Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,36
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“Minor cut, nothing worth paying mind,” Erguile said. “But Bulkog was no common foe, drunkard or not.”
“He’s dead now though, I gather,” returned Slowin, glancing to Flaer who kept his head down. “Flaer Swordhand—an honor to make your acquaintance,” cheered Slowin, and he hugged Flaer heartily; Flaer grimaced.
“He cannot speak, nor can we free his hands,” Adacon informed.
“That is the least of our trouble, as I expect Vesleathren to be greatly angered by this meeting we conduct here; we who are among the freed Flaer Swordhand and felled Bulkog,” said Slowin. It appeared Adacon was ready to ask more questions but Slowin spoke again:
“We must travel immediately, in all haste, farther east and up onto the Rislind Plateau. Not until we reach the Saru Gnarl Cape will we be safe to rest. Come,” And with Slowin’s order the company of four departed swiftly into the night, marching east from the sacked tower of Ceptical along the slave trade route.
V: THE BRIGUN AUTILUS
The party traveled through the night in silence, stopping just before dawn to rest and eat. There was not much talk, and Flaer’s silence brought an air of gloom upon the slaves. Slowin made little conversation, averting questions when they came up.
“We will rest here briefly, now that we have reached Rislind and are upon the Plateau,” Slowin told them. A small fire was started, and in the early morning twilight the four sat around, eager for a chance to sleep.
“Can you not break Flaer’s bonds, Slowin?” asked Adacon.
“No, they abound with evil magic, the magic of Vesleathren. I cannot break them,” he responded.
“I have thrice heard that name. Who is Vesleathren?” returned Adacon, as Erguile stood near to Flaer and curiously raised his sword.
“I’ll break it. Hold still, Swordhand,” Erguile said, preparing to strike at the black cuffs binding Flaer.
“No—do not strike, else lose your blade’s edge,” Slowin gasped.
“Just think I have the power for it; there’s no intention of harming him,” Erguile solemnly moped, sitting back down.
“It is folly to play at Vesleathren’s magic; believe me, I have tried it before,” Slowin went on, restoring order. Flaer remained downtrodden, hanging his head in lethargy. “Vesleathren is the heir to the Feral Throne of Melweathren—Melweathren the Admiral of the Crawl Plaque during the first age of this planet, who was defeated in battle on this very plateau by a Rislindian, thousands of years ago.”
“What is Crawl Plaque?” asked Erguile.
“That is the name given to the first army of the Feral Brood, a race brewed of corrupt magic; dark mana sustained their life and power,” answered Slowin.
“That’s what Bulkog spoke of, Feral Dynast something,” said Adacon.
“It is much as I feared then, and Bulkog the troll had become of Feral genetics. Lucky you are to have survived his encounter.”
“What of Grelion? Is he not our most treacherous foe?” asked Erguile.
“Long had it been thought that after the old war, which Molto the Vapour ended by casting Spirited Winds, did the Crawl Plaque expire out of existence. Few were those who knew that Melweathren had an heir, named Vesleathren. Vesleathren brooded, conspiring for long years, preparing a Feral army that would once again try to sack the entire country of Arkenshyr.”
“Arkenshyr? Where in Darkin is that?” questioned Adacon.
“Hah! Poor slave, it is here in Arkenshyr that we are now, and one of the five countries of Darkin it is,” Slowin replied. Adacon tried his best to keep up with everything he was being told, as did Erguile; they both looked dumbfounded and confused.
“And so he invaded, and another great war was fought; the five countries united, unifying in Arkenshyr to battle Vesleathren. Then, for a second time in history was a war ended by a great Vapour. At last Vesleathren was thought dead, killed in the final blast, but the world was weakened so by this war that the scattered Feral ravaged the lands, reproducing endlessly. Leaderless they were, but they pillaged everything nonetheless. No unified power of good was left to oppose them,” Slowin told.
“Was there no more left of the Five Country Army?” asked Adacon.
“No, not enough to contest the ill-spawned Feral Brood. The rape of the countryside continued for many years, until finally a brave soldier rose in ranks from the north country of Hemlin, and united enough free men, elves and dwarves to drive back the Feral Brood. And the Feral were slain on sight, until they were all but gone entirely from the face of Darkin. This leader came to great power over the world