[Axxaer]

The sun was almost directly overhead when Kelkharn arrived at the ostentatious wooden door at the foot of the Uruldor Tower. The door was slightly ajar, so Kelkharn pushed it open and stepped inside, gently closing it behind him. His acute sight enabled him to discern instantly that something was definitely not right. The banister of the main stairs was plastered with sweaty handprints and several scuffmarks were visible on the pale-carpeted stairs.

Kelkharn made his way warily towards the foot of the antique spiral stairs. He slowly ascended, taking careful note of everything he saw, every crooked painting, every speck of dirt. As he neared the first landing, his toes caught the top of one of the stairs and he tripped, falling to his hands and knees with a solid ‘thud’. A movement in the corridor to his left prompted him to scramble to his feet and rush to the landing.

A quick look down the corridor sent a message of terror to Kelkharn’s mind; his mother’s bedroom door was ajar and her favourite robe was lying in a heap on the floor, the sleeve protruding through the doorway. He knew her well enough to be aware that she always took better care of her robes than that.

He silently crept over to the door and listened carefully for any hint of sound. Silence. He slowly pushed the door until it was halfway open, then waited. Silence. Trying his hardest not creak the floorboards, he took three steps in until he stood just past the door. Before he could even scan the room for any presence, he took a massively powerful blow to the back of his head. His vision unfocused and pain flooded his body. His knees buckled under his own weight and he fell to them, trying not to fall face down on the floor. A sudden attempt to stand again threw him further off balance and he collapsed to the hard, polished wood. His last sight before Kelkharn’s vision blacked out was of a pair of boots bearing an uncanny resemblance of his father’s, but then he had never really paid much attention….

Chapter 2
Flaming Hell
17 Velstrom, 14074

When Kelkharn’s vision finally returned, blurry and dim as it was, the first thing he noticed was the pain that came with it. His body and limbs felt as heavy as a pregnant Guran (or at least as heavy as it would be if Gurans could get pregnant) and his head throbbed with pulsing blood. He was chained to a cold stone wall from his wrists and ankles and was, as far as he could discern in the dim lighting, behind a row of rusty old iron bars. It appeared that he was in an ancient cave prison of some sort; he really wished he’d paid more attention to the things Melchanur had taught him over the years. An armoured Ilkar mercenary was guarding his “cell” and stood facing the darkness away from him.

Kelkharn attempted to attract the attention of the guard by striking his manacle on the rough stone he was chained to.
“Beilog good guard,” Kelkharn heard the Ilkar muttering to himself, “Beilog not be distracted by funny sound. Beilog get paid good by Guran overlord. Beilog go home to family and share lots gold.”
Kelkharn thought for a moment, then decided to engage the Ilkar in conversation.
“So, Beilog, been a guard for long?” he asked the guard
“Beilog good guard. Beilog not get mind off task by talking to prisoner.”
“Do you know anyone else whose been a guard for the Gurans?” asked Kelkharn, “And come back alive?”
“Beilog watch darkness like mindless slave. Beilog good slave.”
“Have you ever seen anyone actually get paid by the Gurans? Do you actually think that they’re going to give you lots of gold for standing there like a fool?”
“Beilog good fool. Beilog get paid lots gold.”

Kelkharn realised that the conversation was going nowhere. He picked up a sharp rock which lay beside him and tossed it from hand to hand, feeling its weight and balance. Then, reluctantly, he threw the stone hard and fast at the Guran’s scalp, but not so hard as to kill it, just knock it unconscious for a while. Beilog’s bony hands shot up to clutch its head, screaming vilely at the burning agony. And then it might as well have just been a lifeless tangle of flesh and bones.

Kelkharn quickly began casting simple ageing spells on the manacles which bound him to the ground. They rusted and cracked with the pressure of a thousand years, and he broke them each with a single strike on the floor. Freed, he rose and walked over to the solid metal bars he was caged behind. As he stared aimlessly into the darkness, a large figure emerged from the shadows and stood at the boundary between the dim and pitch black, cloaked by the shadowy darkness surrounding it. Its figure resembled that of a giant spider, roughly the size of a large Uruvian boulder. A Guran Overlord.

“Kelkharn,” the rugged voice surprised him by sounding from deeper within the cell behind him, “Is that really you?”
“Who in the abyss are you?” asked Kelkharn, an aggressive tone somewhat masking his surprise and wariness; he did not recognise the voice.
“It is I, Saril Verunamir.”
“I know no Sarils,” replied Kelkharn sternly, “And is it not the name of a Terreval Traitor anyway? I would never befriend such a traitor.”
“Ah, Kel, you are as naïve as you were 20 years ago. You may remember me as Chelandor, I was in you academy division under the supervision of the old Swordmaster Desron.” Saril explained.
“Chelandor? I…but if you…” Kelkharn broke off, puzzled and confused.
“Yes Kel, I rebelled against the treacherous Trielders long ago. I was exiled and found my way to Delgunnashk. The Ilkar there looked after me, then sent a guide with me to the Hhregai’an Pass. I found my way from there to Kharba. I’m happy now. We have few rules, yet everyone still respects each other as in Skevarus. We take what we need and give to others what we don’t”
“But why? Why did you rebel?” Kelkharn was still in disbelief that one of his friends had actually rebelled, and that he actually preferred life outside of Skevarus. It just didn’t make sense.
“I was outraged at the power they bear and their disgusting corruption. You cannot seriously agree with their morals, Kel”
“Corruption?! How dare you speak of our all-providers like that!” Kelkharn eyes began burning with rage again. He punched Saril hard in the temple with his sword fist. Much to his surprise, his hand went straight through “Saril” and he instead punched hard into the stone wall. Kelkharn stumbled back, clutching his fist, half in pain, half in mere shock. Blood poured from his knuckles, forming a gleaming pool on the stone floor.

“You Terreves have such easily manipulable emotions.” The deep voice of the Guran resonated around the large cave, mocking Kelkharn’s pain and anger.
“I’ll have at you!” screamed Kelkharn, brilliant red flames actually dancing over his eyes. One quick self-relocation (teleport) spell and he was on the other side of the bars, charging headlong at the massive Guran overlord.
“Pathetic worm.” The Gurans booming voice so loud it echoed throughout the entire cave.
Kelkharn drew his dagger, the vicious primitive bloodlust growing inside him.

Kelkharn suddenly became aware that the cave walls beyond his cell were actually a teeming mass of live Gurans. They were scurrying all around him, several even ventures up his legs. Kelkharn stopped running and began wildly slashing at the Fist-sized Gurans swarming all over him now. One of the Gurans fangs found their mark on the back of Kelkharn’s neck, secreting their powerful venom. Kelkharn felt weak and powerless to resist, his senses grew dull and he dropped to his knees. Hundreds more Gurans began swarming all over him, forcing him down to the hard stone ground.

* * *

A wimpy Ilkar hid in a dark, shadowy corner of a damp, low-lit cave. Its eyes betrayed its deep fear of the strange creatures swarming all around and over it. Its arms, bony from a Tyriac of malnourishment, shook uncontrollably as it clutched its legs close to its torso, bringing its body into a huddled ball.

Thousands upon thousands of Gurans, ranging in size from pebbles to small cottages, were swarming throughout the cave. Every single one was scurrying its fastest in some particular direction as if with a sense of duty, yet there didn’t seem to be any common conception of where everyone was going, just constant streams of them hurrying wildly in every direction.

The Ilkar coward was suddenly distracted from his contemplation and brought to its bruised, bony feet in surprise. A searing ball of flame flew into the cavern from one of the many interconnected passages and burst in a giant flash of red and orange. The scorching heat burned the Ilkar’s skin to the bone and it screamed in agony, still alive. The strange creatures around were all cremated alive, reduced to dust in their weakness to fire.

The darkness returned swiftly, like a blanket thrown over a fire; only magical fire burns out that quickly. Groaning from the wrenching pains shooting up his spine to his brain and all over his bony body, the pathetic beast rolled its mangled body towards the middle of the cavern and slipped into a state of paralysis. Its chaotic tangle of indistinguishable limbs locked in place and its eyes glazed over as the bestial Ilkar soul clutched for dear life to its body.

From the same dark passageway emerged a tall, muscular figure, silhouetted against the light of burning Gurans, thousands left in his wake. Thousands more eight-legged living pyres were fleeing from the menacing figure in every direction. Flames danced up and down the length of his body, not seeming to harm him at all.

The figure’s fiery eyes flashed towards another passage from which hundreds of Guran warriors were spewing forth, ready to die for their hive. A pair of orange beams of flame launched from his eyes to meet the front line of the unarmoured, unarmed warriors with a chaotic frenzy of searing flames, burning several dozen to ash instantly. Unfazed, the Gurans continued pouring out in the thousands to meet their fiery doom.

[to be continued...]