Reckoning of the Gods: Heretic - Chapter 1: Sunrise
Author’s Note: This is a first draft, so please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes.
The climb to Clearbrook was long and arduous, even for the Pale Men. Under the cover of night, over five hundred warriors–Pale Men, Fallow, and even Scaleskin–ascended the treacherous peaks of Mount Darmoon, racing to beat the sunrise. Within a few hours, the patrols of Immir that roamed the Northern borders would return to find the intruders, and their task would become that much harder. Worse yet, the Stormborn that ruled this keep might return from the capital of Galetop at any moment. If that happened, this bold plan would fall to ruin.
Truth be told, Mura Pai Vahl had been against this plan from the very beginning, but his uncle Osur insisted that the Mura Pai tribe needed the resources. Vahl’s father, were he still alive, would never stoop so low as to take mercenary work, but plenty of other tribes did. So, Vahl could either keep his mouth shut or leave his tribe. Vahl had bitten his tongue until it bled.
Already, the Mura Pai had lost two good warriors from the treacherous elements. The wind howled around them, snow blinded them, and even the mountain seemed to stand in their way, sending avalanches and rockslides at every turn. Finally, these brave warriors found the secret path, exactly where their guide had said, and now the journey would be slightly easier, at least until they reached the peak.
Once they reached the peak of Mount Darmoon, their real mission would begin. Clearbrook was an impregnable fortress, accessible only to the Immir, the Stormborn, or anyone that knew of the secret path. The main gates were almost unnecessary, for in the history of the keep, only once had enemies reached the base of the fortress. Beyond the gates were a maze of tunnels, stairs, and lifts that had been carved into the heart of the mountain. The keep harnessed both the natural powers of the bubbling springs from which it derived its name and the winds that howled constantly. To make matters worse, a large roost of Immir rested on top of the fortress, and if the Scaleskin could not subdue the winged pests, then escape would be impossible.
Vahl had studied the keep’s layout until he could see it in his sleep, and he knew which task each group would perform. First, the Fallow would take a stealthy approach and eliminate any alarms. Massive horns pointed in four directions like a compass, and if even one sounded, their mission would fail. In addition, the Fallow would take control of any junctions, waypoints, and lifts, preventing any routes from being cut off by sliding walls, falling gates, or trapdoors. The Scaleskin were the obvious choice for subduing the Immir given their incredible strength and agility, and the Pale Men favored a direct approach, so they would begin the assault once the other groups were in place. In order for this plan to work, all three groups had to execute perfectly, but the Pale Men were not used to working with anyone other than their own kind.
Despite their common goal, the Fallow and Scaleskin kept their distance, preferring to play vanguard and rearguard respectively. Half the size of a human, the Fallow had an easy time scaling the mountain, with their thick fur and nimble paws. The Scaleskin found the cold oppressive, but their sharp claws, immense power, and superior senses gave them an advantage in this harsh environment. As for the Pale Men, they endured.
Finally, all three groups reached a gathering point. They were close enough to hear voices above, so all conversations were kept to a whisper, and all eyes were on the skies, looking for the first rays of sunlight or for the winged silhouettes of the Immir. Fortunately, the elements were on their side now, muffling any sounds and obscuring everything with a white haze. The Fallow slipped around to the back of the mountain along with the Scaleskin, and the Pale Men awaited a signal.
Along with the other Pale Men tribes, Mura Pai Osur rallied his group of forty warriors, blessing each with a drop of blood before the battle. Vahl wanted to stop the madness before any of his people were hurt, but his uncle was determined as ever, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Strike true and well,” said Osur, “And may the Nameless God keep watch over us all.”
Vahl saw the excitement, terror, anxiety, and bloodlust on the faces around him. Most of these Pale Men were strangers to him, save for the Mura Kur tribe, but in a way, he felt connected. They all shared the same blood, the same God, and the same purpose. Today, they might share the same fate.
The signal came, and the Pale Men rushed forward silently and deadly.
The front gates of Clearbrook creaked open, courtesy of the Fallow, and the Pale Men realized their task might be the easiest of all three. Men, women, and children scattered before them like rats, and only a few dozen stalwart guards put up any resistance. With a vaulted ceiling, the main hall was spacious, ringed with ornate statues carved from solid rock. Numerous passageways led deeper or higher into the keep, and a large fountain rose from the center of the hall. Despite the magnificence of this keep, there were precious few fortifications or defensive measures on the inside, aside from a few hundred guards. In other words, Clearbrook was as good as theirs.
Vahl’s sister Mura Pai Ziva was first into the fray with a smile on her face. A blade unsheathed, she sought blood and honor, making short work of these defenders. To her, their bloodline was a gift that had been wasted for far too long, and although she would never admit it, Vahl knew that she was relieved when their father had died. She saw his faith and his stubbornness as a weakness, but Vahl saw it as a strength. While other tribes abandoned the Nameless God, the Mura Pai tribe had not renounced his name or their sacred mission. With his father’s passing, Vahl feared his tribe had lost not only a leader, but also their purpose.
For now, their purpose was to slaughter any resistance and to raid the treasure rooms hidden throughout this keep.
Osur led his group of warriors through the main hall and past a bubbling fountain that looked as ancient as it was magical. According to legend, the spring water had healing powers, but Vahl did not have time to put that to the test. He followed his uncle, his tribe, and their brother tribe, the Mura Kur, as they headed down one of many passages. The other Pale Men split into groups of thirty or forty strong, seeking treasure of their own. For some, the treasure was in battle.
Today, the Pale Men earned their reputation as the world’s greatest warriors. For every one of them that fell, a dozen or more guards died. Screams of the wounded and dying echoed throughout Clearbrook, and the dim candlelight cast an ominous gloom as they ventured deeper into the keep. As they rounded corner after corner, Vahl anxiously awaited the clearing of a horn, but the Fallow had done their work. Likewise, the Scaleskin had kept the Immir at bay for the time being.
“This way,” said Osur, leading them into a lift.
Level by level, the Mura Pai and Mura Kur cleared any obstacle, and before long, they had reached one of the treasure rooms. Riches beyond measure overflowed from chests, weapons of all kinds hung from the walls, and fabulous silks and cloths draped across hand-crafted chairs, tables, and statues. The Fallow had picked through most of the trinkets, tools, and gadgets, but a few were still digging for something to bring home.
“Take only what we can carry,” bellowed Osur, filling his cloak with as many jewels as he possibly could.
The Scaleskin arrived and began swallowing as much gold and jewels as they could. Vahl had heard rumors about the Scaleskin and their strange customs, but he had no interest in jewels or riches. Instead, he found a particularly handsome blade with some kind of inscription on it. When he held the blade in his hand, there was something familiar about it, something…
“Let’s go!” shouted Osur.
The few remaining Fallow scrambled out of the room along with the Pale Men, but the Scaleskin continued their bizarre feast of riches. The Mura Kur stayed behind as well.
“What about the Mura Kur?” asked Vahl, pausing at the door.
“Let them have their fill,” said Ziva, brandishing a new sword and shield. “I’ve found all I need.”
The descent to the main hall seemed to take seconds rather than minutes. In his haste, Vahl practically stumbled over the bodies of guards, Pale Men, Fallow, and the good people of Clearbrook. Apparently, the Scaleskin were not as discerning as the Fallow and the Pale Men, and sadness tugged at Vahl’s heartstrings when he saw children trampled like fallen leaves. Of course, Vahl had killed his fair share of men and women, but there was no honor in killing the weak and helpless. Then again, from the time that he could walk, Vahl knew that death was a constant companion.
Finally, the Mura Pai tribe reached the main gates and split from the Fallow. The Fallow would use the secret path to descend the mountain, but without paws and fur, the Pale Men would use a different method, along with the Scaleskin. As Vahl exited the keep, he found their means of escape. Several flightcraft were perched near the edge of Clearbrook, unguarded and unladen. A wave of relief washed over him, but the feeling was cut short by the rosy hues of dawn and the small cloud travelling toward them at a tremendous speed.
“Is that…” asked Ziva, squinting.
“STORMBORN!” shouted Osur.
The Mura Pai rushed to the flightcraft, but Vahl delayed.
“What about the Mura Kur?” asked Vahl.
“Leave them. They chose their fate,” said Osur.
Vahl looked back to the gates.
“We are not waiting for you,” said Osur.
“I know,” said Vahl, hurrying back into the keep.
Ziva followed.