Cythera Chronicles: Silent Dawn- Chapter 2

The Last Words of Nelecphos the Seer:
"The age of Demons has come."

"So Erchamion, the Anatariel lives? Then why did the guard tell us that it didn’t?" Ivor and Timon sat in Erchamion’s chamber, a comfortable place with a fireplace by his side. He sipped his tea calmly, but inside, Ivor was very nervous. ‘It’s not like city guards to lie about things as trivial as this, or is it trivial?’ Timon didn’t show any signs of fear, even to a trained eye like Ivor. Ivor was confused. ‘Am I the only one that sees through this guise of death and destruction? This is a trap, I know it. Erchamion wasn’t a friend. The Anatariel did live, but now it was a secret. They were waiting, waiting to rush into Cythera and take it all. Originally, these people wanted to save Cythera from the Tyrant, but now that he was gone, they wanted their due pay. They wanted to set up a new monarchy in Cythera. Timon was under their spell.’

Erchamion began to answer, slowly, but Ivor stood up. Erchamion looked surprised, but then sneered. Ivor drew his sword and turned to Timon,

"Timon! Follow me quickly! We have to get back to Cythera now! We can talk when we get there!" Ivor pleaded to Timon, and Timon turned to Erchamion. Erchamion put on a look of false fear.

"Timon, Ivor has been possessed by demons! We must stop him before he destroys Cythera!" Timon was captured by the melodic voice. He nodded grimly and turned to Ivor. He began to cast magic arrow. It hit Ivor and threw him back. Ivor was very thankful for Timon’s gift of Shadow Armor. It was then that Ivor realized that for the time being, he was alone, and no one would believe him. The people of Cythera did not believe in the existence of other worlds. Lindus would never believe that the Anatariel have turned. Belil-Gand and Sirion won’t help me fight Timon. He turned and leaped out the window, and into the busy street. The people around him saw his sword drawn, and then Erchamion’s look of contempt. They were around him in a matter of seconds. As much as he hated to do this, Ivor sighed and began hacking away at the crowds, who just pushed farther in on him. Someone started screaming and calling,

"Murderer! Murderer!" The crowds parted, and in came the guards. Timon began to cast Death Strike, and Ivor fell. Timon was truly against him, now. Ivor no longer fought. He fell to his knees. Someone hit him, hard. He fell over, and the world went black...

---------

Ivor awoke in a prison cell. He was not surprised by this, but he was surprised that he had been left with his swords and his armor. In fact, nothing had been taken from him. The gate was not even magical, and there were no guards near by. This was extremely strange. There was no window in the cell. He was not chained to anything. Ivor searched the room for traps, and there were none of those either. The only protection whatsoever was that the door was locked. Ivor felt strange. He walked down back to the small patch of straw. He sat down, and was sucked into a strange dream, a vision of the past...

---------

Taewn Gorbok sat in the small cell, looking around cautiously. His equipment was gone, but they did not take his mind. He stood and muttered a few words in the tongue of power.

He was transported to the Ethereal Plane, deep within the Ethereal Void. He walked forward, the heavy winds swirling around him. All he could see were the silhouettes of the dark objects around him but he knew this world that started all worlds well. He walked forward, not turning even a millimeter to the right or left. Straight forward, until he saw a rectangle shape. He could go no further, all who did had died. Instead, he reached forward and brought forth the Book of Ultimate Darkness, the Lore of the Chaos. He stepped forth, back into his own world.

He was in the prison cell. The jeweled book, fastened with gold bindings was very beautiful, but also terrible. Taewn smiled maliciously. He took a key from somewhere in the air and unlocked the book. A couple pages in, he repeated the words that filled the page to himself and closed the book. After he finished locking it, he put the key back into the air and but the book in his empty pack. This too he locked, and he walked to the wall. He muttered the words once again, and plunged his hands into the block in front of him. The wall regained its solid form and he pulled. The block of stone slid. He pushed, and the block slid outwards. ‘Good. I want to finish this once and for all time. The Anatariel dies tonight.’

---------

In a couple hours, Taewn Gorbok had enough of the bricks out that he could step through easily. A perfect arch was formed by the hole. The prison was high up on a mountain at the edge of the city. He looked at the mists below him, it must be at least two hundred feet down to the city. Yet Taewn Gorbok did not seem to notice this. He stepped forward as casually as if the drop were a doorway. He fell, his hair flying back in the wind, his cloak billowing out behind him. He fell towards the city, toward his death, and while acknowledging this, he did not seem to care. Taewn fell. Soon he was through the mists, and he could see the city. He was falling straight towards an obelisk, with a sword on top of it. Still, Taewn Gorbok was as calm and casual as if he had done this all his life. Just when his death was certain, Taewn pulled out a sword. This sword was only fourteen and a half centimeters long, and its handle was only big enough for two fingers to hold. However, it was still an exact replica of a sword. Taewn shoved it into his stomach to the hilt, and the sword disappeared. Not a drop of blood fell from the wound, because there was no wound. The sword had been made of death lead. Now Taewn could not be killed until his goal was accomplished. If it took a thousand years, Taewn would live a thousand years. He was bound to this quest. He could not deviate from it.

Taewn fell on the sword. It went straight through him. Hanging from the tallest object in the center of the city, impaled on a sword, and then still moving normally caught many people’s attention, even if it was only four in the morning. Within moments, the entire city of Idorothiliel crowded around the obelisk, pointing and staring. Taewn placed his feet on the side of the obelisk and ripped hard with his hand. The sword broke off, and he threw it into the crowd.

"He is a demon!" One yelled, while another claimed,

"It is the Lord of Death!" Rumors spread through the crowd quickly. Like a ripple in a pond, soon all had a theory. This was not the most interesting thing yet, not by a mile. The figure who was Taewn leaped off the obelisk, and fell. This time, he landed on his feet. The earth shook with his landing. Everyone who could tell who he was panicked. Another ripple spread through the crowd. Within two seconds, everyone was gone. Some were underground, while some were in the mountains. Some stayed in the city.

Taewn stood tall, a dark and terrible figure, the only one to be seen. With a few more words, the city was leveled, and only the wreckage was there to say it ever existed. He walked swiftly to his caverns underground, where his men awaited. He entered their main hall and stepped to his place. They did not need for him to cue, they came straight forth with their call, and it was heard throughout the land,

"We are the Young! Our lives are a myst’ry!"

The War of the Darkness had begun.

---------

Many weeks later, Taewn was once again before his cult. Before they could call to him their allegiance, they heard the pounding of spears above them. The hall fell silent. Taewn nodded, and the all rushed up the nearest stairwell, to battle, and victory.

The Young came up in the flattened streets of the ruined Idorothiliel. Before them, was a huge army, ready and waiting for battle. They were the Anatariel.

"We are the Young! Our lives are a myst’ry!"

The Anatariel repeated the next line of the famous ballad.

"We are the old, whose lives you replace!"

"We have been sung [of] throughout all of hist’ry!"

"We come here now to meet and do battle!"

"In the light of the whole human race!"

The Young finished the first verse of the ballad. They took formation and each drew two short swords. The Anatariel replied by each drawing an Elven double sword, left from the wars against the Tyrants in Cythera. Taewn was at the front of the lines of the Young, he holding a great spell book. He smirked and called,

"I will defeat you here and now, and sweep on to all the other worlds, conquering! None shall stand in my path! I am Taewn Gorbok, the invincible one, until this is accomplished!"

With a few words, Taewn had flattened the Anatariel armies. Only his men, the Young still lived. The city was cleared, the mountain fell, and the city rebuilt, and they were waiting, for the portal to open...

----------

Ivor awoke with a jolt. The prison cell on the mountain was his cell! He rolled over, and all the bricks in an arch formation had holes in them, finger holes. Ivor reached in to each and pulled each back out. The portal had awoken, and that meant that The Young were massing to conquer. The Anatariel really was dead. The Young had defeated them hands down, and each person carried two short swords on their belt! The mountain had sunk, and Ivor stepped out into the far edge of the city. It was dead empty. Ivor drew his swords, and began to run, and like he never had before...

---------

Timon stood at the edge of the portal, waiting to be activated with the right spell. He smiled at Erchamion and the city.

"Thank you for seeing me to leave. Your hospitality has been great. Unfortunately, as much as I would like to stay, I must inform my city of Ivor’s fate and his possession by demons. I hope to return some day!"

He smiled at them and began to walk towards the portal. Erchamion nodded and turned to him.

"I too wish that you could stay longer. Farewell, Timon Spirit-Talker."

Timon did not seem to notice that Erchamion pulled out a bow. He smiled maliciously and drew the string back.

"Timon, you forgot your Grimiore!"

Timon whipped around, and the arrow hit him square between the eyes. He was dead in an instant. Erchamion chuckled softly.

"I never hit anyone in the back," he whispered.

---------

Ivor ran through the crazy maze that made up the streets of the rebuilt Idorothiliel. If the people would be crowded around the portal, he would have to fight hard to reach it. Perhaps too hard. Ivor scaled a nearby building with ease. He leapt from housetop to housetop, rushing towards the portal at all times. Ivor casually noticed that the obelisk had not been rebuilt. He smiled grimly. He was right. The ‘Anatariel’ were actually the Young, and that guard had let slip the truth. They had obviously not had visitors since the destruction of the city. There were other things too, this city was not made of onyx, but clay and plaster. It only looked onyx in the dawn and evening light with the reflection from the dark water that was the sea. As he came close to the portal, there were people crowded around it as far as he could see. He saw Timon’s corpse, with the arrow through his head, and Ivor was enraged.

They had ensnared his friend and then killed him. The only one with a bow was Erchamion. Ivor looked at him closer. Erchamion had a small thin cut in his tunic, right in the center of his stomach, and his face, was the face of Taewn Gorbok.

Ivor roared, and leapt down into the center of the portal. The crowd was too stunned to do anything to him, and that was what saved him. Ivor took his sword, and with all his might, he slammed it into the central crystal powering the portal. It cracked slowly, and the world went still.

Taewn saw what happened. "NO!" He yelled, rushing through the crowd. Within it, was the Book of Ultimate Darkness. The power rushed out of the book as a mighty wind, and all that had ever been there was killed. Ivor was the last to fall, and a small insignificant world known as Idorothiliel was dead.

---------

Epilogue:

Timon walked down the halls of Pnyx slowly, holding his cane. His frail body was too old for this. He slowly entered the chamber of the Venerable Lindus. Lindus smiled weakly, but his face was pale.

"You have come to learn, have you not, my old friend?"

"Yes, Lindus. I wish to know what you know of my son Timon and Ivor Dark-Sword."

"Yet again? My student, you ask this every year on your return visit."

"I know that much. I am old, Lindus, and I wish to hear one last time before I am forced to search elsewhere for them."

"Very well, Timon. I sent Timon and Ivor to my home world, Idorothiliel, forty-seven years ago. What has become of them, I know not. All I know is that they never returned."

Timon bowed solemnly, though terribly slowly and shuffled out, pondering.

---------

In the Ethereal Plane’s mists, two figures walked steadily toward each other. When they met, they stood still.

"I am sorry, Timon."

"I am sorry, Ivor."

-The End-

[This message has been edited by moderator (edited 10-14-2002).]

Ambrosia Software Web Board: Cythera Chronicles: Silent Dawn- Chapter 2 - Ambrosia Software Web Board