Post by Umaril on Jun 18, 2008 6:45:37 GMT -5
This is a story on a world I've created recently, I hope you like.
One
Tomas Ambrask sat with his back to the cold stone wall of the shallow mountainside cave. His bright amber eyes gazed over the distant peaks at the opposite side of the Ring of Ice, some one hundred miles away. The morning sun threw her first soft rays upon the icy range of the Torala Neata, the northern mountains of that harsh frozen landscape to the north of Galadir. He was in danger here, and he knew it. Not ten miles to the east of his position lay the huge glacier, Neatama, which was home to the Ice-Elves, and they would not take kindly to a Northman of Kerrif being in their territory. They were sure to have a few watchmen in the mountains so close to home, not to mention the dread frost gharls they trained to keep intruders away from their homes in the mountains.
An Ambrask of Kerrif would not lightly set foot upon the freezing, barren ground of the Ring of Ice, but he was on official business with an old friend of his who resided in a tower on an island to the north of the Torala Neata. Once at the small fishing village of Jür on the coast, he would make the journey to the island by boat. He just hoped he would get out of the frigid mountains alive. He lifted his rucksack from the stone floor of the cave and made his way to the summit.
After reaching the great mountain's peak, Tomas looked upon the vast ocean that coasted the Ring of Ice. The North Sea was huge; sailors sometimes said it was endless, but their views were widely known to be exaggerated. Regardless, it was probably the largest ocean known to Man or Elvir, and to attempt crossing it's icy depths would be folly, as the tales of great sea-creatures and islands of moving ice in the furthest north were not to be ignored. His eyes swung from west to east and observed every village on the coast along the way. Almost directly north he recognized the small village of Jür, and on the horizon he could barely make out a tower reaching out of the water and pointing to the heavens. Three downhill-miles would take him to the tiny port.
Tomas quickened his stride - it was long since he had tasted real food, not rock-hard bread, or the flavourless gruel he made most mornings on his journey to the island. The wind blowing off the sea carried the smell of smoked fish, and his mouth watered. He trudged on through the snow for another mile, and only then did he realize the welcoming smell was changing. He stopped for a quick rest and gazed forward. In the bright grey sky, a billowing cloud of smoke was beginning to rise. A second later, a red tongue of flame could be seen lashing into the air after it. Tomas quickened his pace once more, and gathered more and more speed as the fire grew higher. A deafening roar ripped the silent morning apart, and his blood curdled as he saw a huge fire elemental smashing a flaming fist into a shack near the water. High pitched screaming ensued, but ended almost as quickly.
As skilled a warrior as Ambrask was, he could not defeat a fire elemental single-handedly. A greater demon of the lower planes required magic to bind it and send it back to the abyss. One of this size would require a lot of power - he just hoped there was a priest in town.
**************
Tomas crept along the base of the wall. He peered around the corner and saw the elemental smashing down another hut. Seizing his chance, he made for the chapel door and pushed it open. Once inside, he straightened up and looked about for a priest or cleric. A quiet wimpering could be heard coming from behind the altar.
"Father!" The priest made a high-pitched shriek at the sound of his voice. "Get out from there and fetch me a barrel of blessed water - quickly, now!"
"Sir, sir, please don't kill me! I'm a priest of Adal. You would not do such a thing, would you?" Ambrask reached behind the altar and pulled the man up by his hood. He was surprisingly heavy for his height. The priest straightened up and brushed himself off. Ambrask glared at him. "Yes, yes. There's a barrel here in the corner." he blurted out. He went into a small alcove and dragged a keg from within. Tomas lifted the lid and dipped a cloth into the water. He had a huge steel flamberge sheathed and strapped to his back. He pulled it from it's black leather scabbard and began rubbing it with the cloth.
"Ordinary iron or steel will not harm a Fire Demon. Their blood is as tainted and unholy as the water of the Abyss and a single drop will redden the blade and make it bend into a bow. A coat of blessed water will act as a magical and spiritual barrier against the Demonkind." He looked at the priest. "Do say a prayer for me." With that, Tomas Ambrask left the safe and sacred ground of the church of Adal, and went out into the open to meet fate head-on.
One
Tomas Ambrask sat with his back to the cold stone wall of the shallow mountainside cave. His bright amber eyes gazed over the distant peaks at the opposite side of the Ring of Ice, some one hundred miles away. The morning sun threw her first soft rays upon the icy range of the Torala Neata, the northern mountains of that harsh frozen landscape to the north of Galadir. He was in danger here, and he knew it. Not ten miles to the east of his position lay the huge glacier, Neatama, which was home to the Ice-Elves, and they would not take kindly to a Northman of Kerrif being in their territory. They were sure to have a few watchmen in the mountains so close to home, not to mention the dread frost gharls they trained to keep intruders away from their homes in the mountains.
An Ambrask of Kerrif would not lightly set foot upon the freezing, barren ground of the Ring of Ice, but he was on official business with an old friend of his who resided in a tower on an island to the north of the Torala Neata. Once at the small fishing village of Jür on the coast, he would make the journey to the island by boat. He just hoped he would get out of the frigid mountains alive. He lifted his rucksack from the stone floor of the cave and made his way to the summit.
After reaching the great mountain's peak, Tomas looked upon the vast ocean that coasted the Ring of Ice. The North Sea was huge; sailors sometimes said it was endless, but their views were widely known to be exaggerated. Regardless, it was probably the largest ocean known to Man or Elvir, and to attempt crossing it's icy depths would be folly, as the tales of great sea-creatures and islands of moving ice in the furthest north were not to be ignored. His eyes swung from west to east and observed every village on the coast along the way. Almost directly north he recognized the small village of Jür, and on the horizon he could barely make out a tower reaching out of the water and pointing to the heavens. Three downhill-miles would take him to the tiny port.
Tomas quickened his stride - it was long since he had tasted real food, not rock-hard bread, or the flavourless gruel he made most mornings on his journey to the island. The wind blowing off the sea carried the smell of smoked fish, and his mouth watered. He trudged on through the snow for another mile, and only then did he realize the welcoming smell was changing. He stopped for a quick rest and gazed forward. In the bright grey sky, a billowing cloud of smoke was beginning to rise. A second later, a red tongue of flame could be seen lashing into the air after it. Tomas quickened his pace once more, and gathered more and more speed as the fire grew higher. A deafening roar ripped the silent morning apart, and his blood curdled as he saw a huge fire elemental smashing a flaming fist into a shack near the water. High pitched screaming ensued, but ended almost as quickly.
As skilled a warrior as Ambrask was, he could not defeat a fire elemental single-handedly. A greater demon of the lower planes required magic to bind it and send it back to the abyss. One of this size would require a lot of power - he just hoped there was a priest in town.
**************
Tomas crept along the base of the wall. He peered around the corner and saw the elemental smashing down another hut. Seizing his chance, he made for the chapel door and pushed it open. Once inside, he straightened up and looked about for a priest or cleric. A quiet wimpering could be heard coming from behind the altar.
"Father!" The priest made a high-pitched shriek at the sound of his voice. "Get out from there and fetch me a barrel of blessed water - quickly, now!"
"Sir, sir, please don't kill me! I'm a priest of Adal. You would not do such a thing, would you?" Ambrask reached behind the altar and pulled the man up by his hood. He was surprisingly heavy for his height. The priest straightened up and brushed himself off. Ambrask glared at him. "Yes, yes. There's a barrel here in the corner." he blurted out. He went into a small alcove and dragged a keg from within. Tomas lifted the lid and dipped a cloth into the water. He had a huge steel flamberge sheathed and strapped to his back. He pulled it from it's black leather scabbard and began rubbing it with the cloth.
"Ordinary iron or steel will not harm a Fire Demon. Their blood is as tainted and unholy as the water of the Abyss and a single drop will redden the blade and make it bend into a bow. A coat of blessed water will act as a magical and spiritual barrier against the Demonkind." He looked at the priest. "Do say a prayer for me." With that, Tomas Ambrask left the safe and sacred ground of the church of Adal, and went out into the open to meet fate head-on.