Featured Novel: The Shadow Channeler | Chapter 27 ('Just a simple uber w00t shall do it :)') | 03/08/08 | Rated 5 Stars

Chapter 6





Hazul was a rather short
fellow, reaching most people at their shoulders. His home land was the
continent of Draknius, a continent directly west of Dreadnar, overseas. Most
people often mistake him for a dwarf, which earns them a very powerful left
hook. Hazul was very sensitive about his size, and he didn’t take to insults or
jokes easily. Everyone who knew Hazul went out of their way to not joke about
his size, but you had to pity the poor man who had never known him before.
Hazul slowly walked home, shaking his head. That was the fifth man he had sent
to the healers today. People just
never stopped coming up with short jokes. Another common misconception of his
height was that he was a child. The people who had said that barely even
survived their trip to the local
mages. You could hardly blame them, however. Hazul had a body resembling a
child’s, and a face that didn’t help prove that statement wrong. If it wasn’t
for his large moustache on his face, and his fiery temper and curse words, many
people would never be able to tell
how old he was. On his way home, he gave a thief a rather nice little whole in
between his two front teeth. When he got to his home, he dropped down his
pouch, and sat down on his table. “Draknius just isn’t the way it used to be…”
he said to himself, sighing, “Thieves, pick-pockets, men with no honor, it has
become a common place for the worthless and filthy.” He sighed again. No one
took care of these lands any more. They have been discarded. Drak used to be a
bustling town, full of trade and wealth. The reason was because of the full
mines of gold and silver and other precious gems embedded in the mountain side,
near their town. A few years ago, the city reached is fullest potential, being
the most famous and fruitful city ever made, almost rivaling Dreadnar. That was
the exact time the mines ran out. No one could explain why. Just one day, there
simple was no more anything. The
V.I.P’s of Draknius tried their best to keep this secret, and they successfully
did, but one thing still suffered. Their economy. It was just plain downhill after that fateful
day. At first, it was so subtle; the people shrugged it off as coincidence.
Small shops closing, lighter funding for all the schools, etc. Then, it hit.
And when it hit, it hit damn hard. Suddenly, a school was closed down, then
another, and another, in one day. Shops
closed down everywhere, the most successful shops on the brink of destruction.
Then, it just stopped. People were left on the brink of destruction, but it
stopped. All of a sudden, funding came back, as strong as ever. Rumor had it,
that their mayor was involved with the king of this continent, in something
rather illegal and deadly. Either, people were happy, like survivors of a
hurricane. But, suddenly, their hopes were dashed. The funding was back, all
the shops were open again. But, Draknius would never recover. The economy drop
was a wound too deep to repair. No one ever came back to Drak, only the rare
traveler or merchant, and even they left as soon as they could. Now, Draknius
stays as it is, on the brink of ruin, hardly rivaling a small town. “These are
dark days for Drak” muttered Hazul to himself, “And I doubt they will be over
any time soon…”





Sandarus was just plain screwed. He
started out the day, glorious as ever, being the elite guard captain, his
brother nowhere to be found, hopefully soon to be fired. Now, as we have just
said, he was just plain screwed. He had the death of a prisoner on his hands,
and, no one was there to prove him wrong! The guards all claimed that they
weren’t there, and the prisoners refused to even speak. On top of that, his
brother-in-law was missing! Not gone, but missing!
Missing as in, down in a gutter, dead, or otherwise, missing! He couldn’t
take it in all at once. He sat in his chair, and rubbed his temples. He slammed
his fist down on the counter, causing his name on the desk to fall. He was just
about to bend down to pick it up, then he suddenly brought his heel down on
it, shattering it into several golden pieces. You IDIOT! He thought to himself, you’ve been charged with the murder of a prisoner, your brother is
missing, likely dead, and all you care about is your god damn self and your
useless reputation! Suddenly, he had the urge to cry, but he fought it. He
wasn’t going to be beaten like this. He was the great Sandarus, and god damn
him if he won’t find a solution to this. God
better Damn me real hard then, he thought to himself, as he walked out of
his office.





Hogar dropped dead. He heard the
news in the bar. Zuthis was….no… and he
did…no… he thought to himself. It cannot be! Hogar never trusted gossip…but
he just had a feeling that it was true… Hog couldn’t stand it. He slowly made
his way to the mercenary camp. When he got there, he opened the doors for what
he thought was the last time. He slowly made his way to his room, and removed a
small vial of black-red liquid from his drawer. Ground dragon teeth mixed with
nymph blood… A fatal combination. Instant death. He slowly poured it into his
traditional golden glass, and stared into the liquid. He slowly brought it to
his lips. “No!” suddenly heard
himself saying, and he hurled the glass at the wall. The glass instantly
shattered, and the liquid seeped into the white carpet, making an un-removable
stain. What am I doing, Hogar
suddenly thought, Zuthis wouldn’t have
wanted this to happen! I can’t be this weak. I’m going to continue the business,
and, I swear by Zuth I will not give up! He paced the room, now with a much
more determined stance. He’s going to travel elsewhere, he decided, and find a
fellow mercenary camp to aide! “That’s what Zuth would have wanted,” he murmured
to himself. He would leave as soon as possible. He would sell this place for
enough money to travel, and then head off. Hog knew many people, being an
explorer before he settled down with Zuth here as a mercenary. That leaved many
open places for him, all of which were great opportunities. He began to pack,
taking everything that could help him. The
world is beautiful, but it goes out of the way so you aren’t, said Hogar to
himself. He didn’t know where his travels would take him. Perhaps, if he did,
he wouldn’t have even set off.





It took barely a day to sell the
mercenary mansion. A home in Dreadnar was a home in Dreadnar, and especially
considering the high-class of the house. The top price of it almost knocked the
breath out of Hog. He kept insisting that they forgot to move the decimal, or
that they added a few extra zeroes. But, it was the right price. I could have bribed the king to let Zuth out
with this money, he thought grimly to himself. Hog took one trip to the
Puffering Platapurrien one more time. All the good times he had spent here. All
the bad ones. He’d very likely never see this place again. He sat down, and
ordered his final glass of Dragon’s Blood. Being an honest man, Hogar paid off
all the money he owed the bar, knowing that he wouldn’t have another chance to.
Sighing, he watched as everyone around him was happy, singing, cheering. He
sighed again. If he chooses to leave now, his life would never be the same
again. Then again, if he stayed, the same thing could happen. Hog smiled weakly
when he was reminded of an old saying he had heard once from Zuthis. ‘An arrow in your head, or a dagger in your
heart. Pick your poison.’ Zuth had said that many times, but Hog just now
fully comprehended it. He got up, and walked out of the Platapurrien, pushing
those perfectly-oiled doors for the last time. Then, he gathered his
belongings, and set off. He was lucky it was dark outside, because no one could
see how much he was crying.





The man in the red cloak rose from
his trance, and smiled. His performance was rather convincing. That man would
have to be rather smart to dig himself out of this trench. Walking on the out
skirts of Dreadnar, he looked around. This city. He always loved it. Now he
would have to leave. He had nothing. He had no one. He flung off his red cloak,
reveling another one, a extremely dark-blue one, the color of a night sky.
Then, almost his boots burnt holes in the ground, he took off, into the night.
He had no one. He had nothing. He had himself.

Chapter 7





The man in the black cloak suddenly
felt something. He couldn’t describe what it was He just knew something had
happened. Frowning, he stopped and gazed at the tall buildings in Dreadnar. The
stars were trying to tell him something too. Shaking his head, he continued to
walk the streets. As he passed a mansion’s courtyard on a rather deserted
street, he noticed something. The lock had been shot off. “Interesting…” He murmured
to himself. Taking out his bone dagger, he drew a formation in the air. The shape slowly hovered over the whole in
the lock, and then stopped, lingering there. Then, all of a sudden, the form
jumped to life, and started to turn wildly in the air. He smiled. The lock had
been blown off by magic. That tool had always been handy. He looked up at the
sky. Dawn was approaching. He’d have to refrain from searching this house. He
decided he’d put it off until tomorrow night. “It’s too dangerous now…” he mulled
to himself. As he continued his walk, he stopped. A rather questionable thought
had popped into his head. The spell he had just cast… was it traceable? Could someone
try to trace his tracer? It was possible…he decided. He’d better fix that. The
thought of a terrible tyrant taking the time to trace his tracer was
unbearable. “Then again…” he said, “If the terrible tyrant tries to trace my
tracer, couldn’t I try to trace his try to trace my tr-ACK!” Enough foolishness, he thought. He
continued on his way. Suddenly, he was airborne. Not for long, unfortunately.
He fell with a massive bang, cracking quite a few bones in the process. Swearing
continuously, he healed his bones with a spell, and turned to see what caused
him to trip. The pavement was flawless. Nothing was there. Maybe it was a
mistake? “Impossible!” he argued with himself, “I flew at least 3 feet! It’s
impossible…” He looked down. Nothing was there..Except… There was something wrong. He couldn’t say what, but… the
look of the pavement…it was just…There! He saw a flicker. There was something
there. He was sure of it. He tried a disarm spell. A bright light erupted,
searing his hands in a great amount of pain. Fighting back the urge to lose his
patience, he tried a more advance spell. Something flickered into view. He
couldn’t tell what..But… “A person?” He
blurted out, before he could stop himself. A person indeed it was. This must
have been what he had felt. To keep a person invisible, while not even be there
to maintain the spell, was an amazing feet, something that he himself had
barely time to master. Some one here was a powerful mage. There was absolutely
no use of even examining this one. He wasn’t who he was looking for. No need to
kill him. Suddenly, he heard distant foot steps. You’ve got to be kidding me! He
exclaimed in his head. I barely said two words, and you think I’m a killer!
Well, I am, but you don’t know that! He suddenly got up, and ran towards the on-coming footsteps.





Sandarus didn’t care that he was
about to lose his job. He didn’t care that he hadn’t slept in about five days. He
cared that his brother-in-law was gone. He was announced officially dead this
morning. As much as he hated him, Falcun, dead, it was just too much. He
refused to believe it. He had flown out his office at an amazing pace, determined
to prove the damn world wrong. He had been running down every alley, checking,
looking, asking everyone. He had given up, after a few hours, just weekly
walking down the streets, half-heartedly searching a few alleys. He’s gone, he concluded finally. Gone.
Then, as he was heading back to the fortress, he heard a man cry out something.
A person. He had taken what god had given him, and had broke out into a
full-speed run. Suddenly, he was approached by a man. Rather pale, he had a
dark cloak on, but had the hood off, almost as if he wasn’t trying to look
harmful. “Offic-“ “Captain” Corrected Sandarus. “Captain…” Said the man, obviously
annoyed about the rude outburst, “There is a man over there! I was just walking
down the streets, and I saw him. You should go check it out…” All the breath
was knocked out of Sandarus. “O-of course, citizen. I’ll go look at it right
away.” But the man was already walking away, mumbling something about a
terrible tyrant tracing his tracer.





Sandarus ran at full speed until he
reached the spot. When he got there, he dropped to his knees. There, on the
floor, was Falcun, his brother-in-law. He began to cry. He didn’t know if they
were tears of joy or tears or sadness, but he was crying. Then suddenly, he was
extremely angry. Why did this idiot go out on himself? What the hell happened?
The idiot! He began to slap Falcun on
the cheek furiously. When questioned about it later, he insisted that it was to
wake him up, but we have our doubts… It was no use. He just wouldn’t wake up.
Then suddenly, the truth his Sandarus like a train. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping… “NO!’ He yelled. No… He picked Falcun up (with
great effort) and began running, running to the fortress, running to the
healers, running to hope.





Hazul packed his things as quickly
as possible. It was time to go. He just knew it. It was a feeling. Or, maybe,
common sense. Rumor had it that their ruler, Regius, had gotten into a slight
dispute with the king. In other words, their town was dead. The funding for
everything would soon die out. The only reason Hazul knew this, was that he had
managed to eavesdrop on a conversation held by the royal guards. He smiled to
himself. Another advantage to his mini stature. Being the only citizen to know
this, Hazul knew that he had to get out right away. As soon as anyone found
out, this place would become chaos incarnate. No way out. He’d probably get
trampled. That’s why it was important to let no one know; to leave as discreetly
as possible. As he stepped out of his house for the final time, he suddenly
felt a sadness and longing grow inside him, one that he had never felt for this
house before. He had grown up in this house. Well, he thought to himself, at
least until my damn parents abandoned me. I was left all alone. I was barely
ten years old. Then again, who could blame them? The day the economy crashed
was a day that every one rued. A tear slowly making its way to his
moustache, he turned his back on the house. He couldn’t look at it any longer,
or he might have decided to stay. Shifting his sac to a more comfortable
position, he made his way down the winding roads of Draknius for what might
surely be that last time. He remembered when this had been the most famous road
ever. It was so long, it beat even Dreadnar’s streets by far. Not only that,
there was everything you could think for sale there. Merchants from exotic
lands, retired adventures selling wisdom for a few coin; it was pure paradise.
Not anymore. As Hazul made his way down the endless road, he looked around.
Every building held a memory for him. The theatre, the leather-maker, all the
others. Most of those people were either dead or long gone by now, he knew. He
continued on his way, pointing out every building he had ever known. When he
arrived at the gate, he said goodbye to the person who had been the closest to
a friend he had ever had. Roit, being about Hazul’s age, was very tall, and
always had a large smile on his face. Hazul loved the times had spent together.
Never again would they happen. Sighing, he made his way up to the booth where
Roit was standing. “Hey! Hazul! How y’a doing? Where y’a going?” Hazul looked
into Roit’s eyes. He couldn’t handle lying to him. He couldn’t handle telling
him the truth either. “Hey, Roit. Just going down to the river. Be back in a
couple of hours. Have fun with your shift.” Smiling, Roit opened the gates, and
called out, “Psh! Like that could ever happen! Come back soon!” Hazul couldn’t
stand it anymore. He would never see Roit again, and the last words he had said
to him were pure lies. He could imagine Roit, standing there, after his shift
ended, wait for Hazul to return, smile still on his face, continuously checking
the time. Eventually, he would return home, wondering where Hazul had been. Hazul
couldn’t stand to think about it anymore. As he made his way down the stone
path, he turned around, and said goodbye one more time to once great city, a
shadow of its former self. Draknius was dead. He gave it a couple of weeks.
Then, everyone would start wondering why they didn’t have enough money to buy
bread, or why the theatre’s prices were suddenly so expensive. Hazul shook his
head, turned around, and concentrated on the path before him. He continued on
his way, regretting that his life would never be the same and hoping that it
would change.

Chapter 8





Sandarus
patiently paced his office, waiting for the report to come in. It had been a
good four hours since he had gave his brothers to the mages, and, even though
he knew nothing about the art of magic, he was sure it couldn’t take this long
without something going wrong. He collapsed in his chair, head in his hands. Could my life actually get any worse? thought
Sandarus, regretting everything he had said to Falcun. After another hour, his
door opened, and a young recruit jumped in. “Uh, sir! The sorcerers of the
fortress demand to speak with you, sir!” Message done, the man jumped out of
the room as quickly as he came in, and Sandarus was left alone to speculate why
they wanted to see him. He slowly got up, and walked towards the healing ward,
used for prisoners that were found injured, or disabled. He paused before he
opened the door, thinking that this may be the last time he enters this room
before he finds himself alone. He didn’t have time to open the door, however. A
thin, medium-heighted man opened the door before he could reach the handle, and
barred Sandarus’ way. “You’re Falcun’s brother-in-law, correct?” Sandarus
frowned at the man’s rudeness. Being technically not part of the prison, the
spell-casters refused to call any captain or officer ‘sir’, as they had no
respect for them, thinking they were nothing more than brutes. “Yes, I am. I
have been told to come here. Why?” The man finally came out of the room, and
shifted to a more comfortable position on the wall. “Well sure, he’s protected
by a rather strong spell. Nothing we do can stop it. H-““Is he alive?” blurted
out Sandarus, before he could stop himself. Now it was the man’s turn to frown
at his rudeness, “Yes,” Seeing Sandarus’ face light up, the man once again
frowned, then added, “Problem is, it’ll be no use if we can’t get him to move. He could still be alive, but live
the rest of his life in a trance-like sleep. So, like I said, unless we can
break the spell, he might as well be dead. I am sorry.” said the man, with
almost no compassion whatsoever. Turning around, the man returned to the room,
leaving Sandarus once again alone. Then, suddenly, the door burst open (almost
earning Sandarus a broken nose) and the man in white returned. “Your brother!
He just woke up! We can’t explain it b-“ Sandarus pushed passed the guard
before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. His brother was lying in a
make-shift bed, packed with rough straw. “Sandarus…” said Falcun weekly, “I’v-I’ve
got to tell you something. The rat who did this to me…He grabbed my shoulder.
Then, I fell. D-damn m-mages,” Falcun started to drift off again. “NO!” screamed
Sandarus, looking at Falcun, “Tell me something else! Who was he, what
happened? By the name of god, I’ll find that worm and I’ll make sure he wished he would suffer Spectamus Suffurum! I swear to it
Falcun.I sw-swear...,” Sandarus looked at Falcun. He was smiling weekly. “Yeh,
sure. Always taking all the glory, eh San? Oh well, I guess I’ll give you this
one…just know, I’ll catch up someday…I’ll c-catch up.” While he was saying that
sentence, Falcun slowly closed his eyes, and slumped down. Sandarus found
himself started to scream, yell and cry all at the same time. The rest was all
in slow motion. He was taken in strong arms, pushed outside of the office.
Still screaming. They had to hold him down, restrain him. Still screaming.
Locked in his own office, a guard patrolling the outside. Still screaming.
Somebody coming in, saying soothing words, saying that he was only in a trauma
again, he wasn’t dead. Still screaming. Then, a bed, blackness, darkness,
peace. No screaming.





Sandarus
woke up early in the morning, asleep in the bed in his office. “What the hell?”
he said to himself, quickly getting up, then finding himself in his
undergarments. Then, he remembered everything. He had the urge to cry again,
but restrained it. It would only make things worse. He dressed himself slowly,
as if the world itself was suddenly crawling at a snail’s pace. When he was
fully clothed, he tried to open his door. Not locked. Before him, then grand
interior of the prison opened before him. He used to love this view. Now he
purely hated it, wanted to pushed it away, make it stop. Then, he remembered what
Falcun had said about the man who had attacked him. Hand on the shoulder, feeling
drowsy… “No…It c-can’t be.” Sandarus was there when he saw the man die. Hell,
people thought he was the one who killed him!
If anyone was sure that Zuthis was dead, it was him! He recalled a friend of
the prisoner, the man they had met the night they arrested the man for the
death of the prince. Hugnar, Hugh the Hand, Hig, Hog, Hog, Hogar? Was that it?
Hogar? He would find him. He would demand
to know what had happened that night. He knew damn well that a friend of
the prisoner was probably as dangerous as the prisoner himself. He’d leave as
soon as possible. Maybe say a prayer next to Falcun’s bed. When Falcun awakes,
he’ll find out what his brother-in-law has done, and probably regret everything,
even though it wasn’t his fault. Then again, he could take this opportunity to
become his rightful place as Elite Guard Captain again… It doesn’t matter, Sandarus found himself thinking, Even if I’m not doing this for Falcun, I’m
doing it because it’s my damn job, because I am a guard of Dreadnar, and I
swore by oath that I would do everything in my power to stop someone like that
man. Packing his things, he thought of how bloody hard it would be to find
the man. Dreadnar was massive, and what the hell even made him think he was
still in Dreadnar? He called for a
young man, and demanded that he searched the city’s records, checking all the
actions by a man named Hogar, particularly leaving the city. The man rolled his
eyes at the long, boring, and seemingly useless job, but went off to do it
without further complaint. Sandarus finished packing, then emerged from his
office. He walked around the grand fortress for what might surely be the last
time, and waited for the young man to finish his job. He knew that he had
several hours to kill before the job was actually done, so he began inspecting
the cells, helping men do their job, and sitting down to eat his final lunch in
the place. He never actually liked sandwiches. They just…repulsed him. He
plainly refused to eat them. He hated tomatoes, for one thing, and lettuce just
wasn’t his green. On top of that, the mayonnaise on the sandwich made him gag.
He had to applaud some of the men, who ate one every day, and still managed to
hold their fitness well. Finishing his lunch, he sat in the lounge made for the
employees who were less fortunate and didn’t have a private office, and thought
about what his search of the man would be like. He imagined traveling over
mountains, doing heroic deeds, and slaying many beasts. Then again, the man may
have barely crossed the forest if he had left after Zuthis was captured. Hell, he could still be in this damn city! said
Sandarus in his head. After a few hours, as Sandarus had predicted, the young
man returned, a rather long scroll in his hand. He handed it to him without a
word, and scurried off, mumbling something about losing his break. Sandarus
slowly moved through the scroll, then stopped. He arched an eyebrow. Sold an
establishment? He continued on the list. Only a few lines after that, was what
he was looking for. Citizen left city of
Dreadnar. Sandarus smiled. An eye and an ear everywhere was good. An eye
and an ear on everyone was perfect.
He got up, and got ready to leave. While he was examining the prison that he
used to love for the last time, he was approached by a man. The man said
something, and Sandarus nodded. It couldn’t be helped. He continued on his way,
and emerged from the prison, breathing in the dawn air. He walked slowly down
the streets, looking at the city. It only occurred to him now this may also be
the last time he saw the city of Dreadnar in quite a while. He would have to
get moving, though, the man was probably a good day or two ahead of him. Now,
being outside, with the tranquility of dawn, the pang of what the man said now
hit him. An amazing man, probably one of the greatest this city had ever had
was dead. A truthful, honest, and humble man was dead. A funny, caring, and
smart man was dead. More importantly, his brother-in-law was dead. Falcun was
dead. Sanadrus found himself crying. Falcun would never catch up on all the
glory now. Or maybe he already had.

Chapter 9








Hogar
scanned the horizon, breathing in the fresh dawn air. It was a new day, and
that meant a whole new day of traveling. He packed up his small camp, and went
on his way again. He decided to head to a city named Rilos, one that he had
worked at for quite a while a long time ago. It was a fairly popular city, not
that far from the fame of Dreadnar. Rilos was famous for its unrivaled
over-seas trade. Being right next to the Sancrenor Ocean, it had one thing that
Dreadnar did not have, and would never have. Water. This opened a whole new
line of trade for this city, making it an extremely popular place. Any traveler
from overseas would try to head for this city, hoping that it could sell its
goods there. It also had a very special transportation unit. Every few weeks or
so, a ship would arrive at the dock, and, for a large fee, carried all the
passengers to the city of Draknius, which was on the continent of Draknius.
Many people joked that these people were too lazy to come up with another name
for the city, but the habitants just ignored it. After the ship arrived at the
dock on the other side of the ocean, it would do the exact same thing.
Passengers would pay, come on, and get taken to Rilos. A lot of profit, and,
they made an extra buck for every merchant that came here to trade, because everyone
took this form of transportation. All this gave the city a lot of the trade
that Dreadnar missed. Rumor had it that Rilos would one day surpass Dreadnar
in popularity. Everyone agreed that it was possible, and, that they should get
a place there before the prices became too expensive for the average person. The
king did nothing to discourage this rumor because, hell, if it gave him more business,
let there be lies! Because of that and many other reasons, including its fish
trade with many other countries, Rilos was a very rewarding place to visit, especially
if you’re looking for business or trade. Hog didn’t see a reason not to try
there first, so that was where he was headed. The only disadvantage was that,
because Dreadnar was located in the middle of the continent (and that was where
he had taken off from) he had a least a ten day journey ahead of him. He
continued to walk, yawning lazily and looking at the beautiful landscape unfold
before him. Regretting that he hadn’t bought his horse with the massive amount
of money he had made, he sighed and shook his head. The problem with
adventuring was complicated. If you didn’t know where you wanted to go, it was
wonderful, everything a surprise. If you did,
then, well, it was boring as hell. Thinking of all this stuff, Hog’s mind
eventually wandered to what exactly he would look for in Rilos. A mercenary
job, probably, but where would he find one? Would
he find one? Frowning at this thought, he shifted his pack that was digging
into his back, and began to quicken his pace. The sooner I get there, he thought, the sooner this endless boredom will stop. He always thought
adventuring was so fun. Most people do. But, all those people told about their
action-packed, life-death experience. What about getting there? Did they fly there? Hell, no. Hog’s thought were
interrupted by a blinding pain in his temples. He quickly whipped one hand to
his sword, another one to where the pain had struck. He brought his hand back. Blood? He saw what had caused that. A
large rock was lying on the floor, smeared with something red, not too far from
where he had been. He turned around, pushing his cloak over his shirt. Always choose underestimation then
overestimation against an enemy you don’t know, he said silently, reciting
an old mercenary saying. Three men in black cloaks were approaching him in separate
directions, each face hidden completely; their cloaks falling down to their
shins, in a futile attempt to conceal their weapons. Oh, please, thought Hogar, like
I’ve never seen one of you idiots before. The men approached him slowly,
probably thinking their rock had stunned him. Hog then chose the moment to act.
Perhaps a little late for a pro, but these men were obviously amateurs. He dropped
to the floor, in a perfect mimic as if he had been knocked out. He heard one of
the men chuckle. They approached him, one of them a little too eager to rob him
of his belongings. Now was the time to act. Hog whipped around his sword in a
tornado slash, in an attempt to knock them all out at once. The two ones
farther away barely dodged it. The closer one wasn’t so lucky. He clenched his
stomach, then fell to the floor. Now the men knew he wasn’t knocked out. They
drew their weapons, and began to circle him, in the goal to set him off
balance. Hog made a "pssting" sound with his mouth. Yeh, right, he thought. One of the men attacked earlier then the
other one expected. A fatal mistake. Hog parried his attack, and whipped the
sword around in his hand, disarming him and cutting off his left arm. The man
fell to the floor with a piercing cry. The final one was obviously more skilled,
and much more cautious then the other ones. He kept moving back and forth in
front of Hog. Hog had seen this maneuver before. It wasn’t an attack movement…it
was designed to keep the target busy whi-Hog jumped, and did a triple flip in
mid-air, while an arrow flew straight under him, inches from his stomach, hitting the man
in front of him squarely in the chest, probably puncturing a lung. Hogar barely
glanced at the dead man. He whipped around, to see the leader, standing a few
yards away, another arrow knocked in his bow. “Fagnis,” (Fagnis is taken from
the word of the ancient language Fanus
ith, meaning filthy slime. It has been corrupted over the ages into the
word Fagnis, a curse word used commonly in this land.) said the man, looking at
his dead allies, “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today. Three men dead.
Really annoying, aren’t you. Don’t move and maybe I’ll kill you faster.” Hog
almost laughed out loud. He thought he could kill him? Hog knew that he did have to be careful, though. A mistake
could be fatal. Now was the time to act. Hog did a swift movement, causing the
man to think that he was about to attack, and making him let loose his arrow.
Wrong move. Now it was his turn for a distraction. Hog easily
dodged it, and, in one swift, fluid motion, threw his helmet at the man, then
twisted to pick up the three swords of the fallen men. The helmet soared
harmlessly over the man’s head, but it had done its job. The man had taken a
split-second to look at it. His final mistake. Hog fanned out the four swords,
and threw them, like throwing knives, at the man. With a speed that was un-natural
to anyone, especially one of Hog’s size, he sped up to the man, caught one of his own swords he had
thrown, did a twist in mid-air, and plunged it into the man’s back. The other
swords then hit him, one in his neck, one in his stomach, and one missing its
target. The man collapsed, dead. Hog got up, searched the bodies for anything
helpful, and continued on his way, barely panting. Nothing like a good old
fight to clear up boredom. He brushed some dust off his shoulder and continued
on his way.





The man in the red cape continued
his swift pace, barely glancing at anything except the path ahead of him. He
had traveled much slower than he had planned, so he moved without furthermore
distraction, and refused to let his body rest until he had reached a certain
point. When it got dark, he muttered the spell, and a globe of light
materialized in his hand. He discarded it carelessly. The globe hovered, then
approached him again, this time staying at his shoulder. He observed his surroundings,
this time making sure that he didn’t stop moving while doing it. He was in a
rather deserted part of the forest, even wild life was scare. The Sparia Trees
were beginning to make their bitter-sweet fruit, and the man plucked one from
the tree. He put it in his mouth, wincing at the extremely bitter taste of the
un-ripened fruit. He began to walk even faster, wanting to leave this annoying
forest. He didn’t know where he was headed, exactly, but somewhere far enough.
His body cried out for him to stop, but he still had not reached his desired
destination. As he kept walking, dawn started to come. After a while, it was
fully lighted outside, everything was light, shining. Everything except the
shadowed face under the cloak.

Could my life actually get any worse? Thought Sandarus

to

Could my life actually get any worse? thought Sandarus


He had the urge to cry again, but restraint it

to

He had the urge to cry again, but restrained it


He knew he had several hours to kill until the job was actually done, so he began expecting the cells...

to

He knew he had several hours to kill until the job was actually done, so he began inspecting the cells...


Hell, he could still be in this damn city! Said Sandarus in his head

to

Hell, he could still be in this damn city! said Sandarus in his head

Thats it for the chapter 8, heres 9:

He decided to head for a city named Rilos, one that he had worked at for quite a while a long time ago, was a fairly popular city, not that far off from the fame of Dreadnar

to

He decided to head for a city named Rilos, one that he had worked at for quite a while a long time ago. It was a fairly popular city, not that far off from the fame of Dreadnar


Rumor had it, that Rilos would one day surpass Dreadnar in popularity.

to

Rumor had it that Rilos would one day surpass Dreadnar in popularity.


Because of that and many other reasons, included its fish trade...

to

Because of that and many other reasons, including its fish trade...


He continued to walk; yawning lazily...

to

He continued to walk, yawning lazily...


The sooner I get there, he thought, the sooner this'll endless boredom stop.

to

The sooner I get there, he thought, the sooner this endless boredom will stop.


Hog then chose that moment to ask.

to

Hog then chose that moment to act.


Hog made a Pssting sound with his mouth.

to

Hog made a "pssting" sound with his mouth.


"Fagnis" Said the man...

to

"Fagnis", said the man...


The other swords then hit him, one in his neck, one in his stomach, and one missing its' target.

to

The other swords then hit him, one in his neck, one in his stomach, and one missing its target.

Chapter 10





Hazul moved along the country side, trying to take his mind
off the city he had left. Dawn approached slowly, as if it was reluctant to
make an appearance after the night’s marvelous performance. When it did come,
Hazul smiled at all the beautiful, early morning sounds. In the city, you’d
never hear such tranquility. The sound of a flowing stream, so beautiful,
endless, peaceful. It almost brought tears to his eyes. He made his way down a
slopping hill to the stream, and drank to his heart’s content. Then, filling up
the rest of his bottles, and washing a few things here and there, he began to
hum a tune. He couldn’t put his finger on where exactly he had heard the tune,
he just knew it. He kept humming it, surprised himself on how marvelous it was.
It was peaceful and hyper at the same time. It was dark and light, happy and
sad. Bitter and sweet. He made his way back up the cliff, with a fair amount of
difficulty, then continued on the rough rocky road. He was going to leave the
continent, he decided. Off, to another place, another continent, another world.
New hope and a new life. No more troubles to worry about. Well, he reminded himself, at
least not about not enough funding for anything or something like that. He
yawned and stretched his arms out wide, thinking about what he could do to pass
the time. He began to hum the same song again, still amazed that he knew it,
yet didn’t know exactly where it was from. He thought as hard as he could,
until he was red in the face, (resembling a cherry with a beard) but still
couldn’t place his finger on it. How frustrated he was! Almost out of revenge,
he stopped singing the song, and tried to focus on traveling. But, a few
moments later, it was either in his head, or he found himself humming it under
his breath again. Infuriated, he shoved it out of his brain, and started
singing other songs, almost yelling. “JERRY THE GIANT WAS OH SO MARRY, BUT NO
ONE LIKED HIM BECAUSE OH, WAS HE HAIRY! IF HE STEPPED ON A FOLK, THEY DIDN’T
CARE, BECAUSE THEY KNEW ABOUT HIS SIZE AND THEY WERE FAIR!” But, eventually the song over lapped that one,
and it was back again. Eventually, he just gave in, and continued to hum the
song. After a while, a wave of guilt and sadness washed over him. He finally
realized where that song was from. It was the song that his mother had sung to
him so many years ago. He stopped, collapsed on the floor, and put his head in
his hands. How could he have forgotten about something like that? And when he
heard it…so much anger, frustration. Did he miss his parents that much? Even
after all they had done to him? Well, I
shouldn’t, said Hazul suddenly, Why in the name of Drake should I care? Those
Fagnis didn’t care about him after he was barely a toddler. Still, he
couldn’t stop feeling horrible. He got up, and continued on his way. Nothing
could cheer him up. He tried humming his mother’s song, but now it seemed that
he had forgotten the tune.








It’s now time to introduce a new character in the story. He
has been mentioned before, but very lightly.
King Regius was in his late fifties, but looked much older than his actually
age. He was the ruler of the land of Oriniutum, but, he was in no way content
with this highly satisfying job. Everyone thought being a king was easy. And it
was. Well, until something went wrong. Then it was pure horror. Everything you
did made a difference, and if you made a mistake, then, well, it’s completely
your fault. If someone else made a
mistake, oh, well, it’s not their fault! They didn’t mean it! Leave them alone!
Regius was fine with that part. That was the way his job was. He couldn’t
change that. That was not his problem. The problem was that the city of
Dreadnar was now in an uproar, and he could do little about it. Apparently, a
man, named Zuthis, got into a fight with his son, killed him, then was sent to
jail. He tried to escape, almost succeeded, then, was caught again, and was
trapped in a jail cell, until the leader of the Elite Guard Captain (he couldn’t
remember the man’s name for the life of him) went to visit him, and killed him
for no apparent reason! Then, the man refused that he did this, said that the
prisoner killed himself, and that was that! Regius didn’t know what the hell to
believe now, and, as if that hell hole wasn’t enough, now that Sfickus (Sfickus
is a word from the ancient language, Sicklus,
meaning an ugly man, with no hope. It was been corrupt into the word Sfickus, a
noun used to call people an in-appropriate word.) has disappeared without a
trace! The whole damn city has been searched! He’s gone! Not only that, he just realized. The previous day, he had been informed
that a man at the prison had died. He had brushed it off. Why, in the name of
Dread, should he care? He just realized now who the man was. He was the
previous Elite Guards Captain. Infuriated at this new problem, Regius swung his
hand at the glass of wine, knocking it over and permanently staining the
carpet. The servants quickly fluttered around the stain, sighing, some crying,
some asking him what was wrong. He ignored them all. He sighed, and leaned his
face on his knuckle. He tried to sort out his problems, thinking about what he
could do to solve all these problems. Nothing. He sighed again. He’d have to
continue the search for the missing captain, hold a funeral for his son, and
get a god damn message for his back. Every year seemed to get harder with this
job. Nothing easier. Never easier. He caught himself drifting to sleep, and
quickly woke himself up. Napping on the
throne won’t exactly help your reputation, thought he king to himself. To
sort through this, he was going to need a hell of a lot more intelligence and
cunning then he ever had, or ever will have. He suddenly got up, and made his
way to the Council of the city, with a quick and determined pace. His son was
dead, the city demanding justice, and he was sure as hell he wasn’t getting any
younger.








The man in the black cloak gave up
finally with a sigh. There is no one in
this city! He yelled at himself, why
do I stay here? Because you’re scared to leave the sanctity of your own home;
you’re scared to leave safe guard. You know you’re immune here. You won’t be
outside of this city, he answered himself. Sighing, he decided he’d leave
here. What he was looking for just plain wasn’t here. He knew it. He was
instantly ready to leave. He had no belongings, except his personal
bone-dagger, and his own ability to cast deadly spells. Already walking to the
outskirts of the town, he was disgusted at himself on how much time he had
wasted in this city. He was determined to find what he was looking for, even if
he had to travel to the ends of the earth. Well,
technically, the world doesn’t have an
end, he said to himself, Bu- His
thoughts were interrupted when he arrived at the gate. He gave the custom information,
and walked out of the city. He’d be back, he knew he would. He just didn’t know
when. Gathering his thoughts, he stamped his foot three times, then said “Levitias
Vitenus” Suddenly, he slowly rose from the air. Smiling, he moved his arm
right. He moved right. Same with his left arm. He loved this spell. He tried to
avoid moving frontward, because, honestly, what idiot would put two hands in
front of him to fly? He’d look just plain stupid. Having no choice though, he
took a moment to modify the spell. Sticking his head forward and his hands in
back of him, he flew towards the horizon, leaving a downright stunned and baffled city
gate guard to ponder what the hell had just happened.