BlackThorn's Doom Page 0,1
he would awaken.
Casius knew this was Thoron’Gil, he had expected a skeletal corpse at best. Nothing had prepared him for this.
He stood at Thoron’Gil’s feet expecting him to leap up and berate him for disturbing his slumber. Thoron’Gil’s hands rested lightly upon the hilt of his fabled blade Aethir.
The Dark sword was unsheathed and rested across his lap. The ebon steel absorbing the light that fell upon it. A faint hum emanated from the metal, a disturbing sound that reminded Casius of a plain’s cat ready to pounce.
Casius squatted; he could see the dark stain of dried blood on Thoron’Gil’s side. Even with his decision made he hesitated. The sight of the legendary warrior and his blade made his doubts all the more powerful.
It was said that Thoron’Gil was uprooted from his home and reluctantly went to war. He was a farmer first and a warrior only by necessity. Perhaps he was as reluctant as Casius now felt when the blade was forged for him.
Unsure of what was required of him he reached out and carefully touched the fabled weapon. He jerked his hand back expecting to be burnt. The blade had emitted a ringing note at his touch, a clarion call that yet echoed within the stone chamber.
Casius reached forward once more but hesitated. He was unsure as how he was to proceed.
Suddenly Thoron’Gil’s eyes snapped open. Milky white orbs that locked with his own. Casius tried to escape but Thoron’Gil was faster. He grasped Casius’s forearm in a vise like grip with his left hand. With his right he lifted the sword from his lap.
Casius struggled but could not break the cold iron hold upon him.
Thoron’Gil placed Aethir’s hilt in his hand and released his hold upon him. His body fell back lifeless once more. The flesh upon his bones turned to dust and exploded outward in a choking cloud as he impacted the floor.
Time had finally claimed the long dead hero, even his armor fell into a scattered collection of rusted plates and tattered cloth.
A powerful blast of warm air swirled within the chamber scattering the dust and bringing with it the smell of freshly tilled earth.
Casius felt a presence behind him, gaining his feet he turned to face whomever had entered the chamber. His hand raised the black sword before him without thinking.
In the silvery light of the spheres stood Thoron’Gil. He was pale and the chamber walls could be vaguely seen through him.
“The blade is now yours.” He said in a voice nothing more than a faint echo born upon the wind. “Use it well.”
A soft rending sound over powered his voice as a brilliant light expanded behind him. The line thickened until it became a rippling hole in the air. Golden light streamed through the opening revealing a fair country of rolling green hills and swaying grass. A woman stood just beyond the opening with two small children at her side. She smiled and called Thoron’Gil’s name.
Tears flooded down the ancient hero’s cheeks and he cried out joyfully. “My’essa!” With a leap he entered the opening and the light flared brightly momentarily blinding Casius.
When his vision cleared Casius found that he was alone once more in the Chamber. The faint smell of wildflowers lingered in the air, the only remnant of what he had seen.
In his hand the sword hummed softly. The blade was incredibly light and its metal the color of coal. Removing his own sword from its scabbard he laid the shining steel onto the ground where Thoron’Gil had lain for many centuries.
Sliding Aethir into his scabbard he left the hollowed chamber. As he regained the tunnels entrance a deep rumble sounded from within the earth. The ground shook and the golden leaved trees swayed ominously above him.
As quickly as it had started the earth tremor faded. Resting his hand on Aethir’s hilt, Casius made his way through the garden and up the narrow stair.
A new sense of confidence filled him. Although he still dreaded the prospect of what lay ahead of him.
Connell stopped pacing when Casius emerged from the head of the stair. He appeared well; there was no shock or sorrow upon his features. Looking to Casius’s hip his heart skipped a beat. There in his weathered scabbard hung the dark blade Aethir.
“By the gods,” he exclaimed softly. “He did it!”
Marcos nodded in greeting a look of relief softening his features. The relief quickly changed to concern. “The Blade has changed him.”
Connell reexamined his friend, it took a moment but