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http://jseatonblog.tumblr.com/post/96539645170/inside-the-forest-part-ii-by-jjcanvas

Twelve years is a long time to be gone, to be imprisoned.
Twelve years since he'd seen his home, twelve years since the raid.
Jaq-ci knew it would not be a heart-felt reunion. It'd had been  his bull-bullheadedness that had gotten him captured in the first place.
If only his imprisonment had been the extent of the consequences of his actions. But they weren't.
His anger had brought the wrath of a great and powerful army upon the innocent people of his woodland village. His pride was as much to blame for the death and suffering that followed the attack by the Hatar as any invading army.
And after twelve years of punishing him for his crimes against them, the Hatar had sent him home to face the rest of his sentence.
The timing of his release was not coincidental. It was only after Jaq-ci had accepted his role in the invasion that the Hatar had let him go.
"I was young." Jaq-ci would say. "Full of pride, and ambition. But I didn't destroy my own homeland."
But he'd had as much a hand in it as the Hatar. It was Jaq-ci who'd attacked the Hatar's trade caravans over an imagined slight on his fiance. It was Jaq-ci who'd incited civic pride and moral superiority to whip his compatriots into a frenzy, all so they would help him gain a measure of revenge.
In the end, Jaq-ci had learned there hadn't even been an incident. He'd merely misheard a few words from a language he didn't fully understand in the first place. But the pride and vanity of youth hadn't allowed him to make that determination, and his ambition to prove himself worthy had  barred him from acknowledging even a simple mistake.
And the villagers whom he'd so desired so much respect and admiration had payed for that pride, many with their very lives.
He'd thought about running. The world was a big place, after all.
That idea was cast aside. This was his home, even if no one wanted him there.
And so Jaq-ci returned to Tres-Oakes, village of his birth.
He wasn't killed outright upon his return, though that sentiment did run through the village throughout his life. But he was an outcast, shunned by most, and constantly reminded of the mistakes of his youth by the yawning chasm of emptiness left by the death of his beloved, who'd died not at the hands of the enemy, nor her own people, but at her own.
Jaq-ci's life did serve one positive purpose however, as a lesson in humility for generations to come.

Escape

Cold wind pushed into the room as Dale forced the frozen window open; not an easy task holding a gun. But he wasn't

about to put the weapon down, no sir.

Footsteps thudded behind him. He knew what was approaching, and it terrified him. Struggling out the window, Dale fell into a foot of soft snow.

The heavy footfalls subsided.

 Dale’s heart fell into his stomach. He had nowhere to go. Miles around showed nothing but a peaceful white landscape that was actually anything but peaceful.

Having no choice, Dale turned around to try his luck in any random direction. Anything was better than going back into the building, and certain death.

Then the heart that had fallen into his stomach dropped into his shoes.

She was there, awaiting him like a coquettish young lover, with no inhibitions, no shame, and no clothes.

Suddenly a voice, the voice that had guided him through the dangers inside, rose inside his mind.

“Bullets are now ineffective.”

Dale dropped the gun as the svelte young woman took seductive steps toward him, hips swaying back and forth in a mesmerizing pattern. Only one thing left to try.

Dale shot forward, took her in his arms and kissed her like it was their last day on earth.

It wasn't. Because he meant that kiss, meant it because at one time she had been his true love, before her body had been invaded. His kiss, and his love, freed them both from the tyranny of possession.

Patience

Despite the howling wind’s best effort, Dorian stood firm upon the green grass, looking out over the cliffs to the wild, reckless ocean.  She awaited her love’s return.

Long had he been gone; absent from her life. She clung to him in her heart though, and the belief that he would someday return.

Years she had spent on these cliffs, hoping, praying.

“You asked for it, you know.”

Em’s brusque voice cut through the wind, as though the breeze itself were scared of Dorian’s imposing sister.

“Falling in love with that uncouth sailor.” Em continued. “Now you come up here , so everyone can see you and feel sorry for the poor seaman’s bride.”

Dorian blinked, careful not to let her hostile sibling see the motion. Em wasn’t concerned with her sister’s well-being, she was jealous the younger woman had found love, where Em herself was lonely, and bitter.

It needn’t have been that way. Em was beautiful, passionate, and charming in her own way. But fate had taken her chosen from her at an early age. Instead of accepting what happened and moving on, Em had instead become resentful, and angry. Now she wanted her sister to join her in that misery.

But Dorian held on to love, held on to hope.

“I wish you could see things differently, Em. Life is not against you, and neither is anyone else. If you could just…”

“Bah.” Em waved off Dorian’s reply and departed.

Dorian turned to await her true love.

To the End?

His armor should have chafed. It used too, back during a time when things were simpler, clearer.

Without realizing it, Stavross had actually gotten used to the discomfort. Now that it was gone, an ironic sense of melancholy had settled over his soul. The oddly uncomfortable had become the strangely consoling.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Myrna could read his mind. A trait in exceptional women, he’d noticed. Stav’s mother had always seemed to know what he was thinking, and she was exceptional indeed. Until he met Myrna, Stavross had chalked it up to matronly wisdom.

“I don’t want to be used to it,” Stavross replied. “I just want to go home.”

Stav peered out over the balcony to wide green fields behind a rocky chain of hills.

Myrna drew up beside him.

“I know.”

“But this is home now, isn’t it?” Stavross asked.

Myra’s silence answered quite succinctly.

Heavy weights of a king’s burden pulled his shoulders down.

“We are the chosen ones.” Stavross stated flatly, in a statement of neither question or fact. “Aren’t we?”

After a moment of reflection on the landscape around them, Stavross turned to his love. Deep eyes conveyed the true sorrow in his mind, and the devotion of his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Myrna replied, seeing in his eyes the depth of his emotions. “I’m still glad to be with you.”

Stav’s eyes went wide.

“Really? Even if it is the end?”

“Even if it’s the very end, my love.”

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Lessons

Endemic wastelands stretched across a vast sea of desolation, filling the mind’s eye with a scene of apocalyptic proportions. Nothing lay here now save dissolute souls of the defeated, and the dust of a thousand civilizations.

Across a barren world, the landscape remained the same. Oceans were dry, mountains toppled, lakes arid; nothing lived.

Behold a brown dot in the night sky to mark the grave of a once-vibrant world in a dying universe.

Two stood amidst the rubble. Red eyes peered across the handiwork of those who’d come before. To them this bare, inhospitable landscape was a lecture, a mere lesson on a blackboard.

Metallic voices debated the merits of the day’s session.

“It seems such a waste.”

“Perhaps.” said another, reverberating deeper into the dusk of evening. “If there were no more worlds. Yet, this is not the case.”

“Still, there could have been much potential here, if it were only seen and recognized.”

A long pause emphasized the impudence of that bold statement.

“When this world was pristine, I saw it with my own eyes. I saw the arrogant creatures who pretended to rule. And I say to you now, there was no potential here.”

And yet the student continued to protest.

“And yet, I see no signs of our own progress in this forsaken wasteland.”

“No, you do not.” answered the instructor. “See the signs of our victory.”

And with those words, the day's lesson was concluded.

Written by:

The Death Maze

http://fantasyart101.tumblr.com/post/96023481539/gallantgambler-brandon-liao

Cold cave water dripped down, echoing across the walls of the great cavern. 

The expedition was in trouble, and they knew it. They were lost.

Back and forth they'd gone, searching for the way out in the way they'd come in. It had to be there, how else had they gotten down here?

The cave seemed to want them inside. Walls would shift behind their backs, and sometimes right before their eyes, if only one of them were watching. Of course, this simply made the explorers all the more panicked.
Hours became days, and the urgency grew higher. Their shouts became louder, for help, at each other. How would they escape?
A sinister presence permeated the group, of this they were now certain. Huddled, starving, cringing in a corner without the strength to move, the dark force crept closer and closer. One by one, the explorers closed their eyes and never opened them again.
There did they lay until a century later, when another curious group fell into the grip of Turnor Cave, or as the ancients called it, the Death Maze.

Her Long Journey

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/92438659682/norse-nature-spirit-the-passage-by

Her long journey had finally led here. 

The pristine valley spread out below. Aira stood, looking out across the dense landscape. 

Everything she'd heard about the valley was true. A graceful waterfall flowed down out of sight. Birds on a wing flew above, soaring into a darkening sky.

Here the road led, here the path ended. In she must go.

For here lay her true calling, within she would find her destiny. A destiny of love, knowledge, and ultimate betrayal.

For all power carries with it such perils. Men covet power above all else, and that which Aira sought was the ultimate power and as such, held the ultimate risk.

But the danger would be worth the price. After all, what else had she too lose? Already she'd been through love and loss, seen beauty and brutality, felt the graceful touch of passion, and the powerful sting of violence.

Her pysche already scarred, why then shouldn't she have the power as well? At least with the power in hand, she could bring the hammer of justice to those who needed it, deserved it. 

And bring it she would.

Aira spent ten years in the Noth Cave, secreted away from the world, learning the secrets of magical arts from creatures long thought extinct from the world.

And when she returned, she brought not only justice, but a wreaking vengeance that knew no bounds, no bounds at all.

Of the Hunter

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/92439063697

In a sunlit cove, upon the bones of ancient sentinels, stands the Hunter

Stalking his prey, waiting for the moment to strike

He walks in shadows, lurks in the night, the dark is his ally

None hear him save those he wishes, none see him save those he targets, none live save those he misses

And the Hunter, never misses

Always with an arrow ready does he stand

Always with a steady arm does he pull

Always with a keen eye does he aim

Always do his foes fall

The swamp is his domain, the trees are his castle, the shadows are his battlements

Creatures of the morass, alligators, snakes, lizards and spiders

These are his friends, his allies, his army

They stand at his command, attack on his orders, kill at his whim

Who knows his name? None, for no one enters the swamp and lives

Who knows what he really is, what he really stands for? Who knows, of the Hunter?

The Swamp of Lost Souls

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/92439073742/mr-dreamscape

"This is just downright spooky."

"Ya, for sure." A squeaky voice agreed. "Why do we have to go in here anyway?"

Los rolled his eyes. They'd gone over this ad nauseum before leaving the inn.

"Because," their tall leader remarked angrily, "the only cure for the Virox plague is in this swamp."
"Says who?" the first voice asked, a deep, raspy voice belonging to the only real warrior in the group, and he wasn't much of one at all.

"Says me." Los answered. "You don't need to know where all my information comes from. You do know you're getting paid, and that should be enough."

"You didn't say nothin' about goin' into no swamp." Rath replied in his heavy accent. Rath talked like he was always out of breath. It didn't inspire the greatest confidence in his fighting abilities.

"Yea." Ensil replied, his high voice seeming to carry across the entire swamp. 

"Perhaps not," Los replied. "but I did say it might be dangerous. But then again, it might not be. After all, we haven't run into anything scary yet, have we?"

Neither of Los' hired hands answered, merely trying to peer through the thick mist of the swamp.

The trio pushed on through the twisted maze of mire and trees and moss, looking for an old woman's shack. An old woman who was reputed to know anything and everything about sickness, diseases and plagues. 

Their arguments echoed out through the swamp, and to this day it is said they can be heard shouting at one another. For the brave expedition of three never emerged from the Swamp of Lost Souls, though they did earn the bog its eerie nickname.

from Falls a Dark Shadow

Caerish leaned in to Lenar as the group neared the outpost. Tynaul heard the lord whispering to the nervous young man.

“Just keep calm, my friend. Everything will be fine.”

 Tynaul could just see the young man’s face turning white as they approached the guards at the entrance to the outpost. Tynaul felt a sharp prick in his back, reminding him that Kint was just a push away from ending his life should he deviate from the plan. Tynaul began to summon the power he’d called upon the night before in his meditation.

The guards viewed the newcomers with a mix of acknowledgment and suspicion. Obviously, they wouldn’t know any of them, but these men were wearing Arcanian uniforms, and in a camp of a thousand men, it was only natural to forget some faces. The guards lowered spears as the group approached.

“Who goes there?”

“Name’s Cavendish, you big ox.” Caerish shouted. “We were out on patrol and caught us a rebel spy. Brought him right back here straight away, we did. Now let us in, we’re tired and we want to get rid of this baggage and put our feet up.”

Suddenly a larger man in a more elaborate set of armor appeared from behind the gate. Tynaul knew Sargeant Graitis on sight, and his entire plan hinged on Graitis recognizing him as well. Tynaul called on his power as Graitis approached the group. Tynaul leaned back and touched the tip of Kint’s sword, quietly uttering the arcane words of a paralyzing spell.

Graitis stood in front of Caerish, a suspicious scowl on his face.

“So where did you capture this fool, anyway? Was he by himself?”

Caerish was about to respond to Graitis in the answers he’d prepared, when the sergeant’s attention was suddenly torn away.  Caerish heard footsteps behind him. A familiar young voice called out in a firm authority, to which Caerish merely closed his eyes in acquiescence.

Poor Lenar was practically shaking in fear.

Tynaul pushed past the startled lord and the terrified young man, rubbing his wrists where the ropes were now falling off his arms. Tynaul stood in front of Graitis just long enough for the sergeant to begin to comprehend just who he was and what was going on.

“Sargeant Graitis, I know you remember me, but let’s just make this official. I am Commander Tynaul Lysis. By His Imperial Majesty’s order I hereby take command of this outpost.” Tynaul took a step forward, looking the tall, brusque sergeant straight in the eye, and saw exactly the moment when Graitis understood the truth. Graitis took a step back, bowed slightly, and then saluted his superior officer in the cross-shoulder Arcanian way.

“These men behind me are the rebel leaders.” Tynaul continued. “Take them into custody immediately. You.” Tynaul pointed to the guard on Graitis’ left side. “Take me to the quartermaster, then to the command tent. Immediately.”

A long, anxious hush fell over the company for a moment as the situation sank in to each and every person present. Suddenly Graitis looked around at his men in frustration.

“Well, don’t just stand there like dung-piles,” he yelled, “get moving!”

More guards appeared from behind the massive sergeant holding chains and manacles. They quickly stripped all three of the stunned men behind Tynaul of their weapons. The scarred one in the back gave them trouble, as he seemed to be refusing to move at all. They had to force his hands behind him at last.

Tynaul turned one last time to look at Caerish and the other two before entering the camp. Kint’s hatred was readily apparent, as was Lenar’s extreme terror. Lord Caerish seemed completely untroubled. His eyes locked onto Tynaul, who was suddenly unable to look back at him. Tynaul turned into the outpost, unable to shake Caerish’s tranquil gaze from his mind.

Dangerous Knowledge

http://fantasy-art-engine.tumblr.com/post/96283155189/dragon-above-the-valley-by-michael-chang

Daleon, valley of kings, realm of the holy, keepers of the wisdom of light. For hundreds of years the City in the Mountains had lain undisturbed, and untouched by the wider world. 

Daleon was a place of learning, of wisdom and understanding, a place where scholars and sages gathered knowledge from around the world. From here, the legacies and legends from a thousand civilizations could remain pure and incorruptible. Here the scrolls of ancient prophecy and dark myth were safe, guarded.

But some knowledge is meant to be forgotten, and some things should never be discovered at all. Some information has a way of twisting those that know it, turning them from decent folks to people with dark and deadly ambitions. Such is the nature of power, and some information is in fact power in its purest form.

And so the enemies of knowledge impelled their most dangerous allies to find the hidden city, and lay low its mighty walls and arrogant scholars. For who were they to keep secrets from the kings of the earth? Did these sages think they could steal secrets with impunity, simply because they had no hostile intent?

Intent made little difference in the end, when the dragons found the city and burned Daleon to the ground. 

Rumor held that no one escaped the carnage and conflagration that ensued, and much was certainly lost in that fatal attack. 

Some few believe that not all the sages were massacred that day, that some few escaped, perhaps with the very knowledge the dragons were sent there to destroy. 

None however, know for sure. For some things are not meant to be known.

You could have told me...

http://spassundspiele.tumblr.com/post/96244745836/brothers-in-arms-warlord-concept

"You could have told me he was a giant." Barcus grumbled.
The ground shook as the great creature took another step forward.
"No answer, huh?" Barcus asked, moving his shoulder to adjust the battle-ax strapped across his back.
Endu, his silent, brooding companion, merely watched as the mighty mountain guardian moved closer and closer.
"So, are we supposed to fight this thing or what?" Barcus asked. On this one, he expected an answer. None, however, seemed to be forthcoming.
Boom!  The ground shook as the giant took another long stride toward the weathered warriors.
"Uh, Endu?" Barcus' voice begged, the strain beginning to show. Boom! "Endu!?"
Finally Endu spoke, but not the words Barcus wanted, or needed, to hear.
"Quiet now, my friend. He cannot see our fear."
"Our fear?" Barcus remarked. "You mean mine. By your look, we could be watchin' a parade."
Indeed, Endu was as calm as a meandering brook in autumn.
In fact, Barcus had never seen Endu so much as concerned in the ten years he'd known the strange easterner. Deep down, Barcus had hoped to get at least some reaction here, but his dream was for naught.
"Perhaps I should speak for us both?" Endu asked off-hand, as though he were asking a polite favor.
"Speak? You mean we're not going to kill this thing?"
"Of course not." Endu replied calmly. "This is no foe."
The earth was rumbling as the giant approached. Barcus struggled to keep his footing, while Endu seemed not not notice the shaking at all.
The creature halted, just within striking distance. Tense silence passed between giant and human.
Barcus gripped his sword tightly, ready to strike. Endu stood perfectly still, his bow down, head up, considering the giant stranger.
Suddenly Endu bowed low, turned and dropped calmly off the round rock upon which he stood.
The giant looked down at Barcus, raised his great hammer, and swung it casually over his shoulder. Turning around, the giant thundered away, shaking the ground as he went.
Barcus was rooted to the spot for a long moment, first watching the giant stroll away, then facing his wayward companion.
Running to catch up, Barcus finally grabbed Endu's shoulder and whirled him around.
"Okay, what was that?"
Endu's face was sad, as though he's just heard some terrible news, or perhaps delivered it. The expression, so strange on his calm companion, threw Barcus for a loop.
"What, what is it man?"
Endu stopped cold. Barcus turned, looking at his old friend with genuine concern.
"He is dying." Endu said at last, a tint of sadness in his voice. "He has asked us to fulfill his dying wish."
Barcus blinked, even more confused. This was the last thing he expected.
"Well, what does he want is to do?"
"Find his companion." Endu said.
"But, there are no more giants in the world. I didn't even know that one was still around."
"There is one other." Endu replied.
"Okay, well where is he, or she?"
Endu shook his head.
"I have no idea."

A Happy Labor Day to all

http://aphrodisiacart.tumblr.com/post/96349918708/aphrodisiacart-cornacchia

She Ended

http://jseatonblog.tumblr.com/post/95994239173/dragon-hunter-by-dleoblack

The war was over. Victory was in hand at last.

But at what cost? Both sides incurred innumerable losses. No one was spared the suffering of grief and sorrow.

Yet what else could have been done? Their freedom, their way of life, had been threatened by greed and dark chains of oppression. Should they not fight for what they believe in? Should they not stand for their families and those they love?

Smoldering fields of the dead answered those questions well enough. They would fight, and die, to protect those they loved.

She ended the war, with a battle so calculated and precise the enemy had never even seen them coming. Pouring over the mountains her dragon's came, bringing fiery death from above, and an end to a catastrophic war brought on by greed and ambition.
Tales were told for generations of the fierce warrior woman and her army of dragons. The truth of that history faded as the legends took hold, but no one ever forgot her, or her winged comrades.

Barrasque

http://mingrutu.deviantart.com/art/Earth-monster-469193590

It's name was Barrasque. A creature as old as the forest it had roamed for thousands of years. No one knew where it came from, nor how it came into being.
Did it truly live, with a heart and soul and feelings? Or was it merely an unnatural automaton made from natural materials? No one knew, nor did they deign to ask.
Until one day a bright, curious young lass wandered into the forest singing graceful songs of rainbows and sunshine and picking wildflowers.
From its habitat Barrasque rose at her insolence in intruding upon his solitude. Yet the child remained strangely calm.
For she was completely innocent, with no knowledge that she'd just stepped into the heart of nature's eminent domain, and its fearsome guardian.
To her,  Barrasque was merely another forest creature she might one day befriend. 
It's bewilderment at her courage gave the creature pause, for all who beheld the great and mighty Barrasque had fled before it. Who was she to stand before nature's greatest juggernaut unfazed and unchecked?
Her name was Misa, and unbeknownst to her and the great Barrasque, with their introduction a grand saga of wonder and adventure had just begun.

Down, Down

http://fantasy-art-engine.tumblr.com/post/95906251699/ship-graveyard-by-lok-du

Down, Down to the graveyard of ships. Where dark currents sweep onerous tides of merciless ocean.
Down, Down to the bottom of the briny deep, where the Kraken dwells, and Leviathan sleeps.
Down, Down to the ocean depths, on a bottom of black where the dead shall never find rest.
Down, Down to hulls of night, where predators swim through holes of blight. 

Down, Down to the shadowy Abyss, where no light shines, and no hope is lit.
Down, Down to a sea of doom, through the power of the Maelstrom, and Neptune's will.
Down, Down where no man may dwell, save the dead, drowned and doomed.
Down, Down to the watery hell of the unholy damned.

Forsaken Forest, Forsaken Cave

http://reneaigner.deviantart.com/art/Places-Forgotten-375508720

Drak's Cave only appeared on moon-lit nights; full moons who spread their pale blankets of moonlight across the vast Forsaken Forest. None entered this cavern of nightmares, for here was the domain of insanity, and evil.
Many a mercenary had tried and failed to probe the depths of Drak's Cave. Entire parties of adventurer's had waited impatiently on the threshold of that pale green madness, only to step inside and never return.
No one ever returned from Drak's Cave, until a quiet, unassuming child found her way into the deep, dark forest one night, becoming hopelessly lost from her friends. Unable to feel the dark energy emanating from the glowing cavern, she entered to await the dawn.
The girl emerged on the same day she entered, some nine years later. The world had moved on, her friends had moved on; her family had lost all hope.
She was the same, yet very different. A ill quiet followed her, and the young girl's eyes glowed the same pale green as the phosphorescence of the cave.
Though her lips never moved, she communicated quite clearly, holding anyone near her enthralled. Everyone listened, everyone obeyed.
And soon everyone was brave enough to enter Drak's Cave

The Climb

http://asahisuperdry.deviantart.com/art/temple-437844311

A cold breeze tossled Nar's hair. The mountain looked intimidating, the tower even more so.

But Sheera was locked in that foul prison, and he was determined to get her out, no matter what.

His climbing tools proved adequate to the task, his climbing skills less so. Nar came close to falling on more than one occasion.  But make it to the top at last, he did.

Once there,  Nar's innate talents served him far better than his lack of climbing ability.  In short order he made quick work of the guards, fighting his way to the center of the vast prison.

There his beloved Sheera was tied, bloody and bruised,  to a wooden stake upon which she hung by the arms.

Between Nar and his heart stood one Makron, black warrior and Lord of the prison. The warden's black armor gleamed in the dim torchlight with a shine all it's own. Makron's skill with the long-blade in his hand was well known throughout the land.

But the dark warden's skills were no match for the fierce determination within Nar's heart and soul. In the end, Sheera's lover won the day, defeated the prison and its minions, and escaped with his beautiful bride. 

But the Dark Warden was not so easily defeated.  With fresh blood still dripping from his wounds, Makron watched the lovers flee his grounds.  They will pay, he said as the pair disappeared into the distance.  And pay dearly.

The Long Road Home

http://pidgeonsandpeeps.tumblr.com/post/95735037231/theartofanimation-jose-borges

We took the long road home. Across the world, through storm and sea, and yet we took the long road home.
Why I could not say, nor would I deign to ask. Mine is such to do and die.
For she is my all, my master, my hearts desire. All for her, or all for naught. To the end.
And at the end did we find our purpose, our calling, our quest. She fought valiantly,  as a warrioress of old. Blood and magic.
And now we return home, to rejoice in victory.  Though I know the truth, that soon, we shall begin again.

Forward Alone

http://fantasyart101.tumblr.com/post/93782687254/commontouchoffantasy-thinking-by-wlop

Storm clouds rained drops of melancholy on the tortured ground of her soul. Never had she been so empty,  so utterly alone.
She had to go on, for herself, her people, and for her spirit.
But she had no idea how she would face that uncertain future without her beloved by her side. She wasn't sure she could do it with him. And now, she wasn't sure of anything.

Eminent Domain

http://pidgeonsandpeeps.tumblr.com/post/93457359342/quarkmaster-untitled-valley-rene-aigner

Valnier paused, considering the tower before him, and all the massive edifice implied.
This would not be a pleasant homecoming, but it was necessary. Both for the health of his nation, and his sanity.
In a very literal sense.

Candicia Listens

http://fantasyart101.tumblr.com/post/93406067164/can-s-passion-james-jean

Ermog whispered softly the gentle warning of a coming storm. Candicia listened, knowing her friend's wisdom, and capacity for foreknowledge.

From - The New Master - The Legend of Tscon Lightbringer Book Three

Tscon slowly opened his eyes. As his sight came into focus, all he could see was what appeared to be a wooden ceiling. Suddenly, the last things that had happened to him came flooding into his mind. The swamp, the zombie, and the explosion. He tried to get up, but his body seemed too weak for him to even roll over. He turned his head to look around at his new surroundings. He appeared to be in a small room, which was just big enough for the bed he found himself lying on, and not much else. The doorway to the room was at his feet. He could hear sounds coming from the doorway, and he caught sight of a few shadows reflecting off a light source he couldn't see, probably a fire. The shadows were small, but moved rather quickly. They seemed to be numerous, jumping here and there, all over. Suddenly he felt something climb or jump onto the bed, near his feet. He looked down to see a solid white cat staring back at him. The animal regarded him coolly for a moment, then let out a loud, long cry. Tscon heard a voice answer it from the other room, a human voice. Soon a figure loomed into the doorway. It took the monk's eyes a minute, but he soon recognized the figure as the witch he'd met weeks earlier, the person he'd traveled so far to find. Kivcie.

"Well, well, look who's found his way into my bed." Kivcie smiled widely, intensely amused at her own joke. "Fancy meeting you here, stranger. I think it's fairly safe to assume you've come out here to see me for some reason. Either that or you've chosen to end your life in a swamp, and somehow you picked mine. Ha, of course, I'm sure it's the former. Well, anyway, you look pretty weak, I'll whip you something up to get your strength back, then you can tell me why you've come, and why you blew up my zombie."

Tscon was taken aback by this last statement. Blew up her zombie? Did she mean that terrible thing in the swamp belonged to her? And had he indeed destroyed it? He started to go over the last minutes he remembered. Something had indeed happened when he channeled the Chyr, but he couldn't remember an explosion. It certainly had never happened before when he touched the Chyr with his mind.

He didn't have to long to think about it, as Kivcie soon reappeared with a small cup in her hand. She had to squeeze into the room next to his bed, as there was almost no space between the bed and the wall. When she was near his head, she bent down, and raised his head enough to sip from the cup. At first, he was unsure of whether or not he should drink it, but soon realized he really didn't have much choice. He drank several sips, and then Kivcie let his head down. She shuffled out of the room and went out of sight.

Tscon felt his strength returning almost immediately. He was soon able to sit up, and move his legs. He stood up slowly, and found that although his strength was back, his balance seemed to be returning at a much slower pace, and he almost fell more than once as he tried to make his way out of the room. At last he emerged from the small bedroom, and took a moment to look around at the new room he found himself in.

It was a rather large room, with a fireplace set into the far wall. The ceiling was a good ten or twelve feet high. One wall had a large window set into it, the others were devoid of any openings, They did however, have numerous paintings of cats, of all kinds and colors. He also noticed a number of domesticated cats walking around all over the room. Some were sleeping on the few furnishings, and some were walking about. A few were playing, batting at one another or running off into other rooms.

The biggest cat of all, however, was lying near the fireplace.

It was solid black, at least five feet long with a long, thin tail. It was huge, much larger than the other cats in the room. Tscon estimated the beast must weigh at least two hundred pounds, if not more. It appeared to be asleep, but Tscon couldn't tell from where he was standing, as it's face was turned away from him. Next to the huge panther was Kivcie, rocking back and forth in an old rocking chair, regarding the monk wistfully. She had a slight grin on her face, perhaps still laughing to herself at her jest about him earlier. Tscon approached her slowly, not wanting to disturb the great beast lying next to her, who's back she was calmly stroking. When he had gotten closer Kivcie finally spoke.

"Good, you're finally up. I'd offer you a seat, but the only other one I have is that rickety old chair behind you, and I'm afraid it'd collapse on you if you tried to sit in it."

Tscon turned to look at the furnishing she was referring to. It did indeed look spindly, and completely unable to bear his weight. He didn't really feel comfortable enough to sit anyway.

"That's alright, " the monk responded, "I'd prefer to stand for a while anyway. How long was I off my feet, by the way?"

"Quite a while, I'd say. I came out when I saw the explosion, and dragged your heavy carcass in here. You were in my bed for several hours after that. Hehe."

"You mentioned an explosion earlier, what was that? I was fighting some kind of zombie  creature out there. I think he was weakening me, and when I tried to use my power to strengthen myself, something happened. A bright light or something. Then I woke up here."

"Ahh, well, you just told me what I needed to know, young man." Kivcie responded. "That, zombie, as you call him, was indeed draining your strength. That was his job, to weaken intruders so I can question them about coming into my swamp. When you drew on your power, it must have conflicted with the power the, zombie, was using to drain your strength, and the result was that explosion. You're lucky to be alive, the force of that blast blew my servant to pieces. And he was the only one I had. You have no idea how long it took me to find a corpse suitable enough to raise for that spell. Well, what's done is done, what we can talk about now is how you're going to compensate me. But first, I want to know what you're doing here in the first place. "

Tscon wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of compensation this woman would require, fortunately she was more interested in his reasons for being there, so he hoped he could keep her mind on that.

"I've come to seek your knowledge, and your help. A friend of mine is gravely ill with some kind of magical disease, and we've no idea what this affliction really is. We need someone with a deep knowledge of magic to tell us what kind of spell has been cast on her. I was hoping you could help us, as you know there are very few people practicing magic by themselves these days."

Kivcie's eyes narrowed when Tscon mentioned magic. She began to eye him suspiciously.

"Ummhmm, so you need some magical expertise, ey? If I didn't know you already, I'd think you were working for those cursed wizards in that forsaken Council of Archmages, but I've already seen what kind of person you are, so I know that isn't the case. Hmm, magic disease, you say? I find that highly unusual, as there aren't any magical diseases that I know of, except for a few curses, heh. So what does this disease look like ? How do you know it's magical in nature?"

Tscon went through Daenna's whole situation, from fighting the plant monster, and the sudden appearances of the growths, to his own attempts to cure it, until he got to where they were now, with Daenna lying unconscious in Breystill, awaiting rescue. Tscon noticed Kivcie's face soften a bit when he mentioned Daenna's name, and by the time he'd finished his story, the older woman looked absolutely forlorn. At first, Tscon thought that the old woman had a much softer heart than he had given her credit for, but when she didn't speak or stir for several minutes, he began to suspect something else was involved. At length, Kivcie looked up at him, almost in tears.

"You say this friend of yours is named Daenna? Is she a small person, inquisitive and talks alot? Did she mention wanting to learn magic?"

At that point Tscon knew that Kivcie must be aware of who Daenna was,  and obviously knew her well.

"Yes, that is correct. You know her then? I hope that means you'll help us."

Kivcie looked down, and stared for a long time into the fireplace in front of her, leaving Tscon to wonder what was wrong. When she finally spoke, her voice was almost shaking.

"Yes, I know her. Daenna is my daughter. This was her home, until recently. Several weeks ago, she left. We weren't on the best of terms. In fact, we were quite angry with one another the last time we spoke."

Kivcie stopped again at this point. She hadn't moved her head, still staring into the fire, as if she were seeing into the past. When she continued, her voice was still uneven.

"Daenna wanted to be a magic-user, like me. Of course, I was very proud of her for wanting to follow in my footsteps. But magic isn't something you can take lightly. Before one learns the spells, they must learn to respect the power of magic. And she was never one for patience. I taught her a few minor incantations, enough for her to burn her fingers a few times, and make a few other mistakes, hoping she'd learn just how powerful magic really is. But somehow, those lessons never really sunk into her mind. I don't know why. She was always begging me to teach her some, 'real' spells. I just couldn't seem to get through to her that she wasn't ready."

Through the Portal of Time

http://ivany86.deviantart.com/art/Portals-7th-heaven-399845666

The first one through, the last to leave. Long was the journey, fated to end in tragedy? And death.

Deep Forest

From Falls a Dark Shadow

Collinson Byswaer, ninth Archmage of the Council of Archmages, was learning that orchestrating a symphony of lies and deceit was no easy task. Not that he’d expected it to be easy, or simple, but it seemed so many things were happening now that were unexpected, unplanned. It made keeping every instrument on tune and in time much more difficult.

The newest unforeseen development was plaguing his mind as Lordess Anthenia approached him on the balcony of her apartments. She saw him lost in thought, and already knew why he was bothered.

Deep down, she took a small joy in seeing the self-assured wizard so obviously rattled.

“I take it you’ve heard?” She said, following his gaze far out across the Ring of Stone.

“I have. Any idea where he’s going?”

“I do, in fact. He’s going home.”

Confusion shined in the Archmage’s eyes.

“Home? What do you mean?”

Slynn allowed a shrewd smile on her lips. She intended to enjoy every minute of her ally’s ignorance. Lately she’d been the one so often in the dark.

“Kyrar’s allowing him to return to Ryloth to visit his brother. I suppose Adjunt’s suddenly gotten homesick or something.”

“Indeed? Out of the clear blue, so to speak?” Collinson was suspicious, his voice told her so. “With so much going on, all of a sudden the general’s closest friend, his alluvar, is going on a holiday?”

Slynn laughed, a sly chuckle that belied her enjoyment of Collinson’s obliviousness.

“Of course, it’s a ruse. Adjunt must be returning to his family’s estate to garner support in Ryloth for Kyrar’s bid for the throne. I’m certain now that he seeks it for his son.”

Collinson barely heard her; deep as he was in thought. A great revelation danced on the edge of his mind. Ryloth, Adjunt. Of course, of course.

“Wait, wait.” Collinson paused, deep in thought. “Of course, Adjunt is his surname, isn’t it? Not his first name. I, I’ve called him Adjunt so often, I fell into the trap of believing it was his...” Collinson let the thought fade.

He looked at Slynn. Her eyes danced with a vulgar mirth.

I’ll have the last laugh, he thought. So let her have her fun, while it lasts.

It all came together in those moments. Another northern saying came to mind.

‘Fortune favors the ready’.

“I trust you’ve been gathering your own support in Ryloth, my Lordess?”

“Of course. King Bracar will side with us, when the time comes, as will all the major houses. The ones who matter, anyway.”

Collinson nodded.

“Then, if Master Adjunt met with an unfortunate end while on his holiday, it really wouldn’t affect our plans.” He let that thought carry its own weight.

“Oh, poor Kyrar would just be beside himself.” Slynn answered. Somehow, her grin became even more malicious.

Collinson was immensely gratified. Fate had just handed him a decided victory. Now that he no longer needed his contact in Ryloth, he’d been about to eliminate that loose end anyway. That his enemy’s main source of counsel was about to be in the same place, well, that was just too convenient an opportunity to pass up. And it was obviously tickling the Lordess to no end. The better to keep her busy.

Yes, things had indeed just taken an unexpected turn for the better.

Dragon.....

That Cold Morning, before his plunge into the Dark Forest

http://jseatonblog.tumblr.com/post/90601792127/that-cold-morning-by-gejda

Sky Guy

http://pidgeonsandpeeps.tumblr.com/image/90606737214

Castle Caladan, from the Dune series

http://infinitemachine.tumblr.com/image/90454245780

The Tree at the End of the World

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/90061056684

From - Journey to a Mystery

Dusk was falling when the last vestiges of the small village faded into the horizon. They were on the only road leading out of town, and it headed northeast. The poor old villager, Jos, had barely been able to keep up with the fast moving adventurers, and had to stop to rest on numerous occasions. Obviously he hadn't been outside the village often, much less on any long journeys. He did know where the next town was, and all they had to do was follow the road they were on to get there. Jos told them the name of the village as they were leaving his own. Tscon thought the name sounded familiar, and when that memory returned a dark and sad feeling went over the monk.

Kronheim was a name that should have stayed in Tscon's memory forever. It was the name of the village where his young apprentice Ketch had lost his life. As they walked along the road, Tscon's memory went back to that painful time in his past. He could still remember clearly everything that had happened to the young boy, and even though he'd finally come to terms with what had happened, the sting of it's memory was still strong. He began to wonder if he'd really have to strength to walk back into that village again. Perhaps, he thought, he wouldn't need to. After all, his main purpose in coming this way was to visit Ketch's grave. Maybe that would be enough. After all, what good could a mere apology really offer?

Tscon suddenly remembered his, 'vision', when he had seen his apprentice in a kind of dream, after he and Naeid had trapped the evil entity in Ghuise. He could hear Ketch telling him to return to the village, and see what it was like now, and what had come of the terrible tragedies that had befallen it. In his heart, Tscon was beginning to realize what Ketch had really meant. Tscon had to return to the village and apologize to the people who lived there now. Perhaps the destruction Tscon had seen in that vision was the aftermath of what he'd left behind. If so, it was Tscon's duty to return there and offer his apologies, to try and make amends for what he had done.

It wouldn't be easy. The memory of what the villagers had done to Ketch was slowly returning to his mind, as well as the feelings that went along with them. Tscon had to remind himself of what Ketch had said when he'd seen him. Ketch was at peace now, and soon Tscon would be as well. He took a deep breath and tried to let all the anger and resentment of that time fall away.

And so here he was, about to come full circle, and return to the place where all his misery had started. He was still dwelling on this when they stopped for the night. Jos informed them that they probably had another days march to reach Kronheim, so they decided to rest for the night there on the side of the road. None of them could really sleep, the sight of the eerily empty village still fresh on their minds. Tscon was equally restless, although he had another village on his mind that night. They got up before dawn even rose over the horizon and continued on their way.

The sun rose to it's peak and began to fall as they traveled, and as the sun's lower circle dipped to touch the ground far away, they saw what had to be the village of Kronheim. From this distance, it seemed to be much bigger than Jos' village, as they could see many more houses stretched across their view. Their pace quickened when they saw those few buildings, and a smile even began to find it's way onto their faces. Soon they even saw someone on the road, walking toward them. It seemed to be only one person, so it probably wasn't a town guard. If it was a fellow traveler, going south to Jos' village, they could warn them about what had happened. But as they approached this stranger, Tscon got the feeling that this wasn't a guard, nor a mere fellow traveler.

When this new person was a mere ten feet away from them, she stopped. Tscon stopped as well, holding his hand up for the others to halt. Daenna and Jos looked up at the monk at his sudden stop, curiosity on their faces. When they saw both the monk and Naeid staring straight ahead at the stranger, the two turned their attention in that direction. They didn't recognize the woman standing before them in red robes with the thin, shoulder length black hair, but Tscon and Naeid seemed to. She was tall, and seemed slender beneath the robes that billowed around her in the evening breeze. Her skin was pale, her face slightly gaunt, but they gasped when they noticed her eyes. No pupils at all could be seen; the eyes of this stranger were solid black.

Their old adversary smiled as she looked them up and down, one after another, the same self-satisfied look they remembered from weeks earlier. Something was different about her though, something they couldn't quite put a finger on. Right now it didn't seem to make much difference. Both Tscon and Naeid had to protect two innocent people from this deadly assassin. After considering them all for a few brief minutes, Ashila smiled wider.

"Well, master monk, it seems your company hasn't improved since our last meeting. You've even replaced your cook with a common merchant, how droll." Her gaze went to Jos for just a moment, then she looked back at Tscon. Ashila's voice sounded very different from the feminine one he remembered. It was deeper, and somewhat hollow. And her voice reverberated, as if two people were speaking with that voice at the same time. Ashila's head turned slightly, and she was looking straight at Daenna.

"And who do we have here? Another lost puppy for our brave monk to protect? Or fail to protect, I should say? You're about to die, little one, I trust you're realizing that. Just like the other people our brave monk failed to protect. In fact, everyone the monk has ever known is going to die, including his cook. What do you think of that, little girl?"

The sinister grin on Ashila's face seemed to grow at her remark to Daenna. Little D was terrified at this point, and she inched closer to Jos. The assassin's gaze rested on the young woman a moment longer before her head turned again to face the monk.

"Speaking of your cook, I'm very sorry about what happened between you. I really am. I was looking forward to killing all of you at once, but when I attacked the caravan, that captain threw your friend over his horse and rode away. At that point I had to choose whom to pursue first, and naturally I picked you and your raven haired slut-princess."

Naeid's blade leapt from it's place at her side at Ashila's last remark, and was pointed straight at Ashila's chest. The move didn't startle her in the least, but when Ashila caught sight of Naeid's new weapon, a look of concern flashed across her face. The self-assuredness immediately returned, but Tscon had noticed the look. Something was quite different about their antagonist. Ashila's confession about the caravan, and her new sound and appearance, suddenly gave Tscon a thought he wished he hadn't had. He hoped he was wrong. Ashila wasn't giving him time to dwell on it, though.

"O I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Ashila continued sarcastically, turning her gaze to Naeid, "please don't stick me with your toy."

Naeid had all she could stand from the red robed assassin at that point, and charged in and swung Krenhavnar in a blow that would have separated the robed woman's chest and abdomen, had Ashila still been standing in the same place, but she wasn't. She was now standing right next to Naeid, her face still holding that same sarcastic grin. Naeid swung again, and again Ashila was gone by the time her sword would have found it's mark. This time she seemed gone completely, until they looked behind them, to see Ashila standing right next to Daenna. She was looking at the diminutive young woman as if she were studying a curious object. Daenna could not even bare to raise her head, so imposing was this woman’s presence.

Both Tscon and Naeid began to walk over toward them when Ashila raised her right hand. Their eyes widened as they looked at it. Her hand was black, and deformed. It appeared as though the skin and flesh had rotted, and were wasting away. They stopped, waiting to see if Ashila were about to do something to poor Daenna with that withered hand.

"You can see that didn't heal so good, but I've come to realize that's okay. You see, now I can do this to you, and it'll all be evened out."

Ashila let her hand drop slowly toward the top of Daenna's head. Tscon was afraid he wouldn't be able to reach the girl in time, but he had to try, so he prepared to leap. Suddenly Ashila went flying, landing on the ground in a heap, with Jos on top of her. She quickly threw him off, sending the old man flying through the air, to land hard on his back, crying in pain. Ashila leapt to her feet, rage displaying on her cold face.

"Fool. You'll suffer an eternity of torment for interfering with me."

She reached out her withered hand toward the terrified shopkeeper and pointed a finger. Black bolts of lightning shot out from that finger, heading straight toward Jos. Suddenly, the dark energy turned in midair, and went straight toward Naeid. The bolts struck Naeid's sword. The blade glowed for a few seconds, then faded. Ashila's face was aghast.

"What? How did you do that?"

She raised her hand again, and this time threw her black bolts straight at Naeid, and again the sword absorbed every bit of the dark, negative energy. Rage flashed across the assassin's face. Suddenly, Ashila's jet black eyes flashed red. Tscon felt a sudden rage come over him, and anger at everything and everyone around him. Naeid's sword began to glow, brightly, and the anger Tscon felt immediately began to melt away. He stood, confused for a moment over what had happened. Then he noticed Ashila's red eyes go from him, over to Naeid. The sword continued to glow. After a moment, the red light faded from the robed woman's black eyes, and Krenhavnar's glow subsided. Ashila took a step back, regarding Naeid first, then looking over at Tscon.

"This is not over, Lightbringer. We will meet again."

She looked over at Daenna, then cast a dangerous look at the old shopkeeper.

"And your interference will cost you dearly."

Ashila took a few more steps back, then leapt into the air. When her jump had reached it's zenith, the red robed woman simply stopped moving, standing straight up some ten feet off the ground. A thick black smoke began to emanate from her body, and it enveloped her as she hovered in mid-air. When she was completely obscured, the smoke began to fade away, and she was gone.

For a moment, no one moved, nor made any sound or said anything. After a few minutes, Naeid finally looked over at Tscon.

"Okay, well she seems to be a little more powerful than the last time we saw her doesn't she. And what was with her eyes. And that magic. She didn't even try to attack us with her hands, and where was her staff? "

Tscon was wondering the same thing. He shared the sentiment he had been harboring since he'd heard her voice echoing as if from some distant place.

"I think that, somehow, that entity we thought we sealed up when we cut down it's tree has possessed her. Remember, she claimed to have killed everyone in the militia’s caravan, but as I recall some of those men killed each other. Do you remember the last time something like that happened?"

Naeid at first seemed confused by what the monk was referring to, then understanding suddenly leapt into her eyes. The village of Ghuise.

"O well that's great," Naeid proclaimed, "so now she has magical powers? "

Naeid suddenly looked down at her sword, Krenhavnar. The warrior woman stared at the weapon intently. Tscon quickly realized it might be talking to her again. It was not glowing now, except for the runes spelling out it's name, which always seemed to be glowing dimly. A smile crossed her face while she gazed at the weapon, a proud smile as if she had been paid a high complement by a lord, or a king. She was too preoccupied to notice Tscon walking over to the old shopkeeper Jos, who was still sitting in the spot where he'd landed after knocking Ashila away from Daenna. He lowered his hand, and Jos slowly reached up and took it, raising himself up with Tscon's help.

"That was a brave gesture for a shopkeeper." Tscon said.

Jos looked at Tscon, then down at Daenna, who was also just now getting up, still stunned by everything that had just happened.

"I don't know what came over me, I just didn't want to see this poor young woman get hurt. Who was that red robed woman anyway? You seemed to know her, at least she seemed to know you."

"Her name is Ashila," Tscon replied," she is an assassin, originally sent to bring me back to the Temple of the Order, although somewhere along the line, she decided she'd rather take me back dead, than alive. I'm not really sure we understand her true motivations, if indeed she has any besides pure evil. As for her powers, those are new since the last time we saw her, and I suspect another entity is involved with those. We shall see. Anyway, Kronheim is close and we should get there as soon as possible. Come."

Tscon looked back at Naeid as Jos and Daenna took the first few steps toward the nearby village. The warrior woman was sheathing her weapon, a look of concern on her face. The monk looked behind him to see if the others were watching them, then drew up near his friend.

“We may have a problem,” Naeid began in a low hushed tone, “Kren says he's never felt energy like that, ever, and he was forged over two-thousand years ago. He's known sorcerers, and dragon-magic, most everything this world's thrown at him, but never anything like she just threw at us. He said if she'd kept it up much longer, it would've shattered him. He thinks something's inside of her, something not of this world at all. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

He was, in fact, but was loathe to put it into words.

“The book in Ghuise referred to something called a Revenant. That must be it. As powerful as something like that is, I wonder if it can be destroyed at all.”

Somehow, Naeid's look became even darker.

“What if it can't be killed, and we've somehow let it loose?”

Tscon felt his blood go cold at that thought. The last thing he needed was to be responsible for more tragedies.

“I thought we trapped it in Ghuise when we cut down it's lair.” Tscon replied. “This could be something else entirely.”

Naeid locked her gaze on him, chastising him with her eyes, she no more believed that than he did.

“Telling yourself that won't help it become true, you know. We have to find out what's really going on with her, and soon.”

Tscon let his head nod as he began to realize she was right. But he had other business to see to first. Then perhaps they could find out more about Ashila, and this thing called a Revenant.

The monk and warrior-woman hurried their steps to catch up with the other two, who were making their way slowly up the road. As they caught up, Tscon noticed Daenna was staring at the ground, simply moving her feet one in front of the other, without looking at all where she was going.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked as he drew near his friend.

"Who was that woman, Tscon? And who was she talking about, that died?" Daenna asked, without looking up at the monk.

Tscon took a deep breath as the painful memory of his friend's deaths returned. Somehow Ashila knew that was still haunting him, somewhere deep inside. The assassin was still finding ways to hurt him, even when she was gone. Tscon took a deep breath, and confronted yet another painful memory.

"She's a lost soul really, full of hate and anger. She killed two of my friends, in an effort to torment me, and throw me off-balance so it would be easier for her to kill me. Naeid and I managed to chase her off, well, Naeid actually did it. But somehow she's found us again. Don't worry, we can fight her, and we're not going to let anything happen to you. You're going to be fine."

Little D didn't look up, Tscon wasn't even sure if she'd heard anything he'd said. She finally gave him a half-hearted reply.

"I'll be fine as long as I'm with you, or someone who can fight for me."

Tscon slowed his steps as he realized what was really bothering his companion. Were Naeid's words still stinging the young woman? Or was it something else? Tscon looked down and sighed, becoming lost for a moment in a sea of self-pity. So many people around him were needing his help, how could he help himself? He struggled internally with all the emotions clashing inside him. It wasn't until he heard Naeid's loud whistle that the monk realized he'd stopped completely. The other three had also come to a standstill and were now staring at the monk. Tscon quickly hurried back up to meet his friends.

"Sorry about that, just thinking for a moment." the monk said.

"Everything okay?" Naeid asked.

"Yes, sure.", he replied, the shaking in his voice giving away the fact that everything was not okay at all.

All assembled they made their way to the nearby village. The sun was below the horizon now, and they hoped an inn would still be open when they arrived.