It Begins: Worlds Gone Awry: Doom's Falling Part One

By Wolfe Drakelius Ravensgate

It Begins is the start of a tale of the final war for the universe. Good and Evil begin to face off as key players for each side prepare. Meet some of the key individuals whose every action will determine the final outcome. Come to know the inner workings of great warriors, their fears and doubts and triumphs. Watch as heros are made from those who struggle with life. Love sought and rejected, epic battles, adventure, tragedy and comedy all play their parts. Welcome to the universe of World's Gone Awry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477288917

Wolfe Drakelius Ravensgate

I've always had a love for literature and for reading and writing fantasy/sci-fi novels.During my time in college I took several literature and creative writing classes. I have also spent a lot of time studying medieval history, technology, and society as well as the various legends and mythology of the ancient cultures from the Egyptians, Greeks, andNords. I took several drama classes to further help me develop my ability to view things from the perspective of any character that I so choose. This perhaps is what has brought me the greatest joy from reading and writing, as well as giving my style a certain personal flair, is that when I write I am able to put myself in another world where I am actually experiencing the same occurences affecting my characters. In fact I often got in trouble in school for spending too much time reading books or studying mythology and medieval history and not focusing on my school work. We all know about the kid getting caught with a comic book or magazine in his math book. Me it was usually a book by Jules Verne, Robert Louis Stevenson, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis or any number of other authors. Now however I am a married father of three wonderful children. Currently residing on the Jersey shore although I will always consider myself a west coast kid. Indeed I hope to move back there soon. I can hardly believe that my life long dream of publishing a book is about to come true.

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© 2012 by Wolfe Drakelius Ravensgate. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/09/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8892-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8891-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012921595

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Part One: Beginnings and Endings

Part Two: Healing and Then Pain

Part Three: Another’s Home World

Part Four: A Leader Commands His Host

Part Five: A Long Journey

Part Six: Meeting in Silence

Part Seven: Another Step of the Way

Part Eight: The First Step Towards

Part One

Beginnings and Endings

In the End Just Someone Who Was No One but Himself

A beautiful young woman tossed and turned in her sleep. Dreams bearing a strange and disturbing sight visited her this night.

Dreediaan looked about. Gripping the handle of his strange sword he peered into the cave. His sword was five feet long with a slightly curved blade, dual edged and razor sharp. This weapon was not made by any elf, dwarf, or man its forging was much more sinister. No adornments covered it for it was the blade of a warrior. In his left hand was a dirk; a knife not as short as a dagger nor as long as a sword but about halfway between. Thus armed he crept into the den of Drothan the firedrake. All about lay treasure and armor and musical instruments all forged and made by Dreediaan’s people before the dragon came. Upon a great stalagmite in the middle of the room lay the drake. A loud hiss echoed as the fire drake opened its eyes. Well thief I smell thee. Come show thyself young dragon elf. I believe thou art one of the coral night dragon elves as well. Hmm, but strange thy mount is dead and thou art not. How can this be?

A thin smile crept over Dreediaan’s face, his deep baritone voice rung out smoothly as he fingered his strangely bladed sword. Drothan, oh magnificent fire drake. Your sense of smell is truly amazing. But you are confused, are you not? For there is something in my scent that you don’t quite understand.

Ah, the young warrior thief is more intelligent than I deemed. For he has not revealed himself to me, yet truly he knows my name, and has guessed aright that I know not fully his scent. Well what is thy name my valiant young sir? The drake’s voice sounded like brass upon bronze ringing out.

My name matters not for I am truly no one of consequence. But, mayhap if I riddle you this, what you do not understand will be made clear. So Dreediaan altered his voice to take on the rhyme and canter of the riddle.

"Out of the sea I have come,

In the air I have made my home.

Now ever onward I roam,

For my mount has eternally flown,

O’er paths where I cannot go;

The ancient bound is no more.

Of the people of the light I have been;

Through the night they do win.

Yet, what is it in my blood,

That boundless stories flood?

Darkness mingled with Light,

A strange power over night.

Three races molded to one.

Three more were then won.

And three of vintage fine,

Now they total nine.

If you can correctly guess,

Than to you I will confess.

Then changing his voice back to its normal inflection he said, So my ancient foe. I ask you do you now know who I am?

Surprise and wonder flooded Drothan’s face. Truly my strange acquaintance. Why dost thou speak in such a riddle? Dost thou think me a fool to be toyed with? I gather there are nine races in thee, but only one can I sense, that of the elves. Come tell me true. Why dost thou also speak of me as a foe? For how could I have ever harmed thou whom I dost not know?

Ah, you try to make me give it all away. Well since this you cannot guess let me riddle it like this? Once again Dreediaan began to intone.

"Fire burned.

Home spurned.

Parents died.

Child thrived."

With a slight smile he again inquired, Does none of this shed light upon the mystery of me? Ah, now Drothan the fire drake you let pride swell you up. But, beware for pride goes before a fall. I am come for vengeance upon you for the death of all whom I loved. And, now enough parley of words. Defend yourself for here am I. With that he leapt from the shadows that sheltered him.

Drothan was gazing around when suddenly as if just out of the air Dreediaan materialized his dirk and sword in hand. Brilliant green eyes aflame, like the sun shining through tropic oceans. Four inches short of being six foot tall he stood, well built yet slender, muscled and well toned. Raven black hair hung straggling down to his shoulders. A bow and arrows were strapped to his back crossing the sheath for his sword. No armour did he wear, only a light green tunic and a darker green cloak.

Dreediaan’s voice rang out like thunder in the middle of a silent night. Behold the last thing you shall ever see. I am the one who can walk unheard and unseen. Know now my name and perish in the knowledge. For I am Dreediaan the warrior of doom. With that his left arm snapped back and forth, quicker than the blink of an eye. The dirk flashed briefly before slamming through the dragon’s eye and piercing its brain.

The last thing Drothan heard as his eyes closed in eternal slumber was Dreediaan voice. I am one of the Coral Night Dragon Elves. But, the blood of eight other races flows through my veins. The Disiani, the IceTethen, the Seltrin, Coltriana, Halfitanima, Dreathania, Doltran, and also the blood of the Golthiera. Then the great drake Drothan was no more.

Dreediaan reached over and plucked his dirk from the beast’s head. Cleaning it first upon the dragon’s hide he sheathed it at his side. He strode towards the beast’s foot, taking his sword in both hands he swung it powerfully and severed one of the beast’s claws. Curved and sharp like a dual edged saber it was, yet stronger than any metal. Yet, his blade was no common blade. It too was the claw of a dragon, but not from a fire drake, it had once belonged to a frost drake, and was silver in color compared to bronze as his new weapon. From a pouch he drew an ancient hilt that had once belonged to his father. Quickly he pressed the still warm dragon claw into it. The heat from the claw welded the hilt to it and they became one, a new weapon. He hung this new blade at his waist and sheathed his mighty sword across his back.

Unknown wealth lay in that cave, but it did not matter to the young warrior who walked amongst it. He was looking for only a few things. One he found soon, a good dagger and arm sheath which he strapped to his left arm. Two quivers of arrows, one forged by elven smiths, and the other by dwarves, and hung on his back with his own. Then he found it, a small harp made of gold and strung with silver. By some strange magic it had not lost its tune and he struck it allowing the beautiful melodious sound to float out and away.

Dreediaan sighed then, for the friends had he known in his twenty years of life. Some which he had just left to go on their own ventures to the isles of pirates. One of whom could sing and play and put the birds themselves to shame. Yet, during the short time he had been with them Dreediaan had been silent. For, he knew the power of his own voice over other things. Had he sung then not even that other great warrior who was out seeking revenge would have been able to speak. For thus was Dreediaan of the bloodlines of nine races.

Dreediaan lit a fire in the carcass of his ancient foe, and left. Leaving the light of the blaze to dance across the countless treasures the beast had once horded. Though flickers of reflected light seemed to mock the demise of the beast who had so long kept them in darkness. But, Dreediaan cared not, he went now only to seek adventure and to find friends with whom he could travel, Friends who would be honest and brave and true. Who would not lust after treasure or pleasure, but seek this alone, to uphold the weak and defend the helpless, fighting only for what was good and right.

She leapt out of bed, wide awake and shocked. Again the strange dream had visited her in the still watches of the night, but this time… this time it had been different. This time she remembered it. She had seen things through his eyes, whoever he was. Who was this strange warrior who she saw in her dreams?

Rushing from her room she ran down the hallway to where her parent’s slept. Throwing open the door she crossed to their bed and flung back the curtains surrounding it. The dawning light woke them as she said, It came again last night. What is this dream that comes so? This time though I remember what it was and what happened. The whole thing, not just little snatches and pieces. I have had the same dream for a fortnight. Why? What in the world could it mean?

We know not darling, her father said. But now that you can remember it all let us hear it and then we shall decide what to do. If it truly seems to be something of import than your mother and I will take you to see the mages and wise men, mayhap they can tell you what this dream means.

So, she sat down and recounted all to them, every piece of her dream she recalled for them, neither leaving out nor adding in. All the while her pale blue eyes, eyes like the sea after a storm, never wandered, they never left her parents, she stared deeply and her voice never faltered. They quietly and patiently listened, till she finished and then, looking to each other first, they both turned their eyes back to her.

Daughter, Ariema, I know of whom you speak, said her father.

As do I, added her mother.

I have not yet told you all though. For there was something else at the end, a poem or a riddle or some such. But I cannot remember it. All I remember is the last three word of it. He is coming.’ That is all."

Do not worry about it, said her father. This man, he is but a legend, a myth. He is not a real person. But, a make believe hero created for the enjoyment of the youthful. You will read of him in your literature classes later on this year. What is important now is that you focus on studying, for this is your last year in the academy. Then on to the Schrieannethartiama Nichrawther, for the final training and then your profession will have been made known to you. Forget this strange dream.

But I cannot father, I cannot mother, I cannot forget it. I have had it every night for a fortnight. Fourteen days in a row it has haunted me. Fourteen nights! How can I forget such a thing? Ariema said exasperated.

I know it seems so strange, this dream of yours, her mother soothed. But, trust us, believe us. It is just a myth that you heard of sometime ago and now you are dreaming of it.

I will try mother and father. But, if it comes again. Promise that we will look into it.

Yes. If you have this same dream again we will look into it, her father promised. Now go on, and freshen up and then let us go down to breakfast.

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Far away rode a young man, or so he seemed to be. His hard pressed steed still running as swift as the wind though it was nigh as old as he. Still the beautiful, misty, silver stallion had many miles left in him. They had ridden without a stop for three days and neither tired. The rider eating while on horse back and feeding his majestic mount, the horse never missing a step. Though both seemed to be in the prime of their youths still their age stretched back far beyond the reckoning of all left alive, who had not left to another realm or world where peace and rest were more assured. He, even though knowing how to do so, had not left.

Few remained here with him, choosing not to walk one of those secreted paths. His beautiful steed Silver Mist. His steadfast companion who ran alongside, though he could easily have outdistanced them, Siathatel, he who is both a silver tiger and an Elf, given the power to change back and forth by a strange ring which he wore. Above all soared another friend, Vlennia, she who rode upon her strange mount, the last of its kind, one of the great eagles of the mountains, Erowin.

On they went, never stopping though having been on the move for three days. Headed ever west, towards the mountains, where two great ranges meet each other. Riding for the fort sitting in the crux of the mountains, the Fortress Balentra. There to find their final companion. She whose fate she did not yet know, nor did her family. Ariema, the daughter of the Lord of Balentra, ruler of this region. Each step bringing them closer and closer. In five days they would reach their goal.

Built by Seltirin long ago this realm was named after his father, Balen one of the last great warriors of the first age. The realm of Balentra stood long through legends, a proud land full of truehearted people. Well protected against foe, for it lay between the arms of two mountain ranges, The Dimvill and The Cheldill ranges spread forth their great arms from the point at which they met. The great wall of Seltirin spread from the furthest reaches of the mountains cutting a vast arc between the two outstretched mountain arms.

The wall of Seltirin stood five hundred feet tall and was twice as thick as tall. A single gate pierced the wall, set exactly in the middle, an entire section of the wall that would move upon great wheels and swing out. Twelve dozen oxen pulled on ropes in order to move this enormous gate, and no ram could ever pierce it. This mighty fortification stretched from the walls of the final mountains of both chains, stretching over a five hundred mile arc. Thus the only entrance to Balentra was through the gate for the mountains were all but insurmountable and no army could scale them. Only one other exit or entrance was there and that was secret, known only to the king.

Deep inside this realm at its Northern end, four thousand miles from the great gate, was the capital city of the realm. Balentra, the last fortification of its people, lay cradled in the very crux of the joining ranges. Fourteen walls separated the city into tiers as it climbed up the slope of Mount Tivial, the Silver Stone Mountain. Each wall had but a single gate and they were not set in line but rather staggered throughout the city. Set upon a hill of the mount itself sat the great castle of the king. Eight hundred feet above the level of the first tier of the city it looked over all.

Yet, no foe had ever made it past even the great wall of Seltirin. So, it was that the realm of Balentra was as of yet unscarred by war and untouched by foul thoughts or deeds. Even, though they had never fought a war, not since the realm was founded, they still had a mighty army and even women were trained in the ways of war, lest they become defenseless. All within the countries walls over the age of twelve were trained to defend themselves.

Though few there ever actually fought, save those that left and went adventuring. These were considered strange for the people sought nothing other than peace within its boundaries. Yet, these also were the main source of news of the outside world and were held in high respect and many were regarded as heroes. The Lord Sarin had been one who had journeyed far and wide as a youth, gaining much acclaim for himself.

Dreediaan now looked back over his shoulder as they crossed a line of foothills. We have just entered the realm of Balentra. Full of peace and goodness is this realm, utterly lacking of all evil. The lands of Lord Sarin, ruler of Balentra, are as of yet wholly untouched by evil. Though the darkness spreads o’er most the world.

A king who sits on the throne of judgment scatters all evil with his eyes, said Vlennia. Old proverbs still ring true. Eh!

Yes, indeed they do. But still, growled Siathatel, if we do not warn them. If we cannot raise a force, an army of enormous proportions, then it will all be in vain.

So the companions continued forward, flying across the miles in utter haste, behind them the borders of Balentra, beyond that…

A world vast and full of life, life that is slowly being annihilated and wiped out, darkness and evil forcing all to perish; and, next on the list to be crushed, Balentra. This dark evil force that marched across the land consisted of things so terrible and so numerous that it was hard to imagine it. Goblins and Orcs in great numbers amongst the many foul beings. Many other things came pouring up and out into the world. Coming through a portal so vast, so huge that thousands could walk through it at a time. This portal, a terrible anomaly, a rip in the fabric of existence, opening a door to another place, another dimension… Opening a door to Deratha, a veritable hell…

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Early dawn broke over the fortress of Balentra where it sat cradled in the arms of the two mountain ranges. Ariema had that same reoccurring dream for the five more nights but it was not until now that she went and spoke to her parents of it again. Mother, Father. I have had that dream again, indeed I have had it for the past five days but I did not come to you until now. I really think this may be something of import. Will you please look into it for me?

If you insist we will, grumbled her father, Lord Sarin. Though I think if you remember the riddle it will make sense.

That is it father. That is why I have waited until now to come to you. Cause it wasn’t until now that I could remember the riddle.

Well then what is it? sighed her father

"Four they are yet they seek five,

War is coming so look alive.

Danger is near at hand,

Again rides this small band.

Look for him on the day of the dark,

When he comes to his words hark.

High noon is fading,

He is coming."

Well that makes sense to me, said her mother. Look for him and three others at the end of the noon hour of the day of the dark. The day of the dark is the day when we begin to loose daylight. That day is today.

So, you say people come seeking someone, led by this mythic warrior. This legendary, Dreediaan, said the King, his tone dappled with annoyance. Pah! These are nothing. Nothing is going on or coming.

Father, can you not see the seriousness of the situation. Something surely must be going on. Something definitely is going to happen.

We shall see, we shall see. The King rung a bell. Guards! Prepare for guests. They should arrive about the end of the noon hour. Welcome them.

Not too far away rode the group. They knew that there must be five of them. And so far they only had three. They knew where the fifth was but not the fourth. The fourth was supposed to be, according to the riddle that they followed, He who walked alone, without friends, though friendly, seeking for true companions.

Suddenly Dreediaan reigned in his horse. Ahead of him he spotted one who walked alone. A staff in hand, a sword at his side and a bow on his back. Strange, could this be the one they sought?

Riding forward they came alongside the lone wanderer. Stopping, Dreediaan dismounted. The stranger stepped back, and switched his hands to a fighting stance on the staff. He wore a hooded cloak and they could not see his face, save for the strange eyes that peered at them. They seemed to be a changing color, of grey-green, grey-blue, and a misty grey. Other than this little could be seen of the strange man, for they assumed he was human.

Dreediaan spoke to him. Stranger, we mean you no harm. I am Dreediaan. What is your name?

I am named Illisicanth. What do you seek?

We seek you, or at least so it would seem. For does not your name mean he who walked alone, without friends, seeking for true companions?"

Indeed it does mean just that. So why do you seek me?

We seek you that you may partake with us upon a quest to save the earth.

Again? I must try to save a world again? I tire of such a task. Scars so numerous are on my body from this same task. The hooded character muttered. Then his hand caressing the hilt to his well used sword and his other hand holding the staff at the midpoint, like a trained warrior, he sighed. Aye, this is my duty; this is my task for this life. My job is to walk alone, and to save the world time and time again, or at least take a part in the wars that threaten the world. Occasionally aided by others on the same quest, but for most of the millennia of my life I have been cursed to walk alone. I only know of one other who has suffered the same curse. But, I know that when he and I meet, then will I have found one who understands, and then finally will I have true companions.

You have found him. I am he, Dreediaan. My own name cursed me to walk alone, always helping. Until such a time as I fulfilled all and was allowed to change my name. No longer does that final letter mean alone, no longer is it Nea. No, now it is Nena, for quiet. A quietness that allows me to move like a shadow, a quietness that is in me, that keeps me safe. I am quiet, one who speaks little. But, more and more that has to change, as power and responsibility is thrust upon me.

We have no time, growled Siathatel. We must hasten on. Will you join us or not?

Illisicanth looked at the tiger, You are no wild or tame animal, no, you are an Elf in the form of a tiger. Ahh, well I will join you. I see much and know that I must join you. You must need me on this quest of yours. Else you would not have stopped.

Can you keep up earthbound one, Vlennia said from her Eagle’s back.

Ahh, well that may or may not be difficult. I shall arrive where you are going. Let us be off. Lead and I will follow.

The others looked at him curiously wondering how he would keep up. Yet they started off. Suddenly running beside them was a creature they had never seen the like of before. It seemed like a great silver wolf, except for the avian head of an eagle, the tail of a dragon, and great spreading wings of silver and white. And on its back, was Illisicanth. They were shocked and wondered where this strange creature had come from and indeed what was it. But, they rode on in silence, knowing that an explanation could wait until a later time. Though more than anything they began to wonder just what their new companion was, for he remained hooded and cloaked.

The noon sun rode high in the sky over the fortress of Balentra, the hour was waning. The royal family stood on a balcony and looked out for any who could be coming. They watched in silence and Ariema waited expectantly. So it was that she was the first one to spot the strange sight coming toward them. Father there. They come! I knew that they would come, and yet you doubted me.

Open the gate, let them in. Bring them to my court room. I would hear what they have to say, the king said to a nearby guard.

They came riding into the great hall along with their steeds, for the hall was built to house such. Even had they come with thousands more all would have fit comfortably. On a raised dais at the end of the hall sat the royal family. The king motioned for them to come forward.