Bladeshire 26
By David C. Daoust
The Island Nations of Vitrucia, by and large, were considered the nemesis of the lands; of the church, of all the noble houses that ruled the Tetrarchy. While, currently, the Vitrucians’ followed a prophet, one that could in no way be accepted as a follower of the one God, nor recognized by the Tesarae, they once answered only to the twin gods; old god patrons that once dominated far and wide. The Vitrucians took over Llewelynn, stripped it of the native druidic followers of the wild gods… Created their own domain.
Among them, as is true of most human settlements, were mage-born sorcerers, known as Archon. Rulers of entire spheres of magic, they rose above all others; their dominance granted through power unbridled.
Not all such humans sided with those deemed the rulers of the realm they were born into. As was true of one young Archon, born of LeVelle. The young boy stood against their actions, as he grew into a man, he rebelled whole heartedly. Such iconoclasts had no place with the Vitrucians. They made it clear they wanted nothing to do with him, even as they granted a portion of land to appease him. Yet, when the Vitrucian Nobles’ own actions brought about the undead blight that oozed from LeVelle, such a man was hard pressed not to step forward and help.
The world had become so completely inhospitable that the Archon had no choice but to defend his own kind– the living. He rose up with his magical might, tore into the undead hordes continuously. Ultimately, it was a battle that he could not win, left him careening. Forced the Archon into hiding.
The Vampire lords and their minions were far too powerful, far too many, for even an Archon to fight back. In truth, the undead were blessed by the old gods, even in their curse. Old gods tended to trump Archon.
By the time the conflict ended, this Archon was left recuperating in a mental space. He’d abandoned his human form almost completely. Hiding all his arcane knowledge, years of study in the arts, and even the innate sorcery he was born with, which granted him the title of Archon, in the subconscious mind of the husk he left behind.
A husk now known as Old-man Hindle.
Still unconscious, Hindal could feel the ache leave his body– even as it healed. Why or how the healing had come over him, he had no way of knowing. He could not know of the magics being applied to all those in the burrow.
Underneath the old man, however, something was with him. The old man’s back was against the cold earthen floor, something squirmed there. Froze his flesh where it touched. A cold spike dragged up his spine, the pain was excruciating even as the spike shifted into a spiral that wrapped itself up his neck, it was stuck there at the base of his skull. Freezing sharp pain.
The Archon, the mind hiding out in a mental-scape, living the lonely life of the ancient wizard cooped up in a grand tower, reading through tomes stacked so high, he had no expectation of ever finishing them, looked up from the latest text. He turned to witness as the world around him trembled. The door, a closed door that had not been opened since his retreat, began to rumble—it was quickly replaced with a loud knocking.
The Archon chuckled. It was a demon, knocking on his door, trying to gain entry… It was not hard for this all-powerful wizard to see without; into the realm he had left behind. The demon was minor, more of an imp really. Which was a tiny silly thing– bound to darkness.
There was a Champion of the Light in the very burrow he found his old husk within.
The Wizard did not rise-up; he did not bother to even fret. It was a single word spell that brought his will from the arcane. The demon was forced back, forced from the shadows, cut from the darkness itself. With this simple spell the demon was granted a living form, one the Champion could surely cut down. This was all the wizard need do, to return to his studies.
At least, that was the story the demon told the old man. In reality, willfully granting the demon a living form, was the act that passed control of Hindal’s body over to the demon itself. Left the old man’s true consciousness, alone with his books, with his delusion of being an ancient Vitrucian Archon– As he was surely meant to be.
When the old man came to, for just a fraction of a second, his eyes were black as night as the demon took hold of the elderly form of old man Hindle. It rose quickly, unnaturally, to its feet; its demonic form now protected from the light by the fragile human body.
The demon took a moment to study the situation. They were all so weak, either unconscious… or children! The boy had an axe- it could take it with its new human hands. It could use it on them all. This demon had not cleaved flesh in centuries, not reaved mortal lives in longer… it could leave them all here, in a mass grave, no one ever the wiser.
The demon just needed that axe…