Interludes Continued - Lost II & Lost III
LOST II
Tierun glanced casually forward. Toq stood twenty feet ahead of the army, if it could be called that. The level of training the majority of this gathering had had would truly only make them a militia. And actually, it seemed more a group of pilgrims traversing mile after mile for some mythical holy land. Many had joined the ranks, many too young to fight, many too old and infirm. Yet still they had come, the slow moving swarm of human beings growing bloated and full, leaving long trails of devastation after its passage.
Tierun sighed.
Why had he asked me to join him? No, the question had been answered the warrior acknowledged. Toq had needed a man he had battled with before, even if that was decades ago. Toq needed a man he trusted, a warrior that had already proven himself, to lead the barrage against the fortified cathedral, the black cathedral. Toq needed a trainer for his militia or ‘Army of the Righteous’ as he had called it. And a teacher not only gifted in skill based purely upon weapon use, but on the use of the human body as a weapon itself. The First Priest of Ara’kull, a new and unknown god, had no money for arms. His people were armed with whatever they had brought: pitchforks, shovels, hoes, even nothing but their own forms. And now Tierun was forced to teach them basic weapon technique and martial forms for the battle.
A battle not truly meant to be won; a battle that would inevitably be nothing more than slaughter. How could the First Priest expect the war to be won? The answer, obviously, was he did not. The mass of humans, five- maybe ten-thousand strong, was to serve as nothing but a vehicle for the priest. A wedge-shaped shield, dozens thick meant only to pierce the orcish hordes and deliver the priest to the base of the Black Spire. And once the path to the spire was clear, Toq would climb the fell monument to battle the Black Magus one-on-one. The priest had no faith in his machine of war but they held belief in him.
Tierun shuddered from fear, anxiety or cold, it mattered not which. Ahead, splitting the sky stood the structure. And while still many leagues away, the damning effects on the militia were telling. The people behind and around the ‘general’ were trembling from their own fear; an obvious result of the structure’s recent presence within their line-of-sight.
Why had he asked me to join him? the question rang again through Tierun’s head. Because he knows me, the ‘general’ thought. Once upon a time and long, long ago, the two had fought as an unstoppable team. Just two men against the foul world, saving villages from rampant orcs or undead; fighting the Black Magus on the smallest battlefields imaginable. They were just two men that grew apart with time, stifled by the hopelessness of the world. Two similar men, both falling prey to greed and lechery and ale. Both had lost their faith, lost their hope.
At least that was the case until a matter of months ago, when hope and faith was rekindled within the breast of Toq.
After a long night of drinking, Tierun added ruefully. Now Toq Arma Dunn was nothing more than a religious zealot, driving ultimately toward a goal that was unattainable; driving thousands of men and children to their untimely deaths.
The priest had enlisted the aide of both the dwarves and elves, luring them to the righteous cause. He had done so openly, allowing the obvious increase in morale once both races had accepted. The priest, soon-to-be-king, had proclaimed the loudly the meeting place and time for the conjoining of the armies. A loud huzzah had broken the air.
Quietly and in confidence later on, Toq had told Tierun that both the elves and dwarves would not show. His countenance was calm and calculating. Tierun had pressed the priest for details. Had both races declined the offer? What did the priest know that the others did not? Toq’s response was only that his god had told him the truth of the matter: the elves and dwarves worked alongside the Black Magus, though in secret. Tierun had shrieked in confusion. Toq held his steeled, mindless gaze, seemingly unaware of his general’s outburst.
The First Priest had lost his mind. Tierun was sure. Half of the time, the priest’s head lolled about on its neck like a piece of fruit resting upon a broken stem; his eyes hollow and devoid of any semblance of recognition. Otherwise, those eyes were aflame with faith and dedication, quite inhuman in their fanatic glee and just as empty in regard to sanity. Tierun did not feel comfortable near either personality; and so now, he stood a good pace behind the First Priest.
Soon, maybe tomorrow, they would all die. No allies would show. And one by one, Tierun would watch each of the warriors surrounding him die. And then Tierun’s spirit would be freed from its own mortal shell, hopefully to some undeserving heaven; but more likely to some endless and deserved hell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
LOST III
All around, the forest reverberated; resounding booms echoing from trunk to branch and finally into the air. Like a heartbeat, it sounded pure, solid and strong. Joining the steady rhythm, thousands of legs moved perfectly, fluidly to the beat of the war drums.
The elven army was on the move.
They had left weeks ago, at least the half relinquished directly from the Ancient Wood. The other portion had been gathered within the Draeul Forest; members of clans more used to dealing directly with humans. Slowly, for elves at least, they had marched parallel to the human group some eighty miles in the east. The elves would have joined the younger race, if not for their desire to meet with a dwarven contingent within the Viper Mountains. Here, the army could cross the range and make swift time to the capital, assuring the rendezvous with the human army was made at the time and on the day they had promised.
Lord Laesu raised his scimitar to the troop, each and every elf stopping. They were a formidable force, trained in warfare and with such skill and grace never seen among the newer races. Dwarves could not match their grace either although many made up for it with pure, vehement force.
It was for the dwarves that Lord Laesu had called the halt. For here, at the very edge of the range, the dwarves would rejoin their own contingent, under the mountain. Etched into solid rock, runes within the stone glowed a bright blue; indicating a doorway for those of dwarvish blood. Swiftly, the small dwarven group of guides across the rough mountain range encircled the doorway. One pricked his finger, spilling blood upon the runes. The stone slid upward, revealing a dark tunnel. Along its length, dead sconces burst to life, flames lighting the perfect, craftsmanship of the gaping warren.
Laesu dropped his sword, indicating the army’s surge downward toward the plains of Midloth, the decaying capital province. The crowd leapt forward, war drums now silent and unused. Each elf sped heartily down the hillside, nimble feet barely finding purchase before becoming aloft yet again.
The dwarves stepped toward their path, falling back suddenly, snarling. The air before the opening shimmered violently, something invisible blocked the path.
“
Wha’ in the nine hells?!” screamed the leading guide[1]. Laesu looked over, confusion blossoming across his brow just as shouts echoes up the hillside. He turned his vision back toward the army of elves that only moments ago rushed down the hill still in perfect formation, now slamming painfully into each other.
Screams of agony and pain swam to his ears; the sound of his men being crushed by the ranks behind. He stepped forward and the earth trembled, throwing the agile lord to the earth. The dwarves bellowed in range, tumbling away from the tunnel.
There, just inside the opening, the earth collapsed upon itself, destroying the beautiful pathway.
Below, wails of pain and grief echoed up from the broken ranks of the elves.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] So…I really wanted the dwarves to say “What in tarnation?!” But I figured that that would be too looney tunes-ish. Yeah, that’s right…even I have a sense of humor—even if I don’t let it out to play often! 
Oh, and it seems Lost will have a fourth part...since I've introduced the character of Tierun...and have decided to show a bit of that battle! Then we'll move on to the next chapter...whichever chapter that may be!
By calling your PC Hendrick and Cassock as well as his father Morgan and Morrick within the same dream sequence, I'm bridging the gap between past and present. Hehe...that could be an interesting choice of words for you...since you know what happens between now and our current situation. For the readers, just know that I'm bridging a gap. Perhaps Cassock's subconscious (if that's what it truly was) was putting pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe not. Maybe its something else. ::Shrugs noncommittally::
