Hyrlant: The Aristocracy

A low rumbling issued from the two large, oak doors as they hesitantly swung open. The ancient grumbling of the wood momentarily masked the bouts of thunder shaking the keep’s stone walls. Each boom of the storm knocked plates off tables in the mess hall, sullied paintings and objects of art as they fell from their places; not to mention spooked the brule in the mud-drenched stables outside. Most of the patrols were inside the barracks or keep this day, pampering themselves while hiding from the malevolent weather.

It was not always so, reflected Maelock. Before the prince was inaugurated as head of command in the town of Westwinds, the city, then only a small town, was still sweeping up the ravages of war and celebrating its new independence. Now, with no one left to fight, the aristocracy had acquired a distinct lassitude, becoming accustomed as the years went by to having their way; with no one left to deny them their desires. Maelock scoffed. He had been a soldier for the Kingdom of Jael for almost 30 years now. He had served while Westwinds was still under military command, and his sword was still being put to use back then; unlike now where the only action his steel saw was hunting down petty thieves.

Maelock stood after passing through the massive doors and saluted the prince, rigid at attention. Despite his profound dislike of the boy, he prided himself on never showing any sign of emotion in front of those who did not deserve such a sentiment. The prince waved a hand lazily in Maelock’s direction signaling him to approach the lavish throne, and Maelock heard the two doormen grunt as they pushed the doors closed once more. His metal armor, bearing the insignia of the SageBlades, the eldest and more revered group of soldiers in the kingdom of which he was now the Commander, clinked loudly despite the thunderous tantrum that continued outside the keep’s walls. His thick leather boots, which normally scuffed across the rough stone floors of the keep, were now quieted by the expensive, lush purple carpet that lined the prince’s throne room. Only twice before had Maelock been summoned to the throne room, once when the High Commander, now dead, had asked for Maelock’s respected opinion on the situation at the front; the other being a mistake; the prince meaning to have summoned a servant whose name Maelock shared.

As he approached the throne, Maelock overheard some of the whispered conversation the prince was having with an aged advisor. The advisor, whose name was Delin Strengmon, was a relic of the wars, once a respected councilman to the Commander, now little more than a play-thing for the prince. Maelock sharpened his senses, still accustomed to overhearing hushed conversations about enemy positions or current munitions. Now, he mused, they were discussing the attire the prince planned on donning for that night’s banquet. Maelock noted the wearied look in the elderly advisor’s eyes; unable to discern if it came from the years of war or toting to the prince’s every wish. As Maelock leaned down on one knee and bowed his head, he was almost sure he caught a look of relief on the old man’s face, as he was dismissed by the prince at that moment.

“Commander, er..what was your name again?”

Maelock, while never having a prolonged audience with the prince, knew his childish games and refused to play along. “Maelock, my liege.”

“Maelock, yes. Do you know why I have called upon you Commander?”

“You wish to mount an expedition, milord.”

“Precisely,” the prince cooed, speaking softly and quite irritatingly to Maelock’s ears. “I understand you were once one of the finest warriors my father had.” The prince studied the Commander’s body contemplatively. “I wonder, can you still hold that big sword of yours?”
Maelock’s face reddened slightly, ‘Why don’t you draw your blade and we shall see?’ he thought. Not allowing the prince to best him, however, he simply replied, “Aye Prince Jess, my sword arm remains quite capable.”

Prince Jess chuckled softly and replied, “Stand, SageBlade, and let me see your aptitude in its entirety.”

Maelock obeyed and stood, staring straight over the throne, to avoid the boy’s mocking gaze. Had the two been standing alongside one another, the 47 year old Commander easily dwarfed the prince by more than a foot. As it was, however, the elder had no power over the youngling, status-wise anyway.

The prince’s ridiculous, obtuse gaze seemed to absorb Maelock in his entirety. The boy appeared to be a fool to anyone unaware, but Maelock knew the boy possessed a certain intellect, albeit fueled by subterfuge; else the King would not have placed him in command of the western-most town of the Jael Kingdom.

The prince, apparently satisfied with what he saw, suddenly took on a martial tone, slightly surprising Maelock. “You will lead a contingent of men north into the Stormlands. Our scouts have reported that Hojakin spies have been using the shores near there as a staging area for attacks on our fair city.”

Maelock started; had he heard the royal runt correctly? The Stormlands, as the name implied, was a stretch of mountains, valleys and dense forest some 100 miles north of Westwinds. The weather in the treacherous area had become decidedly violent and dangerous over the last few years. Nobody knew the cause, but many priests speculated that the one, True God was angry at the heathens and heretics who believed in other deities, and therefore hurled great bolts of lightning to the earth, as well as shook the mountains and whipped the winds into a writing fury. The Everflow River, to which Westwinds owed its existence, had in blatant irony dried up around the nascent appearance of the great storms, and now was nothing but a great, dry trench that marred the landscape east of Westwinds.

Maelock happened to know that while he was stationed temporarily in the larger city of Branchwick, Prince Jess had sent a dozen patrols north to discover the cause of the dried-up river; assuming the Stormlands were to blame. Maelock suspected, quite onerously, that the prince’s current mission had the same intentions. Normally, the SageBlade pondered, the prince would not bat an eye at the reduced flow of goods and riches that arrived along the Everflow from the northern town of Whisp; he would simply collect more taxes, or lower his subordinates’ wages to maintain his avaricious lust for valuables and silver. The port town of Whisp, however, fished the finest Eninfish, and the prince could apparently find no replacement to satiate his need for the stuff. Quite pompously, he had sacrificed several of his own soldiers to please his palate; still to no avail.

The Commander’s normally placid features finally betrayed his increasing anger. Prince Jess noticed immediately and said, quite sternly, “I am confident you will not fail as the other soldiers have. I fear the worst; they have been slaughtered by our enemies,” he added in what Maelock thought was a mocking tone.

Maelock, no longer content in silence, finally spoke. “My liege, our troops patrol the western shores incessantly, the chance a group of enemy spies slipped past them, much less plans on surviving in those harsh lands…”

The prince waved a hand annoyingly, as if Maelock were an infant bothering him with his wailing. “The Hojakin Empire’s soldiers are fast of body and mind, and could easily evade our lazed forces.”

Maelock knew that to be true. While the Jael Kingdom had pushed the Hojakin Empire off the mainland and forced them onto the western islands, their army was ever vigilant and ready to do battle; the Jael soldiers had become content and lazy, like over-fed dogs. Maelock was disgusted by the young soldiers’ attitude; most of them had never seen war, and assumed they were skilled warriors simply because the Kingdom’s troops vastly outnumbered the Empire’s. However, as Maelock knew, the fact the Empire was still standing was a strong indication that their forces, in addition to their tactics, were far superior to the King’s soldiers. The mission was folly, Maelock knew, but at least he could escape the foolish prince, for a time.

The prince’s advisor Delin returned, informing the prince it was time to begin preparations for the banquet that eve. Prince Jess nodded in understanding then stood up without even glancing at Maelock as he walked off, his mind obviously on the feast already, and muttered, “You shall depart tomorrow at first light. You are dismissed.”

The prince missed the incredulous look on Maelock’s face as he exited through the back of the chamber leaving the Commander and the two door sentries alone in the throne room. Having his men ready by sunrise was not an issue; however given the mission he knew he faced some opposition. Maelock knew his men, most of them veterans of the Great War themselves, respected him highly and held the prince in little regard. But as the months passed, and the SageBlades aged, the contrived wisdom of the prince confounded some, and enraged others. Like himself, Maelock suspected, they longed to return to the warrior’s life before settling down, to make a name for themselves instead of catching cutpurses and patrolling walls with no enemies in sight.

As Maelock exited the throne room through the massive doors he thought, ‘Maybe we should invite the spies here, and rid us of this nuisance we call a leader.’ He shook his head, shaking the traitorous thoughts from his mind.

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Nelu draft

“Well, there were my great-great grandparents, my great grandparents, my grandparents, my parents, and then your mother and me. So Nelu, you can trace your existence here in Shtele five generations back. Beyond that, we have no books or any records whatsoever of our family’s history or the town’s either for that matter.”

Nelu brushed a dusty blond strand of hair from his eyes and looked down at his father’s thick, used leather traveling boots. He had been lecturing Nelu the past two weeks about their family’s past, the importance of continuing the family’s “rich enterprise” of the trade-craft and merchant know-how, and Nelu had finally realized why. His birthday was coming up; he would be 16, the age when the Shtele Swiztan trained all their villagers to fight and follow in their family’s footsteps. Nelu was very unenthused about that fact; he never saw any good come from bloodshed, especially in a village as defenseless as Shtele. What was worse however, was that Nelu had absolutely no interest in “unleashing his inner merchant” and spending his life like his parents: riding in caravans from town to town their entire lives, just making enough money to feed Nelu and his little sister, and then die. There has to be more, he pondered, out there in the world. Outside the Cluster where no one from his village had yet explored, not while staying alive, anyway.

His father snapped him out of his consternation, “Nelu! Are you even listening?” He sighed, but followed with a throaty chuckle. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

“You do?” Nelu responded quizzically.

“Well of course! When I was your age, just about to turn 16, I remember thinking about how eager I was to become like my father. To follow his path, but swath a string of accomplishments that even he couldn’t achieve, to become to best damn merchant in the Cluster!” His father looked up proudly at the sky, as if recalling a time long past, a small tear of joy forming in his eye.

Nelu looked up at him incredulously. “Right, pops. It’s like you can read minds.” He knew how important all of this was to his father, and he didn’t want to disappoint him.

A small-framed farmer walked up to the fire pit where Nelu and his father were sitting. “Hey there, Dr. Blante. Just saw little Khet running into town with Sarah, looks like they’re back from Micres.”

Dr. Blante stood up and brushed some dirt off his rear. “Thanks Kent. By the way, how is Hamie’s shoulder?”

“Just fine, doctor. She’s doin just fine, thanks for askin.” Kent gave Nelu and the doctor a friendly wave, then spun on his heel and returned to his hut.

Khet marched up to her big brother triumphantly, her bright blond hair swinging madly about her head. “Guess what Nelu. WE got to eat Ketzel eggs today at Micres.” She folded her arms, waiting for Nelu to lower on one knee and beg her for leftovers.

Nelu walked past her towards his mother, shaking his head slightly. “Hey mom, have a good run today?”

His mother wiped some sweat off her brow, looking out across the dry plains at the setting sun. “Yeah, it wasn’t bad. Made it back before sunset this time.”

Dr. Blante took his wife’s arm and said, “C’mon honey, I got a surprise for you back at the house.”

As their parents, walked off, Nelu and Khet duteously began making a fire in the pit at their feet. It was the Blante family’s week to be firestarters, and their parents had left their kids in charge.

Prologue

Many good tales begin at the end, retelling the events which occur leading up to a certain, often climactic point in time for a character or characters. This is done perhaps to involve the reader of the story in the protagonist's adventures even before the person's identity is developed. Or maybe to demonstrate that the ending of some tales is not always the most important part of the story.

I have discovered such a tale, that few have heard and even less would believe. A time so long past, most history books and tomes of knowledge only scratch the surface of its existence. I am going to tell you of an ordinary boy, who led an extraordinary life, or lives, I should say.

A boy named,

Pryndalius...

Prynn 1.5 (Part 1)

Prynn spent the next eight weeks strapped to the table in the triangular operating room. Ironically, these eight weeks were forever missing from his memory. But it was just as well. Had Prynn been conscious, he would be experiencing perpetual pain and discomfort.

On the ninth week, Dunston woke up Prynn and placed him in a lavishly-furnished bedroom; Prynn needed a few days to completely regain consciousness.

Dunston worked with Prynn over the next couple months, refining the spells he had remembered, and re-teaching him the ones he had not. As far as Dunston could tell, his operation had been a complete success. Even though Prynn kept to himself, Dunston observed that Prynn had regained a considerable amount of power. What concerned him however, was that as the days passed, Prynn´s visage seemed to darken, and his mood became more bitter. After detecting some evil within him, Dunston figured Prynn had led a very dark life, full of pain and misdeeds.

Dunston entertained thoughts of teaching the memory-recovery operation to Prynn, but he felt Prynn would be not able to complete the process on Dunston. Or perhaps more accurately, would have no reason to do so. Accordingly, he decided to place Prynn under his tutelage, hoping to inwardly change the man and his morals. Either way, Dunston saw to it that Prynn would never hurt a good creature again.

***

On the last night he was to remain with Dunston before venturing to the outside world, Prynn sat in his bedroom deep in thought. He recalled all his days up to the last time he was trapped in a sandbox. He suspected his memories went back further than this, but Dunston´s operation had only allowed him to recall this much. "Better than nothing," thought Prynn.

He replayed everything in his head from meeting his first companion Andrew to the last moments when Quercus was slain. He grinned darkly as he remembered his Samurai companion´s sword plunging deeply into the god´s flesh.

Ashitaka. My long-time partner. As a flood of visions from the past invaded his mind, Prynn experienced a peculiar emotion he had never felt before. "What is this awful feeling?" thought the wizard. "Why do I desire to see that do-gooder? Surely something has afflicted my heart, as if it has been pricked by a knife." Prynn suffered these feelings as he recalled memories of other companions: Falaren, Akkaron and even the gnome Grizzo.

Prynn soon drifted off to sleep, replaying his life through his dreams as he knew it up until this day.

***

In the early morning, Dunston sent off Prynn with little in the way of goodbyes.

The plump man gave Prynn a backpack with rations, some gold, and a small jewel.

"I will be watching you through this bauble, so we will remain connected. I don´t like having to split up, but I fear the excessive amount of magic I used during the operation has tipped off Amundi´s servants to my whereabouts. We have been lucky, but it is only a matter of time. I would tell you where to go and what to do, but from what I gather you are quite capable of caring for yourself."

Dunston then handed Prynn a longsword with a sheath. "Take this. You´ll need it. And remember Prynn: No magic!" And with that, Dunston tapped Prynn on the shoulder, and he found himself outside once more. He was standing again in a dark alley, only this time he was wearing luxurious form-fitting black pants and a longshirt instead of a tattered, filthy robe. He carried the sword in its sheath on his belt, his narrow leather backpack, and a new spellbook in his stomach which was given to him by Dunston.

Prynn sauntered out into the street, this time with a confidence evident in his gate. Dunston had been right about one thing: Prynn knew how to take care of himself. He spent the day examining various parts of Caja City, searching for a locale in which to construct a fortress. He sensed danger on the horizon, and his fortified homes of the past had kept him relatively safe from his enemies, which were numerous. After a few hours of disappointment, he was most pleased with his discovery. A quarry of strong rock next to a field just on the outskirts of town would provide suitable material with which to build a tower. The only problem was, the tower needed to be instantly securable once he cast the spell, which was beyond his power. He thought of turning to Dunston for help with the jewel, but immediately dismissed the idea for its foolishness; Dunston had separated them for a reason.

Prynn concluded he would need to set up adequate defenses around the area before building the tower. As he thought of ways to protect his project best, he heard a twig snap behind him. Prynn spun around instinctively, and found himself staring into the bright blue eyes of Amundi not ten feet away. It looked like Amundi, but Prynn had been in the god´s presence before. He guessed that his person was some kind of duplicate.

Prynn sneered at the man, "You are not him."

The man grinned, "You are quick. No, my dear Prynn. I am but a likeness of the Great Master, sent here by him to destroy you."

Prynn laughed darkly. "I know he does not wish me dead. Not yet. Try again."

The duplicate´s grin was instantly replaced with a scowl, but not as practiced as Prynn´s. "So, you have met him. I wonder, did he indulge you of the other experiments he performed on you while he was doing the 'operation?'

Prynn lowered his brows. "What experiments?"

The man laughed boomingly, his bright blue eyes piercing Prynn´s. "Oh? Did he not tell you about the device he buried deep within your head? A pity, really. Perhaps you thought he could be trusted."

"You lie."

The duplicate then unsheathed an impossibly long broadsword, measuring out to the length of two men and just as wide. "There has been a change of plans. I am here to kill you; Amundi requires you no longer."

Prynn readied himself. "We shall see who is to die this day."

As the men sized up one another, a light wind blew a whirlwind of leaves between them. The moment the leaves had passed, the duplicate sprang into action.

The warrior charged Prynn screaming, holding his sword above his head and to the side; as if the giant weapon was made of paper. The wizard stood still, allowing the man to get very close. When he began to swing his sword in a large arc, he cut through nothing but air. Prynn had vanished. Guessing that the wizard had teleported behind him, the warrior swung his sword in a perfect circle; but hit nothing. Looking around anxiously and confused, the man was completely unprepared. "You have fled like a coward, mage!"

"Guess again," uttered Prynn, as he fell from the sky with his longsword pointed at the warrior´s skull. The wizard´s sword struck the top of the warrior´s head directly while his boots planted painfully in his shoulders. To Prynn´s surprise, however, his sword did not penetrate, it merely chipped off a piece of flesh, as if the duplicate´s head was made of solid stone. Prynn had little time to react as the warrior shifted his weight to one foot, grabbed Prynn´s ankle and hurled him with impressive strength nearly 100 feet. Prynn cast a spell in mid-air, allowing him to land gently on his feet like a cat.

Prynn looked at the duplicate´s face; it had begun to crack all over, and pieces of it were falling off.

"What the hell," whispered Prynn as he sheathed his longsword.

The casing fell completely off of the duplicate´s face, revealing another strikingly similar face underneath. The Amundi replica cackled uproariously. "Nice trick wizard, but it will not save your life."

Prynn showed no fear as he replied. "I know you were not sent to kill me. I also know this world was created because of me."

The duplicate sneered. "Is that what 'Dunston' told you? What a fool that man is. He spoke correctly about this sandbox´s purpose, but there is much he did not fill you in on." He let his gargantuan sword fall to the dirt, apparently it did become tiresome after a time. Prynn noted the advantage as the warrior continued.

"Do you honestly believe a servant of Amundi would ever assist you selflessly?"

Prynn started. "What do you mean?"

"Dunston has deceived you from the day you met him," the duplicate said, smiling devilishly. "I must admit that I am surprised by your naivety. Amundi spoke of you so highly."

Prynn laughed. "You are the liar, now. By the way, if you are in fact working alongside Dunston, how is it that you are searching for his dwelling?"

The duplicate´s face contorted slightly, "What are you talking about? Of course we know where..."

Prynn interrupted the man, "You are a terrible liar. When I encountered Dunston, there was an invisible person stalking me. In a city with prohibited magic use and few wizards, the hunter was obviously a servant of your master. If he had known where Dunston lives, he would not have attacked me so determinately."

The duplicate appeared crestfallen. After a few moments his face flushed red with a mixture of embarressment and anger and he screamed at Prynn. "Enough talk! The fact remains, your life is no longer a necessity to Him, and keep in mind that there are worse things than death!"

Prynn smiled faintly at the expression; he had said it to many of his enemies in the past, most of which are now dead.

"Amundi can use your newfound power with or without your body, so I am going to take it away from you. Now, if our pleasant chat is finished, I would like to take your head."

The warrior heaved his sword in the air with an audible grunt, and sped towards Prynn, impossibly fast this time. The wizard suspected the man was tapping into an unseen force for enhanced strength and speed, and he was determined to sever that connection.

***