Chapter
1
Forest of the Golden Snowfall
Fulke’s eyes shot
open, feeling rejuvenated and without the pain of his previous battle. He sat
up quickly, feeling around his armor for any arrows. No trace of any form of
the wooden projectiles was found. How was he healed? Who had helped him?
Fulke’s
thoughts shifted to the sudden cold and the new surroundings. He sat in the
middle of a small clearing, which was coated in a thin layer of glittering
snow. Yet, in contrary to what color of snow he had be accustomed to, this snow
was a glittering golden color that seemed to light the entire edge of the
clearing, which was lined with a thick forest.
The
trees of the forest stood high, taller than any he had seen before. They must
have reached nearly a half a kilometer tall. The snow that laid itself on the
branches of these towering trees glittered in the same color as that of the
thin layer on the ground. The smell of the burnt wood of a nearby bonfire circled
around Fulke’s face, and he could see the dark grey pillar of smoke arising not
too far from where he currently knelt.
Fulke
stood, the sudden bursts of pain coming from his muscles made him fall onto one
knee. I thought my wounds had healed,
he thought to himself as he stood back up, pushing through the pain. To his
right, the trees were parted, revealing a path that was trodden by footprints.
Recent footprints that had been nearly twice as large as his own.
Had someone been watching me in my
unconscious state? Why had they not come to help me? They seem to have been
warded off by something, Fulke thought to himself as limped to the opening
of the path.
The
crunch of snow underneath his feet brought Fulke in a heightened state of
attention. He was focusing on his surroundings, noticing the slight movement of
branches following him in close proximity, and hearing the quiet, childlike
laughter stalking him as he uneasily trespassed into whatever welcoming party
lied before him.
Eventually,
Fulke had reached the source of the smoke pillar: a campground burnt to a
smoldering heap. The wooden huts that had been constructed were now in ash as
Fulke stumbled over the small fire that stood in the center of this second
clearing.
Pools
of an odd, black substance bubbled and boiled not too far away from the burnt
huts. In curiosity, Fulke shuffled to the nearest pool of the tar-like
substance, reaching for it slowly, hesitant to see what it was.
A
loud rustling in a nearby bush drew his attention away from the puddle. A
petrifying gurgle pierced the whooshing of the wind, and made Fulke freeze
where he stood. Following this gurgle, whatever hid behind the bush next made a
growl, followed by a beastly roar that seemed as though to shake the trees that
stood erect around the two. This creature then revealed itself, jumping into
the air. The silhouette of a humanoid gave Fulke a general idea of what had
been stalking him through the forest; yet, it did not seem to relieve him of
his fear.
The
man landed heavily, a type of black sludge splashing about in small quantities
as he impacted the glittery-golden snow. Crouching and looking down to the
ground, he stood twice as high as Fulke, his stained white armor expanding on
synchronization with every last, inhuman breath. The man’s armor, which
consisted of a full suit and unlike any Fulke had seen before, was once white,
but some form of black sludge – similar to the type Fulke had noticed next to
the hut and what had splashed from the feet of this man as he landed – had
covered itself nearly all over the cuirass, greaves, helmet, and gauntlets. The
black sludge had pooled in some areas, and then seemed to branch off like
arteries.
The
armor was rounded near every joint, and was a stylish design, with engravings
of animals or some other types of creatures that Fulke had never seen before.
The helmet was a spherical, eventually leading to a slight point at the top of
the helmet. Two tiny slits for eyes were the only way this man could see.
The
rest of the armor nor the abnormal height of the man was not what primarily
drew the attention of Fulke. This man’s sword, however, was what the crusader
had his eyes locked on. About as long as Fulke was tall, this great sword was
terrifying, and seemed to pulsate, as if alive. It had been driven into the
ground as the man landed, but, as he was beginning to resume an excellent
posture, he withdrew the sword, and a slight ting rang as the last of the finely crafted blade was removed.
Fulke
reached for his sword, which was not there. He had no way to defend himself
from this brute. Fulke was sure he would not survive this fight.
The
man gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, brought it up over his head,
and swung down, letting out an inhuman grunt. Fulke rolled out the way uneasily,
just as the sword made impact with the snow-covered ground. The black streaks
tracing up and down the sword seemed to shudder at the force of the impact.
Drawing
back his sword for another attack, the man followed Fulke slowly as Fulke
limped backwards, backing up into a tree. Spinning to his right at the first
sign of another attack, Fulke barely missed the thrust from the sword, which
ran through the tree as if it was butter.
The
giant began another attack, this time coiling up for what appeared to be the
preparation of some type of spinning strike, but suddenly, out of thin air, a
spear of ice rammed through the tall man’s chest, which caused more black
liquid to spew from the wound. The man let out a pain filled, angry roar as he
fell to his knees.
Behind
him, a man in a dull blue armor set, which was sharp and mirrored the armor of
the fully armored knights from Saxony, came from behind the kneeling man. This
other individual then took a halberd of the same color as his armor and swung,
decapitating the first man’s head. The headless body of Fulke’s attacker fell limp,
as did his head. Within a second, the two parts bubbled and turned into the
same fluid that had been at the campsite, also releasing a thin cloud of black
smoke. Fulke leaned against the edge of the tree with his mouth agape
“In
the name of the True Lord, I lay your life to rest, Brant. Forgive my betrayal
for, alas, the good of Tarant.” The second man said in a young, but stern,
accented voice. The language he spoke was not Fulke’s native tongue of Latin,
but in a language foreign and strange, however, it was one he could understand
like it was his own.
Fulke
simply looked in horror at the man, who stood slightly shorter than his
attacker.
“You.
What is your name?” the man with the halberd asked, as he slid the weapon onto
his back from the right side, and ended up crossing to the left at the hip. Fulke
stood silent for a bit.
“Speak!
I command it!” The man boomed.
“I
am a crusader from Saxony.” He said in his native tongue.
The
man tilted his head slightly at Fulke. “You do not speak our language, tiny
man? Odd.” The man stood silently, as if having a long, drawn out conversation
with disembodied voices only he could hear
The
words of the strange language came to him slowly but steadily. “I… am… Fulke…”
He said to the man.
The
man’s attention came from the imaginary conversation to the eyes of his smaller
stranger. “Fulke?” He asked.
“Yes.
I was in… combat in the Holy Land and was… wounded. I awoke nearby and
explored, looking for… someone to assist me.” Fulke said, struggling to find
the words of his newly learned language through the pain of whatever still
plagued him
The
tall man quickly walked over to Fulke with his large strides, and knelt down on
one knee, his head lowered.
“Forgive
me, Legacy, I had not recognized you. I am Valek, The Master of Aqua. The
Prophecy said you would arrive in times of strife, and due to current events, I
very much agree we need your assistance.”
“Legacy?
Prophecy? What is this prophecy you speak of?” Fulke asked as Valek stood back
up.
“The
Man Who Holds up the Sky has written that an individual shall arrive when The
Great Siege will soon happen. It is said that you shall either arrive here, in
my domain, or in the Magnate of Embers’, Fresturn’s.” Valek said.
“I
am confused. What happened? Who was that man you killed? Where am I? What is
happening?” Fulke rambled, beginning to panic as the sense of fear began to
subside.
“I
had expected no different, but you must ease yourself. Panicking will get us
nowhere. I understand the situation is dire, and fearful. But come. I shall
take you to the Palace of Ice, there, I shall feed you and arm you, for
tomorrow we set off for Fresturn’s domain, although he and I are not on good
terms.”
“Can
you please tell me what is going on?” Fulke asked, with fear in his voice.
“I
will on the way, do not worry, Fulke.” Valek walked over to Fulke and carefully
placed his arm over his shoulder, ushering him across the clearing, heading
towards Valek’s home and the capital of the Aqua Realm, Yull.
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