Legacy of Oblivion

An armored hand pulled Airsk sharply out of the way.

“You’ve got until the count of three to tell us who you are,” Grimvalt said quietly.

The mist around the elf glowed softly when she spoke and rippled like a cloud when she moved. A trail of the magical essence led back to the phallus, which was still standing in the center of the broken aquarium. A sad piece of seaweed had gotten tangled up around it.

“And then what?” the elf asked Grimvalt with an amused smile. “You will attack me?” Her head shook slightly, sending faint ripples of mist away from her head. “I think you should reconsider that plan. The individuals who have been watching this house will come through that door in a moment and then you will have your hands full.”

Before anyone could ask how she knew about that, Raeln rounded on the group angrily from where he had trotted off to search through the wreckage that had once been his living room.

“I think we’ve forgotten the primary concern here, people!”

“Former people!” Matelda protested.

In unison, the group turned to him with an exasperated look. No one was really certain what could be more important than a strange elf appearing out of a phallus.

“What is it now?” Autumnwolf demanded.

Glaring at her, Raeln stomped back over to where they had gathered and held up his detached limb. The movement whipped the wrist upward and the hand went with it. All fingers curled up into the palm, save for the middle one, which stood erect and at indignant attention. Before anyone could determine whether or not that was intentional, the sage shook the arm again until it was limp and inoffensively posed.

“Give me that,” Grimvalt said, snatching the arm away.

Whirling back around, he pointed to the elf again, gesturing with the extra appendage he held. Raeln’s hand conveniently did the pointing for him; the index finger extended toward the elf accusingly.

“Who are you?” He said. His voice was low, but the threat was clear.

Silence prevailed over the tense moment, save for a few exotic fish flopping about on the floor.

“My name is Delinia. I’ve already said this.”

He didn’t flinch. “No,” he said calmly.

Each word was carefully enunciated as if it were its own sentence. As he spoke, his sword came effortlessly from the scabbard.

“Who are you?” He repeated.

Their eyes locked.

Graceful eyebrows raised in response, sending a faint puff of white above the elf’s head where it hovered like an angelic crown. Her eyes flickered to Grimvalt’s sword, then back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the faces of his companions looking at him curiously.

“I’m not going to ask again,” he said.

“Uh, Grimvalt?” Airsk whispered.

The warrior held up Raeln’s hand for silence. Five fingers snapped to attention, holding the appropriate pose.

“One,” he said.

He blocked out the faces of his companions, though they were still staring at him for some odd reason. It didn’t stop Airsk from still trying to get his attention.

“Grimvalt?”

He was barely listening.

“Two.”

The amusement she wore on her face angered him even more. His resolve hardened, his jaw tightened, and his hand restored his grip on his sword.

His hand was wet, and a little slimy.

“Grimvalt!”

Startled, he looked over at the object in his hand. Where a sturdy, metal blade should have been was a large fish that he was grasping just above its tail fin. One round eye stared back at him in confusion while the mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

He caught himself before stepping back in surprise. Both eyes narrowed and shifted back to the elf.

“Put that down,” Delinia said. It sounded more like a suggestion than a command.

He did. No sooner had his arm dropped down to his side had the fish become his sword again.

Airsk was staring at the sword, eyebrows raised. Grimvalt knew what the orc wanted, but didn’t want to make it appear as if he was also just as curious. With the appropriate sigh of aggravation, he raised the sword again, watched it morph back into a fish, then lowered it, turning it back into his beloved weapon. Airsk wore a look that said he couldn’t help but wonder how the fish felt about all this.

“Nice,” Grimvalt said. “Do you make balloon animals, too?”

Delinia’s eyes narrowed.

“Enough!” Matelda snapped, and pointed at Raeln’s deflated sleeve. “And put his arm back on.”

The priestess then offered an apologetic smile. “My colleague,” she said, pointing at Raeln, “was deciphering the markings on your vessel, when he mentioned you may be linked to the Titans.”

Matelda paused and smiled again, her bloodless lips stretching wide and curling slightly at the ends. If her mouth hadn’t resembled a black hole, it might have been pretty.

“Possibly even an item that belonged to them?” She asked. “Would you be able to tell us more, and perhaps, where we might find it?”

Airsk gave her an incredulous look. Autumnwolf rolled her eyes. Raeln threw up his one hand in disbelief and wandered off to rescue the lifeforms from his demolished aquarium.

“Smooth,” Airsk said. “I’m sure she isn’t just going to come out and tell you.”

“Actually, I am.”

Stunned silence returned to the group.

“You are?” Airsk asked.

The elf nodded solemnly. “Once every ten thousand years, I can disclose all ” however,” she said, lifting one cautionary finger, “I can only tell you once. After that, ten thousand years must pass before I may speak it again.”

“You will just tell us?” Autumnwolf asked suspiciously. “As simple as that?” Her face grew more incredulous with every word. “You do not even need to check our references?”

“No. Whoever is able to determine the inscription,” she said, pointing back over her shoulder at the phallus, “and can summon me within the allotted time, has proven themselves.”

From the far side of the room, Raeln stood upright, thoughtfully cupping a fish in his hand. Caution was in his eyes.

For the first time since they had arrived, Autumnwolf agreed with the sage.

“I am concerned with the implications of having this kind of information.” She said. “Even if power is intended for good, evil has a way of manipulating many things for its own twisted purpose.”

“She’s right,” Grimvalt said. “Depending on what this thing is, we could be killed just for knowing about it.”

Matelda shook her head. “It really wouldn’t matter,” she said, “because if we have it, we would have the power to kill those who would want to kill us! We would obliterate them with the powerful magics!”

For some reason, she sounded as if her reasoning was completely sane. The expressions returned to her reflected the opposite to be true.

“We do not even know what we are being offered,” Autumnwolf argued. “This is a decision we need to take time to consider. If a godly item is what we will obtain, we should weigh the consequences it will have on the balance of the world.”

Raeln nodded. “Delinia, you said there is an allotted time when you can be summoned. How long is this period?” He asked.

“One-hundred years.”

The sage cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “I had hoped for more, given the gravity of the situation,” he said, “but I suppose it will suffice.”

Looking relieved, Autumnwolf ignored Matelda’s scornful glare and nodded her agreement.

“It is settled, then,” the druid said.

“Well, wait a minute,” Airsk said slowly. “The period of summoning is one-hundred years.”

“Yes,” Raeln said.

“But it’s the total period of summoning,” Airsk said slowly, looking to Delinia for confirmation. “So we’re already somewhere inside that one-hundred year window.”

“No,” Raeln corrected, then stopped suddenly as the mistake was realized. He blinked. “Yes!”

Everyone looked to Delinia.

“So,” Airsk asked, “how much time do we have left?”

A single eyebrow lifted at them.

“Twenty-two minutes.”

The room exploded in a flurry of movement. Furniture was toppled over in the frenzy and bodies were running around the living room, rummaging through bookcases and piles of broken decor littered across the floor. Delinia remained still, watching the chaos around her.

“Find some paper!”

“Wait! Is this information we really wish to know?”

“We no longer have the time to debate it.”

“Ow! Who tripped me?”

“There’s no one anywhere near you.”

“It was definitely a boot. Confess!”

“For the record, I do not think I agree with this.”

“Paper! I found paper!”

Snatching the parchment away from Matelda, Raeln thrust it into Airsk’s hands, along with a thin, silver stick. Everyone gathered around Delinia expectantly.

“This requires two hands,” the sage said to Airsk. “Support the paper from underneath with one and set the stylus above it. The instrument will write everything you want. Hold the end very lightly to keep it upright. Then, simply say ‘record’ and let the stylus do the work. Thusly –”

Bending over the utensil and paper, Raeln’s instruction was stern.

“Record.”

Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to continue but no sound came out. Both eyes grew wide and his body became rigid. A strained exhale was forced out of his throat.

Though the doors and windows were tightly shut, a warm breeze blew through the room, materializing from one walled end and dissipating once it reached the other. The sweet sound of chimes filled the air.

Raeln was still hunched over the parchment, mouth open, trying to speak. Every light source in the room flickered and dimmed. Sound emerged from his throat, barely above a whisper.

“As many as the riders of undeath are they.
As many as the death cauldrons to the east are they.
And of the death cauldrons to the west, so are they the same.
The seasons do equal, as do the sacred elements of name.
The earth has been drawn into the deep,
It is not content and will lie dormant with the queen.
On the edge of the breaking, amidst the ruins of defeat,
Take the matter in one hand, with the other, call to thee.
To the outlaws of the sea on the Father’s shore,
Testing the power of what they do not know.
This one rules that which they ride upon,
Before the rogue can defraud, he must know the name to call on.
Long life has it given him, only pain he has given you,
Peace on the bank of a bloody river, in his heart he is waiting for you.
Flowing down from the womb of your curse sits his lavish home,
Vengeance and peace are what you seek, then you will take his stone.
Ask! Seek! Knock! Reth! Reth! Reth!
Three there that you will see, only one that is not death.
Sixty-six ascending of twenty-nine grade,
In the center of the circle, place your hands and say the name.
Once you have these, to the god land you will go,
Journey to the center, above the fiery throne.
Place these into the vessel and the portal will appear,
Return to the original state the gods intended here.”

The lights returned and a few seconds of strained silence prevailed. At last, Raeln’s body relaxed and he straightened, breathing in deep sigh of relief. He looked up at Delinia expectantly.

“Exactly,” she said, nodding only once.

Airsk took a moment to admire the beautiful penmanship of the stylus and turned the parchment over, ready to capture the information. He looked up at her, waiting for the message she was restricted to telling them a single time. As the silence continued, the realization slowly swept over him: She had just done so.

“Wait a minute,” Airsk started to say.

The same thought had started to occur to everyone else as well. Matelda’s eyes went wide and her face flushed a deep violet.

“You!” Matelda screamed, shaking her fist angrily at Raeln. The rest of her tirade was indiscernible, unbridled fury.

“Me?” Raeln shouted back. “She did not have to agree!”

Angry shouts erupted among the group from everyone, except Autumnwolf, who stared longingly at the sage’s remaining limbs. Noting the villainous expression on the druid’s face, Raeln stepped behind Grimvalt, putting the warrior between himself and everyone else.

The volume continued to rise as everyone struggled to be heard above one another. Passersby on the street outside were slowing to check out the scene as violent shouts poured out of the house, increasing in volume by the second. So loud was their arguing, they never even heard the rush of footsteps on the outside stair. The conversation was brought to an abrupt halt when the door was reduced to splinters that shot across the room.

Two cloaked figures leapt through the broken doorway. A gnarled hand emerged from under dark robes and extended five fingers toward them.

“Get down!” Grimvalt shouted, dragging the one-armed sage with him.

Bright light exploded in the room as white missiles shot out from the intruder’s hand toward them. The group jumped, ducked and hit the ground, trying to avoid the spell. One missile impacted the wall behind them, forming a crater in the rock wall. The other missiles halted in midair before assaulting Delinia, and faded away before her.

“If I may,” the elf called out, “I –”

Her comment, whatever it may have been, was lost on the group when a massive figure appeared in the doorway. Oversized, muscular arms and a spiked back took out whatever was left of the door as it entered.

“Felguard!” Autumnwolf shouted.

Another barrage of arcane missiles shot across the room toward Matelda, who ducked under a table. White projectiles glanced off of the top and sprayed stone fragments across the room. Wand in hand, the priestess scrambled to the end of her temporary protection and dove behind the couch.

“Too pathetic to fight your own battles?” The felguard asked as it passed the two cloaked figures.

Reaching for his weapons, Grimvalt realized he was still holding the extra arm. He threw it at Raeln, grabbed both swords from their scabbards, and jumped up from the floor.

The felguard was hastily making its way to the couch, but Grimvalt stepped in front of it, trying to stop it. His swords blocked the felguard’s attack effectively, but the demon ignored him and kept moving toward Matelda. From behind, he drove his swords down and across the back of the demon’s legs. The attack did little visible damage, but the felguard’s movement slowed dramatically, as if it was wading through tar. Whirling, the demon bore into him with otherworldly strength. Grimvalt’s swords blocked again, but the force of the attack sent him back, tripping over destroyed pieces of the living room. Before he hit the ground, he regained his balance and charged, giving Matelda time to jump out from the couch and scurry away behind an overturned chair.

The warrior took up an easy fighting stance and settled in for a long fight. The attacks that followed were methodical and calculated. In the end, the winner of a fight with a felguard is determined by endurance.

“Excuse me,” Delinia called out. More missiles stopped in front of her and dissipated into nothingness, save for one, which she sent back with an irritated flick of her finger.

No one saw it.

Raeln was on his feet, detached arm in his hand, his wand carried by the rogue limb. Running along the walls, he skirted around the room swiftly and ducked behind the chair with Matelda.

A stump appeared in the center of the room. Runes engraved in the center flashed slowly and a bead of light circled around it, swirling slowly from the bottom to the top. Two long rods extended from the top of the totem like lightning rods.

Airsk was running toward the two intruders at the door. Palms down, his hands lifted as he called to the spirits of the earth, drawing the elements to him. When they reached his chest, he extended his hands to them, palms out. An unseen force left him, and slammed into one of the cloaked figures. The spell the intruder was calling out suddenly stopped. Airsk smiled grimly, knowing they would be unable to speak for the next few seconds. It was more than enough. In a life or death situation, a few seconds was almost a lifetime. At the very least, it was long enough for a great cat to materialize out of thin air behind the silenced mage and knock him unconscious with an enormous paw.

The other intruder was not so hampered by Airsk’s spell and whirled on the cat, calling out a spell. A shadowy orb appeared in the palm of the caster’s hand, but flew backward over their shoulder and impacted against the totem. The magic of the spell coursed over the totem from the tip of the rods, down to the base, and vanished with the totem.

A massive paw stretched out, swiping at the intruder who turned and fled into the center of the room. With both hands raised, they cried out in a loud voice, calling out to demonic spirits. The house convulsed. Above them, a shadow portal as infinite as the twisting nether opened in the ceiling. The room suddenly felt very hot. A torrent of fire fell out of the ceiling and into the room, setting everything ablaze.

Fur smoldering and growling angrily, Autumnwolf was upon the caster, rearing up on hind legs to attack with both paws. Claws raked through cloth and flesh, but the caster gritted their teeth and continued their spell, burning all.

Airsk was jumping over piles of broken furnishings to get to them when he heard Matelda’s cries for help. He could barely see through the rain of fire but followed her voice. By the time he was out from under the portal he was badly burned, but soon saw the cause of her distress: A rogue had stealthed in during the commotion and was trying to steal the phallus. Matelda was in the midst of a tug-of-war while trying to position the rogue for the sage’s spells.

“Excuse me. I can help,” Delinia shouted.

Everyone was too busy to stop and ask her about it. Sighing, she plopped down into an invisible chair and watched the fight continue before her.

Nearby, Raeln was desperately trying to control his detached limb, which was enjoying the power of the wand.

“No, you stupid thing! Sheep!” He shouted.

A ball of ice left the wand tip and lobbed itself in the general direction of the struggle. The rogue saw it coming and stepped aside deftly, allowing the spell to slam into a bookshelf.

Matelda could tell she was losing the fight. The rogue, much stronger than she was, let go with one hand and reached under their cloak. A long, curved dagger emerged and sliced out at her, cutting through her flesh and gracing across bone. Pain coursed through her. She knew she couldn’t win this way and her spells would do no good. Giving the phallus one last desperate pull, she stared down at her opponent with a look that said she would never surrender, that her hands would never willingly give this phallus up as long as she lived.

Then she let go.

The rogue didn’t expect it and stumbled back. Jumping forward, the priestess grabbed for her belt and drew out her wand. As the rogue was springing deftly back to their feet, Matelda reached out and jabbed her wand into the rogue’s eye.

Howling in pain, the rogue stumbled back again. Airsk reached them at that moment, his axe in his hands. His weapon came up above the fallen rogue, and he stopped. Inside the city proper, they would face severe punishment for what would be viewed as murder.

Turning his axe upside down, he slammed the handle against the rogue’s head. Both eyes rolled back and their body crumpled to the floor. With a cry of exultation, Matelda grabbed up the phallus.

He didn’t have time to check for vitals. Nearby, Grimvalt was starting to become tired; something the felguard did not have to worry about. Running to the warrior’s aid, he called out for another totem and moved behind the demon. Together, they cut down the felguard until he fell at their feet.

The brief struggle was over. A cloaked figure was crumpled on the floor where Autumnwolf had rendered them unconscious. The druid was herself again, looking out the window.

“A crowd has gathered outside,” she said, “and guards are arriving.”

Grimvalt finished cleaning his weapons and returned them to their respective scabbards. “We need to leave now,” he said, “or we’ll be arrested.”

Everyone looked to Delinia, glowing with a soft aura in her invisible chair. They had no idea how they were going to move her through the city unnoticed.

“You can summon me again if you need me,” she said.

“How?” Airsk asked.

“In the same way you did the first time, of course,” she said, and winked out of sight.

“Wait!” Airsk called after her, but the elf was already gone.

White mist hung in midair, briefly holding the outline of where she had been, then dissolved.

The murmur of the curious crowd outside was getting louder and they could hear shouts from the guards, demanding they lay down their weapons and come out of the house.

Raeln led them down the hallway and into a tiny kitchen. A small door at the end was ajar.

“Do you always leave your door open?” Autumnwolf asked.

The sage frowned. “No. How odd.”

Outside, everything behind the line of shabby housing was dark and damp. Running water was heard up ahead and dark water splashed around their feet with every step.

“The sewers are not far,” Raeln said as he led them away. “We can climb out there and you can take the zeppelin to where you need to go. I still have information on who to speak with if you are still interested in deciphering the markings on the phallus,” he said.

Though soft and soothing, the next voice spoken sent a shiver down the sage’s spine.

“You are coming with us,” Autumnwolf said. “Unless you wish to argue about it again?”

In the darkness, Raeln’s shadowy form was barely seen, looking in dismay at the limb he held. His mouth opened in protest, but he changed his mind, closed it, and said no more until they reached the sewers.

Water rushed by their feet a little more swiftly as the street declined. Light was even more scarce as well. Scents of waste and toxins began to thicken in the air, burning their noses. Finally, Raeln stopped before a metal ladder that led upward into the darkness.

“This will take us outside, and then you ” I mean, we can take the zeppelin south if that is what you ” I mean, we, wish to do.”

Grimvalt went first, followed by Matelda. Autumnwolf went after Raeln so she could keep an eye on him. Airsk followed them at the rear.

After the scent of the sewers, everyone was pleased to be out in the crisp, cool air. A light rain was falling, and anyone who wanted the putrid smell out of their clothes, fur or hair removed their cloaks.

The zeppelin tower was a short walk, but before they climbed the hill to it they could see a huge crowd had gathered around it. A smaller group was filtering out of the tower steps and making their way toward Undercity.

“Unbelievable!” A female of the Forsaken was saying as she stormed out of the tower.

Two trolls and a blood elf followed in her wake, looking equally furious.

“We would have been better off riding a bat all of the way,” the blood elf snarled. “Perhaps that is what we should do, if they are at least still being useful.”

Grimvalt frowned and made his way into the crowd. Five minutes later he returned, shaking his head.

“Apparently, travel is coming to a complete halt in the southern half of the continent,” he said. “Travelers are getting all the way down to Stranglethorn Vale and finding there is no means of transportation getting out. Guards aren’t even letting anyone leave the post on mounts, no matter what the size of the group is. Something about random killings, but no one is really sure what’s happening. Bats are still moving that way for now, but that may end soon if the animals stop returning.”

“Bats then,” Autumnwolf agreed, “and quickly. We will need supplies. Blankets, too, if it will be a long flight.”

Raeln cleared his throat. “I think, in this case, it might be easier for you if I stayed here. Take these directions,” he said, producing a piece of paper from under his robe.

Under Autumnwolf’s angry glare, it was promptly returned to the pocket it came from. Defeated, the sage sulked away, down the hill toward Undercity.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Airsk asked, following him. “I don’t think you ever said.”

The sage had a hard time hiding his unease.

“Stonard, in Swamp of Sorrows.”

“That’s a long flight,” Airsk mumbled unhappily.

“Stonard?” Grimvalt’s jaw tightened. “Where exactly is this ‘contact’ of yours who can tell us about the markings?”

They were all starting to get the idea that this may be the real reason the sage did not wish to accompany them.

Raeln swallowed nervously. “Oh, nowhere. You know,” he said, his words now just a mumble. “A little place. The Sunken Temple.”

Autumnwolf snorted angrily, snatched the detached appendage from the sage and tossed it into the bushes. Her tail snapped in the air as she stomped down the hill.

“It’s going to be a long flight,” Airsk said.