Chronicles of Caledon - Sword of Souls by Douglas S. Taylor - HTML preview

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The remainders of the summer, the boy tended to the sheep and orchard of Adajahara, the nights were mild, and the days warm, but he spent them alone. As time passed into the early fall, the young boy learned to catch wild game, mostly small hares. He would go on adventures, mostly exploring the ancient ruins of Adajahara. There in the various temples he found scrolls of pictures and strange writings that he could not read and decipher. There were things amongst him that he has never seen before, large glass and translucent objects, some of these things were obviously broke, decayed or in disarray. He decided to clean and get things in the best order before winter would finally arrive. With winter would be hardships as the nights were now growing colder and the leaves turning gold, red, and yellow falling from the trees in the orchard, and already, he had gathered the fruit from the trees on which he found both sweet and fulfilling.

In his adventures in Adajahara, he had found the great cistern by a cave entrance in one of the temples. Made of the solid white stone, the entrance stood, and the steps that went down into the cool earth into utter darkness. Save for the torch he would make from the wool and a liquid substance, a strange oil he found in large metal barrels. These too had strange writings on them he could not discern and there were red and yellow faded symbols that showed something like a flame on them. From these symbols, he suspected that these strange encryptions might be of use to start some sort of fire. Earlier that fall, he took some of this oil and in a cup, he poured it on wood and lit the wood with “fire sticks,” small sticks with a smaller red top, when rubbed against a rough surface would ignite on their own, and from these “fire sticks”, he could start a fire within a few seconds. With the oil, a large fire in a matter of moments as he continued to study these magical devices that he thought were without a doubt from the gods they left to the shamans of these temples.

He would occasionally thumb through large texts, scrolls, and devices that held the ancient papers, still he could not read, but he saw pictures from the heavens, and these too were maps of the gods as he thought.

In the biggest of the temples, the one with the dome, there he found a great tubular device that looked up toward the heavens. There were throughout the building, scrolls, and scrolls everywhere. The boy found one on the subject, the long tubular device. However, it was all beyond him, for now. He figured that perhaps with time, and after all, it seemed like he had a serious abundance of it. The boy also continued exploring the area that lead up to the cistern.

The dark entrance leads down further. With one hand on a steel rail, the other hand holding the torch that would stay lit for quite some time; he manages to enter the second level of the long dark stairwell. In there the air filled with moisture, and he could hear the sound of dripping water. As he continued down further along the way, the light from above faded. He was now at the bottom as he could just barely see enough to tell that the hall opened into a great cathedral ceiling. Next to him, he could see the reflection of the water, and from the bottom, he could see lines, strange markings running parallel from one another going off into the darkness. He could see nothing else except for some sort of plant life below and some sort of small fish. He then continued past the cistern that Naverron had spoken. He moved to yet another entrance that he gained passage to yet another room, a room filled with many metal, mostly rusted small doors, some were open that when he looked in these small cubicles, he saw rotting fabric; some looked like clothing of a strange fabric. He continued to another entrance, one that took him further along a dark hallway on where the faded white stone turned to earth and rock. There, a huge door of sorts faced him; the door was open only about two to three feet. The door itself was perhaps ten feet high, and eight or so feet wide and over two feet thick held by huge hinges. The boy would grow to suspect that the door weights a staggering amount and would come to know this doorway as the door of the gods. As soon as he would go to the top from where he came, he would mark this in his map. He was at the farthest point underground, but for now, this would have to be the farthest he would venture, he felt a sense of urgency to prepare the best he knew how for winter.

The winter came, and with it, the first of the snows, mild in the comparison to the winters of his homeland. The sheep were fine, plenty of winter grass and little worry of wolves or other predators, Adajahara, though very mysterious in its own right, offered sanctuary for the young boy. At times though, usually toward dusk, the boy would hear conversations, voices in the distances, echoing through rooms within the temple buildings. The languages, though faint and fleeting as if “they” knew someone was listening were indeed foreign to the boy. When the boy was much younger, in his village, there was talk of the spirit world. Sometimes these spirits would visit upon the living, and to him, on these occasions; he assumed that it was indeed the spirit world coming to pay him a visit. He didnt worry about it, or dwell on the subject when the experiences happen; he just went along his business of tending to the flock and continuing his adventures and studies.

On the shortest day in winter, the boy growing restless prepared to see what was behind the great door that he referred to as the “Door of the Gods.” This he marked on his map, he packed it away in a pack he found the summer before, and with several torches, water, the fruit from the orchard and cooked meat from game he had captured. Within a few minutes, he was down past the cistern from where he would occasionally draw drinking water and continued through the room of the “many small doors” that lead to the huge door on the white stone pad. From there, he carefully removed his pack and slid it through the opening. After that was
completed, he slid himself past the doorway and to the other side.

Once he was safely on the other side of the huge door, he put on his pack, a dark red and yellow pack, and headed carefully down the stone and earth path. The area around him, a tunnel was made of chiseled rock and earth, the air was growing even more musty and drier. He continued until he reached a stairway made of an iron grate, rusty and old. He knew he would have to be careful going down, for as far as he could see, the stairway looked sturdy enough, but he realized how very old it was, and his light from the torch was limited, he knew he was in a larger chamber, but he couldnt see, the slightest sound he made echoed throughout this large place. He then decided to continue down the iron grate stairs with considerable caution.

As he continued down, the air grew even mustier and his eyes could catch the reflection from his torch from unseen things below. He knew that the reflection might be from glass or translucent objects, they were certainly not living animals not down this far he thought to himself as he swallowed hard. His torch was now beginning to burn out; after all, it was the torch he used several times in the past. He then grabbed a fresh torch he made from the pack, lit it, and continued until he reached the bottom of the iron stairs. From there he realized the room was indeed much bigger than before, the floor was of earth after the stone pad that the bottom of the stairs rested on. He then could see large objects, some made of steel, and others made of glass; the objects looked like some ancient fire damaged them long ago. The boy then noticed several skeletons, human skeletons covered in cobwebs and dust. The sight frightened him but he realized that these skeletons could do no harm; they were already dead and dead by the looks for hundreds of years at least. The boy then continued through the skeletons, ten in all that must have died by the fire the boy thought; in the hands of some of these skeletons were some sort of metallic black “L” shaped devices, all the same, except for one skeleton who had a longer black device, a device with some sort of a steel tube. The boy picked it up from the clutches of the skeletons right hand and then sticking his torchs handle securely in the rib cage of the skeleton, he concentrated on the device.

The device had some sort of
contraption on the top, also made of some sort of metallic substance. The boy could see that this might be of some sort of a weapon but wasnt sure. He then put it securely in the pack along with one of those smaller “L” shaped devises and continued toward the other side of the room on where he found several other skeletons.

Some of them, the skeletons had arrows in them, the arrows were very old, and these arrows were similar to those used by his people, the tips were small stone arrowheads. He then looked back at the equipment and the direction of the other skeletons. “Must of been some sort of a battle, a fire started, and. . .” he wasnt sure about the rest and continued on until he found another door, a smaller door than before and it was nearly off the last hinge, and as he opened it, the door fell and the sound filled the room. The boy remained motionless until he could not hear another sound except for his own breathing. Feeling somewhat safe, he went into the chamber past the fallen door. Continuing, he nearly walked on the bones of other skeletons, some he realized by the looks of them were fighting some sort of a battle, and he could see small crude hatchets, bows, swords and knives. He examined some of the weapons and
concluded the ancient battle fought were not of his people, and the other skeletons bearing the “L” shaped weapons and longer devises like he had been the Adajahara, and perhaps as he realized, the voices he had been hearing from time to time belonged to the dead here.

He quickly dismissed the thought, concentrated on the journey, and walked as carefully as he could around the dead. Eventually this led directly to another room, a room filled full of broken equipment and strange objects. He continued and eventually found another chamber that directly led to a stairway and unlike the others is honed right out of the earth and rock and looked much older than all rest. As he continued down the spiral staircase encased in the great walls of the mesa, he continued until eventually deep within the mesa he realized he was hundreds of feet below ground. There at the end of the ancient stairway made in the same fashion of rock stood a bridge. On each side of the beginning of the bridge on his side were two great torches. He lit them with his torch and now with the added light he awaited for his eyes to adjust could see that the bridge was far longer spanning the great darkness. On either side of the stone bridge, he could not see the bottom of the chasm. He then turned and found a small stone and tossed it off the bridge. He listened and could only hear the flickering of the torches. He looked up and could not see the top or the ceiling of this great place. He carefully decided to cross the stone bride to the other side on where he lit the torches there and could see only little more.

Eventually he found two or three more skeletons. One had a small hatchet embedded in the skull as the skeleton rested up against the wall. The other skeleton next to it, the one that look like killed the other lies died next to it with its face looking burnt with a hole in the forehead. The one with the hatchet in the skull had an “L” shape device in its right hand. The boy turned his attention toward the third; it was one of the ancient warriors with a sword in his hand. The sword broke from over time, and its skull had a hole in it and the same-burned marks like the other.

There was a solid rusty steel door and was nearly coming off the hinges, and like the other door, it fell when the boy struggled to open it, and from there he encountered some sort of ruin, perhaps it was some sort of door made of stone that it looks like was half destroyed somehow. He quickly climbed up across the rubble to the entrance of a
doorway that was at least ten feet high. At the top, he peered in and at first could see nothing but ancient dust in the air that he had disturbed.

He crossed over to the other side and down into the floor of this chamber, on the wall on his right-hand side he noticed strange writings, pictures chiseled into rock. He looked up at all of this in great amazement, the pictures as he could see were telling a story. In the upper portion on the left, he could see a picture, a drawing that looked like the shining sun, the next a vessel of some sort coming from the sky from the sun. The third, a picture of the vessel on top of a flat surface, and around it, sticks figures of what looked like hunters or villagers. A primitive lot perhaps, under each of these pictures were symbols and words that he could not read. He continued on, there from the strange vessel were tall warrior looking creatures, he thought, perhaps gods, some had different shaped heads than the heads of humans. No animals as far as he ever saw reminded him of these people etched and carved into this stone.

As he continued to view the drawings, the next showed these gods began killing the villagers around them and these gods enslaved burning villages and those that did not die, and as he looked up, he saw the similarity with his people and that of the Tarvas and this angered him. He then looked upon the next and could see one of the creatures, the biggest and most powerful sitting upon the huge chair. Next to him, many smaller ones like him on his right side, ten in all, they looked like the bigger one, a chieftain of great power the boy thought. As he continued, he then saw another vessel coming from the “stars” and the sun. This vessel was different, and this vessel had different gods in the windows of this great ship. The great ship landed, there were other ships or vessels that came from the sky just like it and from these, the gods came out and those gods from the previous vessels fought a great war against the gods of the new vessels. As the boy looked on, he could see the remains of the great armies of ages long past now lay destroyed on both sides. However, the gods from the second vessel eventually won, and with it, all the gods from the first ship that didnt leave ended up in chains and cast into a great fire. There were others, even stranger and more problematic for the young lad to discern from the
offspring of those that first arrived. There, the young boy could see these creatures raged by some great evil horrors attacking all those around them in consuming, biting, and dismembering those they captured.
Nevertheless, as the boy could plainly see a great fire engulfed them. The slaves from the first gods were set free and lived in harmony with the second gods from the stars. That was the last of the drawings that he could see. As the boy looking from beginning to end at least three or four more times, as the images these reliefs etched into his brain. The second set of gods looked more like the people of his world than the former. The boy also understood that this was some sort of story unfolding in these amazing carvings. Just like the great elders of his people telling of things that happened long before his father and his fathers father life. He also could see that the weapons that of the time from the second gods were like the ones he found among the skeletal remains.

He then turned his attention toward the center of the room and the torch caught a reflection of something metallic and gold in color just off at the distance. The boy walked up to a great dais of stone, a ancient green polished stone under the dust, as he looked up, he could see two very large skeletal feet. He arose up to the second level of the dais, and like that in the drawings, he could see the huge skeleton sitting in a stone chair before him. It was one of the great chieftains, the first gods sitting in the chair upon his death. The gold and silver armor caught the light, and above high on the brow of the skull rested a huge golden crown covered in dust and cobwebs. The skull was not human, though it was similar like the ones he had seen before; he realized that this was truly a skeleton of a god. He looked on at the remains that must have stood nearly ten feet tall in life.

Both skeletal hands rested on each side of the huge stone chair carved from the wall behind him. The skeleton looked at the boy and though void of eyes, the boy could sense that the skeleton was peering deep within him and this was quite daunting.

The boy also noticed several things next to the chair; one was some sort of sword, least a handle, a black handle, or hilt of a sword. The boy noticed, unlike the others, this one was not rusty, and a closer
examination showed it was some sort of translucent material. He then carefully picked up the sword and its scabbard. The scabbard was of a darker color that felt more like stone than metal to the touch. Again, he wasnt sure of what kind of mysterious material these things are, there is so much he just doesnt know, and oddly, for a small boy, this troubled him. The sword and scabbard looked like nearly five feet long and extremely lighter than the boy did anticipate, but not as light as he hoped. Though heavy, it remains
manageable to take along out of here. Carefully as not to disrupt the other items, items made of both gold and silver covered in dust.

The sword was something the boy wanted to take back within, something he “needed” somehow. He looked back up at the great chieftain, “You have been dead a very long time, and this sword belonged to you in life, this I know. Your people had left it for you. I will take good care of this for you as long as I shall live, that is if it is all right with you a great chieftain of the first gods?” The boy was now looking directly into the empty eye sockets of the skeleton, and naturally nothing from the dead. Only silence filled the room with the exception of the torch.

The boy turned and stored the sword carefully to its scabbard as he could strap it to the pack with twine and rope above. He then put on his pack and headed to the rubble to the top, as he climbed, he heard a noise from behind him, and as he turned, he could see in the terror of the torchlight the skeleton arose from the chair and lunged forward to the small boy that screamed.

The skeleton fell flat on the dusty floor sending up a plume of dust as the bones broke up in pieces. The boy did not waste another second, he quickly left the chamber and headed directly back from where he came. He made it to the bridge when a tremor was being felt growing stronger. The boy ran across the bridge and made it to the other side when the ceiling was beginning to give way from above sending huge boulders hurling down crushing the bridge as it collapsed. The boy knew somehow, no matter how odd this could be all this is for him to find. He ran up the stairs as fast as he could and did not stop to look back. He couldnt as a wave of warning overcame his senses. The whole place is now beginning to give way under some sort of mysterious spell, a spell or will that the young boy is perceiving, a dark force from an unseen architect. Leaving as fast as he can, he finally made it to the large room on where the tremors had certainly faded away and began climbing the iron steps to the top as his lungs and legs burnt from the hastened pace. Just then, toward the top, the lower staircase collapsed as it sounded like the entire mesa was falling in on itself. He quickly made it to the top when the entire iron stairwell fell, hurling down to the ground.

The boy yelled, “No, not the door!” His thoughts were on the huge door, the door of the gods, with the earthquake and tremors, it could in fact cause the door to shift, and perhaps close sealing him in forever.

As the boy raced toward the huge door, he could see that the door was swaying shut as the sound of the heavy hinges buckled. The boy ran headlong to the door as he removed his pack as the air filled with a sinister laughter from below and the boy did not turn around, there was no time.

He raced up to the door and slid through the shrinking gap just barely. On the other side, he dropped the torch in doing so, and struggled to get his pack through, but the gap was closing quickly and the pack was now stuck. Without wasting another precious moment, he quickly grabbed the sword, its scabbard from the pack. He struggled pulling on the sword, and the sword came free sending the boy flat on his back as the door began to shake under the heavy stress by the unseen force. In the failing light of the torch that he dropped, he could see that the door was coming off its ancient buckling hinges as the dark force failed to keep him on the other side, and from the other side he would have remained for an eternity. The boy understood somehow that the forces below did not want to part with the sword and it was using the door to crush him. Without a moment to spare, the boy got up with the sword and raced away as the huge door nearly came down upon him. The crash of the door sent out a thunderous rumble and with it, a cloud of dust and debris sending the small boy into the wall, knocking him senseless. The boy, unconscious laid there in the settling dust with his right hand gripping the long doublebladed translucent sword. As he lay there, the sword illuminated a dull amber and green color. From behind the boy and the fallen tonnage of debris, the sounds of man unseen beings whispered and spoke amongst themselves. In the doorway leading to the room with many small doors, the very same the boy practically made it to stood a dark figure in a crimson red robe that vanished into the darkness looking on at the boy.

The blade stopped its glowing and the voices from below faded away as the boy came around. The boys ears rang, and there were spots of color in his eyes as he arose slowly realizing that he had struck his head against the wall. It took a few moments for him to realize that he was almost to the cistern. He also realized that he had the sword and he decided to go to retrieve his pack if he could, there, he would find the remaining torches and now will finish his journey. He somehow sensed that he is going to be all right now and the dark force that was trying to kill him is now gone, least he hoped so. It took him a few minutes but he found the pack and after reaching around in the dark, he put the sword back into its scabbard. The boy lit one of the torches with one of the smaller fire sticks that gave off a smell that was rather pungent, a smell he has never experienced previously. Once the torchlight grew, he arose to his feet, walked out of the area, and found his way back up to the top of the stairs. From there he was in one of the temple buildings. By now, the sun was setting; he had been down there for quite some time. Judging by the knot on his head, he didnt make it unscathed, but he had the sword and the other artifacts to examine.

He walked out of the building covered in dust outside in the cool dry air and with his vision now clearing up walked toward the small herd of sheep. The sheep were
peacefully looking back at him as they had managed to escape their pen that he used to store them in from the night. He gathered the sheep together and put them safely back into the pen. It was now nightfall, and he washed away the dust and grime from his latest adventure and slept in the dome temple building for the remainder of the night, his dreams filled from the adventure and hideous creatures that plagued him and things of little or no understanding now revealing to him in his sleep. When he awoke, he heard the voices again, but this time, he understood the language theyre speaking. He lay motionless as if he was still deep asleep as not to give himself off to them.

“The boy has the sword,” the voice sounded very spiteful and angry.
“Meddling youth, we should kill him once and for all and then take the sword.” The voice was that of a bitter woman.
“Enough, he has the sword, the sword is his, Pitah Valgas tried to kill him nearly sending the mountain down on him, and he failed, what little so you think you two can do?” The mans voice was stern.
“He cannot leave here with it, those are just the rules. Do you think just asking for it back, he would comply and just give it back and say, sorry, take the sword?” The scornful woman said.
“Shut up, just shut up, I can barely think.” The mans voice seemed a bit unnerved, the dialects were very unfamiliar to the boy, and as time progressed, it was becoming hard causing him to grip the swords hilt firmly.
“Okay, we kill him like we did the others; make it look like an accident and we will let Pitah Valgas deal with the sword, okay, will that do you two fucking bitches just good enough or what?” The mans voice was becoming angry.
“Listen here Roy, I didnt ask to die on this god forsaken planet, now did I?” The voice of the bitter woman said.
“None of us did, you pigheaded cow!” The other voice, sounding more of that of an older woman spoke up.
“I like the boy, are you sure we have to kill him Roy, lets rethink this a second.” It was a new voice, a voice of a younger, softer woman.
“Shit, I dont fucking know!” It was Roys voice contemplating.
“Hes asleep over their Susan, scare the hell out of him, and he might just run away leaving the sword there” The older woman was cut off by Roys voice.
“Sure and then what, he saw a ghost, he would just come back, he doesnt seem to scare easily, and what of the sword, none of us can touch it, and unlike other things we try to touch in the physical world, this one has a nice little surprise, remember?” The voices grew quiet for a moment.
The young boy gripping the handle of the sword firmly gave him strength to understand the foreign language giving him the ability to understand.
“Listen he is gifted, he has special power or why else would that druid bring him here?” It was the voice of Susan.
“You mean the wolf?” The older bitter woman suggested curling her top lip.
“Right, of course the wolf, the fucking druid, and this whole fucking planet just fucking stinks.” It was the voice of the other woman.
“A shit hole of the universe, yeah were stuck here, and it looks like its forever. Were doomed for all eternity!” The voice of Susan continued.
“But the boy is certainly special; who would think that he would have been brave enough to face Pitah Valgas in his very own crypt and literally walk right out of there.
You know I never liked that son of a bitch anyway.”
“Please, I hate it when people mention his name, I just hate it!” The older woman voice peppered in dismay as her face covered in a blanket of scorn spoke.
“Would it be that he had us killed, do you think that might have had something to do with it?” Roy mocked sarcastically.
“Besides Susan, I wonder if the boy saw your remains with an ax stuck in your in your fucking head?” Roy chuckled.
“Thats not a bit funny, asshole!” Susan replied as the boy realized that the skeleton resting up against the wall belonged to her.
“Well we got to do something, something fast because if he realizes the power of the sword, he will never release it and we are all fucking in for it. Just think the kid could be playing with it, one of us comes in, and bam, were fucked but good.” The older woman said as the others agreed.
“Okay Susan, beings you like the kid so much. Get the fuck out of here and the rest of us will just have to kill him ourselves.” Roy warned.
“Fuck him!” Susan unleashed.
“You mean the boy, right?” Roy asked.
“No, Pitah Valgas, thats who, let him deal with the boy and the fucking precious sword. Whys do we have to do all of his shit for!” Susan was growing upset. The young lad has never heard this type of language spoken before, nor does he fully understand the powers responsible for him coming to comprehend their odd words.
“You know the rules!” Hissed one of the other women standing there talking.
“If we do not do his bidding, then he torments us, the prick bastard enjoys nothing more than doing just that.” The old woman then spat.
“Curse his unholy name” She then grew silent.
“We have no choice regardless, if we do not do Pitah Valgass bidding and kill the boy, the boy will uncover the power of the sword and finish one or all of us in. Besides, Susan, well make it as peaceful as we can for your sake as well as the kids, and youre right, hes a good kid.” Roy concluded.
“Fucking well then, thats it. Okay I tell you what you assholes, after he is dead, then you can explain why he had to die then, „cause Im tired of being the one that has to tell the bad news all the time.” Susan warned.
“I never did catch his name?” The bitter woman wondered.
“Ask him after you have killed him” The boy could sense that the one called Susan had left the room.
The boy drew out the weapon from the scabbard as the three others went into detail on what to do in killing the boy that they did not pay attention as he lifted the point toward them. The boy was far from being a
swordsman, and with the sword gave him the advantage of having some sort of a weapon that he realized would or could protect him from the spirits, and as he was just coming to realize the sword gave him the power to see the spirits standing there as he quietly arose.
Roy, was a tall middle-aged balding black man, and the two women standing before him, both lighter in comparison and dressed in the same unfamiliar fashion as the black man. The older woman had long white and silver hair tied back in a tight bun, and the other was a blue-eyed redheaded woman younger than the other two.
“You two, hold him down, and I will suffocate him, and Ill explain to him why he had to be let go, deal?” Roy said.
“Its just bad business, this whole fucking thing stinks, and how many more do we gotta kill before Pitah Valgas lets us go, shit…” The redhead said.
The blade of the translucent black sword began to glow an amber color with pulses of green illuminated catching the eyes of the spirits.
“Shit!” the older woman pointed up at the boy upon the pile of rubble.
“Were fucking done for!” The old woman concluded.
“Shut the fuck up, he doesnt know what were saying, doesnt understand a damned word were talking about. Bonnie” He pointed to the redhead, “… Go around over there and lets circle him, Anita, you go over and around there, now we have no choice but to kill him.” Roy said to direct the other two women.
Flashes blinded the mind of the boy as he saw things, things in his mind that he did not understand, and felt the wisdom of the sword growing in him. He then motioned the blade toward Roys spirit.
“You sure, he doesnt know how to use a sword?” Bonnie asked sarcastically.
“He certainly sees us!” Anita warned.
“Shut up and move in,” warned Roy.
Just then, the boys mind grew clear and lunged for Roy, and this surprised Roy as he fell back as the point of the sword
penetrated his chest, and in amazement, to all, and especially to Roy, the sword absorbed his spirit. With blinding speed, the sword
removed Bonnies head from her shoulders as her eyes rolled ghastly back into her head as the boy turned his cunning new skill toward the breast of Anita. Like that of Roy, she too ended up dispatched into the blade as it glowed even brighter into an orange yellow color. In a blinding furry, especially for a young boy who has never held a sword before, disemboweled Bonnie. Her spirit looking horrified as she watched her intestines spilling down upon the floor. Her head looking up at him in a pool of blood, though not actual blood, her eyes came down looking up at the boy who wore a grimace as he posed for another deadly attack with the sword.
“So this is how it ends?” she said as her head and spiritual energy was absorbed into the blade, the blade that stopped glowing. The boy realizing that the spirits of this place, those that spent the few moments beforehand formulating his demise now vanquished. He then put the sword back into the scabbard and with it, he felt some of the power and knowledge drain from him by the sword and then in his weakened state, a wave of new strength and knowledge nearly overwhelmed him. He could not begin to explain the powers of the sword, the near possession of his senses during the confrontation with the specters furnished by the magical powers of the weapon and its abilities of actually dispatching these spiritual beings that once were flesh.
Looking down at the hilt of the sword resting silently in the scabbard, the
transference of power, the energy has ceased as if the events beforehand had not happened at all. Amazed, confused, and somewhat frightened thought he may have imagined the whole affair.
“Perhaps, I am only dreaming and not yet awake?” He thought to himself as his body began to tremble ever so slightly. He sat down near the rubble in the large room, it was oddly silent, and so silent his ears began to ring slightly in his thoughts.
By early spring, the young boy learned many secrets surrounding Adajahara, which it in fact was some sort of a settlement for the first gods. He later discovered as the
Taltakkurdg-Kevnaps originated from a distant planet in the galaxy. These beings came in moderate numbers and enslaved all those around them for at least ten generations by the looks of things. From this point, the invasion of the second god, those from a distant blue planet that killed the TaltakkurdgKevnaps eventually develop a virus that would attack specifically the foe, but
somehow the virus mutates. Upon the defeat, the remaining bodies destroyed by the virus now consumed by fire. The virus then mutated and killed many from the blue planet and eventually those tribes surrounding the mesas later known as Adajahara from the distant descendants from both the blue planet and the ancient tribes of this land. The mutated virus affected the host bodies, causing madness and evil that spread like a wildfire throughout the land.
However, there was one survivor from the great Taltakkurdg-Kevnaps chieftains, the one called Pitah Valgas. Pitah Valgas, a powerful ruler who dwelt in the lands far off from reach of the virus initially. There he developed strong magic and incantations raising an army. The army, mostly those that consisted from those that survived the virus attack and the mutant strain. The ones that freed the ancient tribes were few in numbers chose to protect Adajahara, fought to their deaths against the sorcerers chieftain Pitah Valgas. However, not before sealing him into a crypt that would have permanently held him, they literally walled him in. Years later, Pitah Valgas bodys expired in the crypt that they used to deceive him. They filled the room with the original virus to insure his death. All writings of this were sketchy and parts missing.
A few years later, the children of Pitah Valgas rose in numbers and manage to overtake Adajahara and free what was believed by them to rescue Pitah Valgas, these children slain the remnants of the blue planet and attempted to free Pitah Valgas only to find him indeed dead. They performed a great ceremony, resealing the room with his most valued possessions.
As the young Ramadan read from the ancient scrolls written by the antediluvian sages of old spoke of events of eons ago. The scrolls spoke of the temples of Adajahara and the history past the deaths of Pitah Valgas the sorcerer and those from the blue planet that he found oddly fascinating.

…Pitah Alohaim Rystak, vile pestilence of the dark isle of the dragons, the beasts of the netherworld spilling the hatred and the blood of the children of the blue planet and that of the tribes of Kahlarium. From these nations, the priests and shamans perceived that the great sons of the sorcerer Pitah Valgas now only a legend. Indeed, the Pitah commands those closest to his bloodline to avenge his death and resurrect his bones from the forbidden tomb of Adajahara. Great warrior priests from the children of the blue planet and the kingdoms sent forth to find Adajahara, and safeguarded from the scourge from the south, to keep within its dark and powerful secrets.”

“In the second year of the Second Age, the black sails of the dragons reached Kahlarium. The great warrior king Atridius ascended in battle against Pitah Alohaim Rystak. Like that of Kahlarium, Atridius fell into the ashes of time; next Kranos was in the view of the dark chancellor of doom, Pitah Alohaim Rystak, and his brooding forces. From across the Great Plains, the Ramadans raised spear, shield and ax against the black wave that kept the torches of Kronos alive sending her light to the darkest of heart of the vile that occupied the fallen

“The ghosts of the great chieftains visited Pitah Alohaim Rystak and told the Pitah of a great northern passage across the silver capped Catanbar Mountains and imbued his soul with strong magic and from this magic great horrors were released and the nameless kingdoms in the Catanbar Mountains fell to the rule of Pitah Alohaim Rystak in the sixth year.”

“Pitah Alohaim Rystak, in the seventh year of the Second Age, led his armies along with that sword to bear his seed for generations to come. The Pitah, drawn upon the Great Plains, and like a whirlwind of black locusts and all those that dwelt there suffered unspeakable horrors... The dark chancellor of the isle of the Dragons came forth cutting a violent path of pillars of flame and smoke to the steppes and across the Thunder River to Kranos and the jaded hills of Adajahara. The greatest of all the warriors of the kingdoms waged a holy war against the darkest of foes, and with the Ramadans behind the black wave. To the west, the Kranos bowmen, Pitah Alohaim Rystak fell, his severed head removed from his body by a great ax and put away and separated from his rotting corpse, his armies dispersed fleeing from the spear, ax, and bow headed to the Catanbar Mountains, Kranos liberated the sons and daughters of Kahlarium and Gwarvarik was born.” The young boy continued reading from the ancient text, scrolls put away in ceramic vases, preserved by dried herbs and incantations.

…In the two-hundredth year of the Second Age, the children of the Dragon Lords, those led by dark chancellor, known as the Tarvas once again befriended their dark fathers now led by none other than Pitah Nabnugen. In a sacred treaty against the people of the Great Plains, it was his dark hope of seizing the Holy Land of Adajahara. Pitah Nabnugen visited neighboring kingdoms of the great north and many tribes to gain favor and alliances but his witchcraft was thwarted and he too was destroyed, and so with it, the Tarvas alliance was resolved. Peace ruled the kingdoms as the dark isle of the Dragons gleamed to kingdoms south.”

In the passing weeks, the young boy continued his studies from the ancient scrolls until he found a particular scroll on which perked his fascination somewhat more than the others did. “In the two-hundredth and seventysecond year of the Second Age, the great priests of Adajahara fell into utter madness. These priests in murderous rage speaking in a forgotten language proclaiming that a great and terrible sorcerer would rise from the holy mountain, killing all in their wake, who withstood them. Others said that they have seen the spirits of the dead afoot, others heard voices, strange voices chanting evil and vile spells feeding on the blood of the righteous and innocent. By order of King Melendor, guardian of Gwarvarik summonses the closure of Adajahara and the destruction of the road to the holy land. The priests, those that survived from the madness, only a handful indeed, they were sent to the four corners of the kingdom to live out their natural lives in service to the gods. As for those stricken with the madness, they were put to the blade for corruption of the soul and mind, but they would not die, die like that of the man but had to be destroyed by fire. King Melendor forbade anyone to enter Adajahara, anyone would be put to the blade and fire, and this law were sent forth through his sons and his son’s sons.”