Outcast

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 3 (v.1) - A Power Awakened

Submitted: August 07, 2018

Reads: 63

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Submitted: August 07, 2018

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Darkness shrouded the fallen warrior. All was black as pitch, and an unnatural chill hung in the air. An image of an Elven warrior appeared and spoke to Aglaron. "You fought well, child of Light. Now it is time for you to rest."

 

The Warrior reached for his hand but was stopped by an unseen force. A bright light pierced the shadowy veil and a woman's voice spoke in a deafening tone. "It is not yet his time; this one has a destiny we cannot interfere with. Return him now."

 

The Warrior looked down from the light at the haunched over figure of Aglaron before speaking to him directly. "It appears I have misjudged. It is not yet your time. You are destined for something great, child of Light. We will meet again some day."

 

The Warrior turned away and faded into the mist enshrouding them. Aglaron now lifted his head to the light and spoke. "My family is gone, my city is in ruins, and everything I lived to protect is but ash. What purpose would you return me for?"

 

The light flared and the voice spoke much more loudly, "To continue your duty! The First of your kind yet lives; he must be protected!"

 

Aglaron squinted against the blinding light before replying, "What of my family? Will I yet see them again?"

 

The light softened to a dim but golden glow, "The child survived. He too, will play a part in this world's destiny."

 

Aglaron closed his eyes and let his tears of joy flow freely. Allafain was still alive! The light spoke once more as he wiped away the fresh tears. "You will return to your world and fulfill your task, child of light. When it is done, go and live in peace."

 

Aglaron nodded his understanding. He knew not what or who the Light and the Warrior were, but his heart could sense they were not mortal beings. Something about them gave off a powerful aura. He placed his trust in them that his son would be safe when his task was complete.

 

An agonizing burning erupted throughout his chest. Aglaron screamed in pain as the fire tore through his body. It felt as if every bone was being shattered, one by one. The light blazed fiercely and blinded Aglaron, leaving him agonized and in darkness. Suddenly, a strange voice called to him from the black. It was hazy and indiscernable at first. Aglaron could make out a small slit of light in the distance. The voice grew in strength as he moved towards it. 

 

All of the sudden his senses were overwhelmed. light glowed faintly through thick, grey clouds; sounds of men moving about and yelling back and forth hurt his ears; a thick, copper taste engulfed his tongue; and a god-awful smell invaded his nostrils. Burning flesh and smoke and ash swirled together in a horrific cocktail of smells. Aglaron forcibly retched, catching the attention of someone nearby. The sound of boots thudding against the cobblestone drowned out all else as they approached. A strange voice whispered from beside him before calling for help. "Gods above he's alive! Get help now, he's got a pole through his center!"

 

A face appeared in Aglaron's vision. It was an Elf of some kind, with thick facial hair and a patch of cloth over one eye. He spoke softly to him while others nearby rushed about for supplies to help free his body from the pole. "It's a miracle you're alive brother, but you're not saved yet. We still have to get you off this cart."

 

Several other Elves appeared and surrounded Aglaron while the first instructed them. "Grab his arms and legs and lift sharp, we'll have to seal that quickly if he's gonna survive."

 

He looked back at Aglaron and fit a small wooden dowel between his jaws, "This is gonna hurt like hell so bite down on this. I'll apologize in advance but you're not gonna enjoy this."

 

They all grabbed hold of his limbs and on their leader's command, wrenched him free of the pole. Aglaron let out a wail so loud it tore his throat. The pain he endured was indescribable and horrific. His vision once more faded to black as a robed figure knelt beside him and began an incantation. The voice of the one-eyed Elf was his last memory. "Fight for your life. I know you can make it..."

 

Time passed in indiscernable lengths. Aglaron found himself awakening for brief periods in excrutiating pain only to pass out and fade back into the darkness. Every breath, every blink of his eyes, every beat of his heart was a struggle. The stranger's mage had done all they could to heal the fatal wound, but the mana of Drudach was weakened after the sorcerer had corrupted the seat of power. Aglaron was forced to heal naturally over a period of many months. 

 

The Elves who'd found him had left the city soon after. The pervasive stench of death had hung heavy in the air and they feared the return of the traitors. They turned out to be a crew of Seafarers that had been transporting goods across the sea when they caught sight of smoke over the capital. When Aglaron regained some of his strength he inquired to the whereabouts of any survivors. The captain, Galadon, was sorrowful in telling that no Elves were found within or without the great city. Aglaron wept for many days at the loss of so many of his kin. Though he trusted the captain's word, Aglaron felt in his heart that his son had survived.

 

The sun had climbed high in the air before Aglaron awoke. He stepped out of the Captain's Quarters and found the crew going about business as usual. Galadon was standing above him at the helm speaking to his First Mate. Aglaron clambered up the steps and Galadon greeted him with a grim smile. "How fares the healing friend?"

 

Aglaron winced slightly as he unwrapped the bandage to reveal a fully healed wound. The captain clapped in relief before embracing his fellow Elf. Aglaron, while happy to be recovered, was concerned with other matters. Galadon could read his face and knew the warrior was determined to seek out his missing son. "Aglaron, I know nothing I tell you will sway you from your task. There is something I want to show you, however."

 

The two Elves turned away from the beautiful afternoon sky hanging above the calm seas and towards Drudach. Aglaron was at a loss for words. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight before his eyes. It was as if the entire continent was burning. A tower of smoke as many miles long as the island itself climbed ever higher into the heavens. The Elf was entranced by the enormity of the destruction. His eyes scanned the shores furiously in hopes of seeing ships flee harbors or even rowboats of refugees frantically pushing out to sea, but the waters were empty. It seemed as if even the marine life had vanished. The water was still and silent, unnervingly so.

 

Galadon placed a hand on his friend's shoulder before explaining what had been happening while he was recovering. "It's gone, Aglaron. It's all gone. We've sailed to every harbor on Drudach and its the same in every city; burned to the ground and mountains of bodies littering the streets. I'm so sorry."

 

Tears streamed from his eyes as he watched that pillar climb ever higher. Images of his family, his friends, his home, all flashed through his mind. A deep rage built inside the Elven warrior. It was a rage so pure it hurt. Aglaron collapsed to his knees screaming as loud as his torn throat would permit. The crew of the ship stopped their work and watched in pity as the warrior broke down. Their hearts ached in sorrow for the man, he had come so far to be beaten in a war he never got a chance to fight.


© Copyright 2019 Sullivan Williams. All rights reserved.

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