the Darkness of Khmol'ze Pt. 1

Our story begins, as every good story should, in a place far away, actually you have most likely never heard about it, a village far up in the highlands. Right by the mountains rests the small village called Gimni, by the villagers and That-Place-Where-Our-Iron-Comes-From by the proud family of Befverhanskenhjelm who owns most of the mines around Gimni. This is where we find our first actor, Sir Gregory II Befverhanskenhjelm's eldest son, Leopold Befverhanskenhjelm, sent to That-Place-Where-Our-Iron-Comes-From by his father to learn to look after the family's business (and to teach his no-good son what the world looks like outside their estate down by Uinford).

The Withering

     From where the wide Uon slows down over the lowland to the coast where it washes out into the Sea of Donir there is nothing but inhospitable marshlands as far as one can see. In all of southern Donir, from Ferman Forest in the west to the eastern reaches of Ohren's Plains everyone has heard tales of strange inhabitants living deep inside the mazes of waterways and swamps. Most call them the Withering, for it is said that they are the remains of some ancient evil created by Eri-Ogori himself before he disappeared from Romesia.

      When travelling these lands one will hear storytellers speak of heroes of old and their encounters with these creatures, but most of all the stories of Ohren himself.

Rúh, son of Bann

        

The door opened, letting the storm spray the room with rain, leaves and anything else it could carry. The lightning cast a large shadow into the room and one not so large. Their owners, Homen and Pep, stepped into a well filled room.

     “Close the door already!” An angry fat man shouted, “if you were the ones to clean it up every time someone opens the door you'd understand why!”
     The two remained calm, took a step forward and closed the door.

     “You must be the innkeeper.” Homen walked up to him and extended his hand to greet him.
     “And you must be new here. But yes, I am indeed the innkeeper, Ludor is the name. What do you want?”
Homen's hand was not met.
     “Why would anyone in a storm like the present one enter an inn like this one?” Smiling he looked up at Ludor the innkeeper, for he was indeed the owner of the shorter shadow, “we simply want a room for the night.”
     He held up a well filled pouch and Ludor's face lit up.
     “Well you do know the way to my heart, and now that you mention it we do have available rooms for you and your...”
     “Associate.”
     “I am no one to ask questions, your business is yours alone.”
     “We would also like to meet potential swords to come with us westwards when this storm has passed.”
     “I see. I will bring the best we can offer.”

A Necromancer's Disciple

          In the far east of the Dwarven Mountains, where the Black Ridge stretches south-east, casting its shadows upon the Old Alliance-Road, rises a high menacing dark claw. Mag-Ogor, the Mountain of Darkness, has always been home to a large variety of terrifying creatures and the 2^nd era was no different. Back then, when the Alliance had recently been forged, living corpses roamed its highlands and lurked in its many caves, all answering to their master; Arthom, Garfereas a'Har.

          The winds were howling outside the mountain and their screams reached the heart through all the cracks and openings in the mountain's slopes. Through one of these tunnels a man walked, shadows played with the light from the torch he was carrying on the walls around him. Tall with black hair, proud posture and a longsword in his belt, a thin face with determined eyes, all these descriptions could fit any noble of the Indorim but there was something darker behind his cold eyes. He walked as if he knew the dark caves like his own home. He knew he was followed, and now he also sensed a presence in front of him, but he did not stop.

The cursed cave

“You will die today!” A voice echoed in Fenoam's mind. He was sitting in a pitch dark cave, leaning against a rock, barely breathing. It had begun as an ordinary day, and an ordinary hunting trip. He had hit a deer, but his aim had been a bit off and the wounded game ran into a cave. A cave that was regarded as cursed by many in Fenoam's village. There were rumours that those who had gone in there returned insane, or they hadn't returned at all. But Fenoam had considered the rumours as nonsense, nothing more than fairy tales to scare children from going into the cave, protecting them from cave-ins and such. So, without a second thought he went inside.

Alone in the Valley

      In our village we were about 120 inhabitants. Our families had lived in this valley for hundreds of years. I liked our village, I liked the people there and the valley itself. Everything could still have been exactly like it was then if that day had never taken place…but it did…

       It was an ordinary day like any other. I was sitting with my family by the table eating dinner. It was around midday. Suddenly a man, one of my father’s friends, came rushing in and shouted; “He’s here! He’s here again!”. My father quickly reacted and stood up, grabbed his bow and his quiver and ran out with the man. My mother took me and my two sisters and led us upstairs where she told us to stay until they returned. I wanted to follow them so when my mother went I grabbed my dagger, a gift from my father, and ran out. It was a beautiful day, the snow lay thick and reflected the sunshine. I stopped for a moment. Everything was so beautiful. Then I suddenly remembered why I was out here. I heard voices from the other edge of the village. I began running in that direction. Then I saw him. Garfereas, the dragon who had punished our village for many years. His wings threw a huge shadow over the village; it almost seemed like the sun had disappeared. He was about 30 metres above ground and his flames consumed the snow beneath him and ignited nearby houses. He began to fly towards me. He crushed a house before he flew over me. I was thrown backwards. I laid still, scared. I heard the sound of houses crumbling behind me. I just couldn’t move. He seemed a lot larger when he was this close.

       Minutes passed. The dragon had flown away at least ten minutes ago. I stood up, still shaking. I picked up my dagger which had been thrown away some meters when the dragon passed over me. I looked around me in shock. The whole village was destroyed, some houses were still burning and slowly falling apart. I began walking to the other edge of the village from were I had heard voices before; first with slow, shaking steps, but soon I found myself running. I came to the slope were our village ends. Then I knew why the dragon had flown away from there and into the main part of the village; his work here was done. I was looking at a morbid scene of slain men and women, all of the village’s adults were laying there scattered all over the area. Slain in the most ruthless ways. My dagger fell from my hand. I couldn’t move. I knew my parents were down there. I went down the slope. Some people had been charred unrecognisable by the dragon's flames, others had been shredded by his claws, pierced by his sharp tail or even bitten in half by his huge jaws. I wasn’t able to find my parents among the recognizable bodies. The snow was red. It seemed that the sky turned red too. My world trembled. I was left alone, alone in this world, alone in the valley…