The Death Maze

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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

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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

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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

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"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.

Dangerous Knowledge

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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...

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"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."

She Ended

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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

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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.

Forsaken Forest, Forsaken Cave

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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

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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

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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

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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.

Deep Forest

The Tree at the End of the World

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