meddle with the dead. Sarr had not actually known his master’s intentions when they had suddenly moved out of the city and into the old forest the year before, but as the months went on he realised that there was something slightly abstract going on.

Nekrom, he knew, had not been a particularly strong magician in the Guild, and he had not been happy with this. He just could not accept that his colleagues excelled and he did not – not that he was ridiculed or treated at all differently, but his pride would just not let it be.

“Fyren of Allof?”, a voice from within the robe rasped, “no no, Mage Rin d’Nekrom. I am far more than whomever you wished to be called back. I fear that your wording of the spell you undertook was slightly... awry.”

“Then who are you? Show your face! I am a Mage of prestige, you will not trifle lightly!”

“I suggest that you let go of your assumption I am a ‘who’, and turn your thoughts more towards the ‘what’ am I. I was nothing, simply a force. I had no conscience, no mind, no knowledge, no being. I was simply, you might say, a means to an end. For example, the force that drags al objects downwards. I was as that, but now your spell has given me life, as it were.”

“I was attempting to call back one of the deceased... the only mistake that jumps to mind would be the difference between ‘dead’, and ‘death’...”

“Ah, you are correct. I am what was ‘death’. When a person’s condition did not satisfy basic vital needs, I simply ended the life.”

Nekrom, pale as he was, seemed to turn an even lighter shade. He was well out of his depth in this, and was desperately trying to revive the situation. He did not know what this figure could do. Was it magical? Could it simply end life upon whim? Could it, perhaps, do what he was attempting in the first place, and return one of the deceased? If he could gain alliance with such a being, the possibilities for him were endless! A gleam awoke in his eye, and his selfish side gave him strength.

“You and I”, he began, “could be going somewhere here. We could be so powerful together. Think of what we could achieve! Power, wealth and the like. It’s ours for the taking. The Mages Guild could do nothing against us! We need to explore what you can do... could you simply prevent death? Could you revive a person from death?”

There was silence from within the robe. The Shadow was musing over the Mage’s suggestions. While he had had no being nor bearing in his previous non-existence, he knew he had been created. The figure that had begun him must have had great power, and now held dominion over the world of its creation. The first earthly feelings came to the Shadow. It wanted that. It wanted power, to control the wills and whims of others. Through this Mage, perhaps he could find a way to challenge this figure, this God. Yes, now the Mage was the means to his own end.

He would follow through with the Mage’s plans, set up control over the land with him, and then use all of its resources as a base for his war against the creator. It was within his grasp, he knew it. Nekrom was a fool, driven by selfish jealousy. He would be very easy to manipulate.

 

Chapter 3


*Two Months Later*

“My Lord! The smoke rises from the small settlement Beechwood, two leagues north of us here in Harlamin. Flames leap from house to house M’Lord, I fear we cannot save them in time, it’s very dry and the fire will move faster than us.” The scout gushed. He was new to the position, and two leagues were the furthest he’d been in his whole life from his home in Harlamin city.

The King sat back deep into his cushioned chair, and was glad of its comfort. He truly hated the throne he was forced to occupy in front of any official visitors. In reality, there were not many people that would ever see the King like this, but it was more than the scout’s meagre job was worth to repeat any of his business with the King to anyone.

“Hmmm... did you manage to find out the cause of this fire? Things like this don’t just happen.” The King was wise and calculating. There had been rumours over the past months of odd goings on in the places farther from his kingdom, but nothing concrete like this.

“The villagers gave reports of people. Wild people, ravaging and pillaging through their homes. They were not warriors, but they were armed. There was no skill in what they did, apparently. Sickly looking they said, like they were ghosts. From what I heard, I might say that it was a trial raid, testing their strengths or some such, M’Lord.”

“Okay. Thank you for your visit. Dismissed.” The King sighed and sat back into his pillows again, confused and slightly annoyed over these sudden raids.

The scout gave the king a deep bow, turned and began to walk to the door. His thoughts turned immediately to his wife and his daughter. Though he had only been away for three days, he had worried for them. Life could be hard in the lower bounds of the city – he was only a scout, and his pay was not brilliant. Inevitably, money was hard to come by. Then the King broke his reverie.

“Euhh, excuse me. What is your name?”

“Rasin, M’Lord. Rasin Specklestone.”

“Scouting... it doesn’t pay very well, does it? No need to answer, I know it’s true. I doubt you were given enough pay to cover the cost of food and the horse rent.”

“Right you are M’Lord, but I made a few pennies, ‘n visiting outside the city ‘n stuff was what I became a scout for your Honour, so I’m happy with it.”

The King smiled at the scout. Then, he reached onto a table nearby, and from a small leather bag, he counted out ten gold coins into a smaller bag, which he held out to Specklestone.

“Oh no, Highness, I couldn’t. I know you’ve got enough to spare but it really wasn’t wort-“

“Take it, Rasin Specklestone, and share it among your family. If I am correct, and I pride myself on doing so, I think two of those will buy enough food for your coming months, and I think if you use the rest wisely, perhaps you can have it multiply. Take it, and use it wisely. I order you.”

“Well thank you M’Lord! I will Sir! Promise I won’t waste this, just you see!”

With that, Rasin Specklestone left all in a hurry, not quite forgetting to add a hasty bow in somewhere. He ran as though he had silver wings all the way back to his small house in the lower bounds, and gathered his wife and his daughter into a wide hug. The money the King had given them truly could stretch a long way, if used wisely. The harsh months ahead had been blown away like a breeze. Rasin offered up a silent prayer of thanks, and a blessing upon the King.

 

Chapter 4

Not a week since his meeting, the King was sat in his meeting hall surrounded by advisors, war chiefs and various people of power within the city. The most prominent of these outsiders was Jarsun, leader of the Mage’s guild. He sat in silence, listening to all that was said. They were all here, of course, because of the so called ‘Paleskins’ raids. A second had taken place the day before, and while the King was very adverse to open combat, let alone war, he would not allow his citizens to be threatened or harmed.

“They camp now in the Forest. Around two hundred there were, most without armour, some with a few scraps. It’s not at all an organised force, but as we have seen, they have brutality in their hearts, and that drives them against villages and peoples. There is an obvious leader, his tent set apart. He is referred to as Lieutenant, which obviously suggests he is not at the top of the command chain.“ The chief scout explained. He had his people watching and tracking the force they had found.

“Right. War-Master, match this force three men to every two. I want this band of troublemakers eradicated. Bring back the Lieutenant alive if possible, and anyone else who seems to be in the know with them. I don’t expect they have any additional forces, but try and ascertain whether or not they are a full force or a splinter branch. Herot, have two scouts departed immediately to keep watch over their force. I want one returned here with a report before the company ride tomorrow morn. Send Rasin Specklestone if you will. I like him.”

With that, Herot the head of the royal espionage quarters stood, gave a swift bow and hurried away. With him went his assistant, whom was struggling to keep up with the babble of orders issuing from his master.

“My.. Lord?”

All attention was drawn back to the table as a more unfamiliar voice was heard. It was the Mage Jarsun. He only attended these high profile meetings, and most often did not give comment, which was why he was not recognised, though very revered.

“Mage Jarsun.. what is it you have for us?”

“If you would, My Lord, I would have two magicians ride with the company tomorrow. I have very vague suspicions, nothing worth anything yet, but I need confirmation. Would this be of accord? They would simply observe, the fighting is purely the work of the knights.”

“Of course Mage Jarsun. If you suspect there may be magic involved in this heresy then your magicians will ride too. As you would assume, I will need a report as soon as possible after your Mages return.”

“That will not be necessary Sir. My people can communicate whatever needs be straight to me from their position.”

“Well then, that settles it. Although, I have not been informed of this before. It could be very useful.. we will have to discuss how we might use this in future.”

“Yes.. My Lord.” Replied Jarsun tightly. He would much prefer magical talents stayed well within his control.

So it was set. The first move of the board by the white forces against the dark. Though it may be cliché, it can easily be said that nobody knew what they were getting in to...

 

Chapter 5

There is something about firelight that sets it apart from any other source of light. It gives a life to things.. inanimate objects for example. Good as it sounded, the trees of the forest looked particularly sinister, with the wind rushing through them, moving their branch-arms, the fire illuminating the shadows, like deep black eyes. If a forest could move, thought Arnos, it would truly be the most destructive army in the world.

Arnos was a member of the third infantry unit in the Kings army. He was in the second row of three, at the leftmost wing of his block unit. He is not the hero of our story, but an insignificant soldier given a few lines. We’ll leave him be.

One hundred out of three hundred soldiers, led by the King’s Lieutenant Master of Arms Farlaan moved silently through the forest. The torchlight came from the Paleskin camp, not 50 metres ahead of them. Past the camp, they could just see the shadows of a group of a hundred more of their number, directly across from them also positioning themselves. When the signal was given, three hundred soldiers would move in in groups of one hundred from three different directions.

Suddenly, a single arrow shot arced into the camp – the signal! – and by the luck of the devil hit an iron helm, left earlier by a drunken marauder. The clang sent up shouts from within the camp, and as the King’s force moved in, a few alert Paleskins were crawling out of their tents. Cries went up, “Ambush! Ambush!” and “To arms!”. Within thirty seconds around 160 of 200 barbaric Paleskins were out with their swords ready and helmets askew.

Cut, slash, and hack, Farlaan scythed his way through Paleskins left and right. A scarred, one eyed face came before him, a single stab put out the other eye, and a bash with his shield sent him to the floor. A ginger haired man, fairly young engaged him, fainted to his sword arm then twisted around and passed at his neck. Farlaan ducked the blow, parried the follow up and bit his sword deep into his opponents shoulder. Down he went, and the Lieutenant put his sword through the man’s gizzard to make sure.

He found himself in open space, and wildly turned to view the battlefield. The purple shield insignia of the King’s forces was dominant, and many pale bodies lay dead or dying, a few purple sashed bodies lay too. A ball of light caught his eye, and he saw the five magicians standing at the edge of the glade throwing magic into the fray. He damn hoped they could aim straight.

A yell sounded, all to close for comfort, and he turned to see the Ginger running towards him, sword held high. His arm swung down, and Farlaan raised his shield.. but too late. The sword sunk into his shoulder, severing muscle and bone. His arm went limp and his shield crashed to the floor. Fortunately, the Ginger seemed just as surprised as he was, and was caught full in the face by a ball of energy. To say that his face was a mess would be a lie – there wasn’t any left to make a mess of.

Running on adrenaline, the pain from his arm was dulled. Farlaan looked up, and saw that the battle was decided. There were a few battles going on, but they were soon decided. The skill of the soldiers always won through in close combat. As he watched, a pale warrior heaved to his feet, sword in hand.. he had a huge gash in his neck, cutting the jugular, yet he took a stumbling run at the nearest purple figure, who was facing away, and would have decapitated him if three simultaneous balls of energy had not reduced him to a bloody mess.

”Go. Quickly. Decapitate all of the Paleskinned warriors. Dark magic is at work here.” It was a Magician who had spoken, and he himself looked as pale as any of the dead. He was truly mortified. It could not be.. he whispered to one of his fellows, who closed his eyes and stood stock still. Farlaan did not know it, but he was sending a report to Mage Jarsun.

The battle was won, but not easily. Many had died, surprised by those who had already been felled. The Lieutenant did not like it, but began relaying orders to strip search the dead, and try to find their commanding officers.

 

Weeeeeeelllllllllllll it's only been three months.. that's not too bad, right? I tried to write, everyday y'know, but it was writer's block. Yeah. Just you believe it. Feedback Goes Here

Gotta post this, then I'll get going on Chapter 6.

 

Sarr did not like The Shadow. It didn't seem to need anything, and that set him on edge. It never slept, never sat down, never changed its robe (which was always pristine, never creased or tarred). The white figures on the robe constantly moved, slowly whirling and twisting in an ongoing conundrum. Sarr hadn't said a word more than necessary, and didn't dare voice his fear to his master. The Shadow would know, he was sure of it. He truly hated that thing.

The Shadow and Nekrom had spent the past few months planning and scheming and raising a small band of warriors to test their strengths. These warriors were the Paleskins that had been marauding through the villages. The Shadow could raise the dead, who seemed to regain all of their past skills, but they had tiny willpower, and were very easy to manipulate. The Shadow had resurrected them, asserted the dominance of himself and his partner in their mines, along with overlying rolls of fear to keep them in place.

The one reason that The Shadow had not ridded itself of the Mage's company almost immediately was that these warriors had no strength, and of course they still had their wounds. Nekrom spent hours everyday healing the warriors and imbuing them with the unnatural strength that allowed them to tear villages apart.

When in battle, The Shadow had to maintain concentration and catch the life force of each person before it departed to the ether plains. If this force that The Shadow found itself able to manipulate was rehoused within it's body quickly enough, it did not need re-imbuing with strength. Nekrom also had to be 'present' in mind, and he would blast the newly reawakened dead with enough energy to keep it going until the battle was over.

"They have a weakness" Shrieked Nekrom, "What are we to do? We live in a forest! We can't craft them helmets"

An hour after the battle was lost, the archaic pair were thinking over their new problem - a warrior could not be reanimated if he had no head. It made sense, really, but that didn't make the setback any more acceptable.

"I believe we have two options" The Shadow mused, "The first, is that we fast-forward our plans and start our campaign in ernest. We will move to take a town and settle there. Here we will produce more extensive armour and start moulding and training our army into regiments. At this point we will need some more Mages to join our cause.

"That will not be a problem. There are many Mages that strongly oppose the Guild's restrictions and have gone into hiding to practice the true arts. Commented Nekrom.

"Indeed. The second option is that we do not reanimate our warriors, and simply run rush attacks, imbuing the men with a suicidal urge to kill. No. That won't work. We'd need massive numbers, and we'd have to re-recruit every time we attacked.

A sense of evil and malice filled the air. In his room, where Sarr was rolling a flame around his fingers, extinguished his flame and shivered. It felt awful. He tried to Imbue warmth into the room, but it did not work.

"Now, it starts." Came the dreaded voice.

 

I REALLY need feedback on this chapter guys. I haven't written in months and I need to know what you guys think of that so I can get back into the groove.