Chapter I ~ Episode 5 : The IMMORTAL

( from the journals of the wanderer, Ryld Hune... )

5.

T H E   I M M O R T A L

In which our heroes confront a revenant of a past age, and learn that ancient, undying beings still walk this earth... but not without collecting a heavy price upon later generations...

The thing that emerged from the darkened chamber beyond towered over us, seven feet and more. It resembled a gaunt old man with a trailing wispy beard, stained yellow teeth, and a crooked back, but its pale limbs were knotted with sinewy muscle, and its fingers were tipped with long, chipped nails. It stood barefoot and almost naked, with worn robes belted around the waist. 

The deep steps on the staircase and the oversized stone chair at the end of the table now made sense. This place was built for a creature of his stature. 

It spoke! 

"It seems I must prepare my own dinner like some common cowherd! In the golden times, the blood was pure and plentiful, but now I am weak from the scarcity of this degraded age. Thousands of years ago, I lived in a palace behind the West Wind! Now I cower in this old crypt, forced to share my table with servants, and gnaw the bones of quadroons and changelings! Fools! Useless!" 

He delivered a kick at the innkeeper's cringing form, and we all heard the wet crunch of his bones snapping on impact. The thing sniffed deeply and eyed us all.

"Ah, but I smell richer blood here this night. And... another as well. An appetizer perhaps?"

*  *  *

Things escalated quickly.  Mirko and Iskra confronted the monster head-on. Weaponless, I ducked to the other end of the room where I could focus my energy at range.

Mirko and Iskra chopped and stabbed at the thing, striking blows that should have killed any mortal man, and yet he barely seemed bothered by their attempts. Instead, he fixed his almost-colourless eyes upon me, and licked spittle off his lips. 

This ancient monster frightened me to the core.

Disoriented as I was, I could barely support my friends. My powers were wild and unfocused, tainted by my fear. Iskra was picked up like a ragdoll and thrown across the room. She was quick to regain her footing, and before charging back into the fight, I saw her lay a hand on her bloodied arm and convey a healing charm. This was the first time I saw Iskra use magic! Is she like me? Does she hear the Voices too?

I managed to steel my nerves and sent a bolt of force across the room that staggered the creature. Just as we were about to press the attack, he fled back into the darkness, down a winding staircase.

We pursued the creature into the blackness, and I summoned spirit lights to illuminate our way. This was one of the first ways I learned to use my gift... a relatively easy trick and I can move them around with a thought.

We charged into a long, lightless hall that could only be the being's lair. This whole chamber was full of the stink of death and decay. Bones of all sizes littered the floor. You could scarcely move without disturbing them. The ancient one was at the far end, rummaging through piles of refuse and muttering to himself.

Mirko was first across the chamber but turned his foot on a skull and fell flat on his back. If it hadn't been a matter of life or death, I'd say it was funny. Well, it's still a bit funny, if I replay it in my mind.  Iskra was right behind him and must have stumbled as well, because I think her dagger stroke cut right into Mirko accidentally!

Then the ancient monster found the thing he was looking for. He drew out a very large, old-looking sword. He turned on Iskra and struck her to one knee with a deep cut.  He swung again to finish her, but she caught the blade on her daggers and held it there. Luckily, for I am sure the blow would have killed her on the spot. 

I rushed forward to take advantage of the opening, and hurled another bolt of force at him. It seems that the magical energies of my gift hurt him more than steel weapons. It struck him full in the face. His head snapped back, his sword fell from his hand, and he finally crumpled into a heap. After a gurgling groan and a shudder, he was seemingly dead. And hopefully for good.

Mirko took no chances, and plunged his sword into the immortal's neck. He did not stir. The blood was thick and black like old ink. Cowering there in the chamber, we saw the grey-haired woman who had first approached Iskra and I in the market. Before I could say a word, Mirko lashed out and did for her as well. I confess, I felt only cold satisfaction at her death. 

With the immediate danger now removed, we decided to rest. We looked about and found some interesting items: clothes, papers, old jars of pickled foodstuffs, weapons. Some were very old, others more recent - no doubt the posessions of other people or creatures consumed by these insane cannibals, and by this... ancient thing.

After some time to think, I now recall the story of an ancient mage who is undying due to a spell he cast upon himself. The fables say he hid his soul inside an object to keep it from death's touch. If this is the same monster, the stories need to be rewritten to say he feeds on the blood of the Fading Folk.

Is that why I am different? 

Now, I think perhaps we should take a closer look at these things we found lying around. Fable or not, can we take that chance?

We actually spent the rest of the night in the crypt. Surprisingly, Mirko insisted upon it. I made sure someone stood watch at all times, just in case.  

In the morning, we decided not to stay in the town. We crept in quietly to collect our horses and belongings, but left as quietly as possible. Strangers come in, people disappear... it's never a good equation.  

We didn't know where we were headed next...

PS ~ I can't stand pickled foods.