Druyun I: The Mysterious Tournament

By Ryan M Wilson

A world at peace...
The land of Druyun currently resides in a time of peace and growth, governed by the eight noble houses. Over 900 years ago, a great evil known as Dogma was defeated and the religion of Edos was born from his defeat, while the mystical powers of Spark still inherit the land and its people. Despite the two opposing faiths, Druyun banded together to ensure the safety and prosperity of its people.

A mysterious letter...
It is now the year 923TD and across the land of Druyun, a letter has arrived for those of both noble and common birth. Inviting the brave, the adventurous, the hungry for fame, all who wish to prove themselves, to travel to the town of Newbarrow in Owha for a great tournament. A tournament with a prize the likes that not even the great Holiness of Edos has ever seen before.

An unlikely group...
Answering the letter's call, a group of young travellers band together on the road to compete in the mysterious tournament. A mix of nobles, true believers and Spark wielders, they hope to go down in history as the tournament champions. But as their journey nears Newbarrow, they find that not is as it seems and what presented itself as a chance for glory, turns into a fight for their lives...

'Druyun I: The Mysterious Tournament' is the first book in a series by author Ryan M Wilson, chronicling the adventures of the Athamages; a group of travelling heroes who come together for glory in the land of Druyun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Feb 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922542359

Ryan M Wilson

Ryan M Wilson has always had a love of writing; whether it was film scripts during his years in film school or writing custom campaigns for long nights of Dungeons and Dragons. Living in Australia, Ryan works in the finance industry by day but lives in a fantasy world by night on his laptop. A fan of all things fantasy and sci-fi, it has been Ryan’s dream to write a series of fantasy novels based on his created world of Druyun.Follow the series at https://www.druyun.com or visit https://linktr.ee/druyun for details on how to get your copy today! (Available in Print & eBook worldwide!)

Book preview

Druyun

I: The Mysterious Tournament

By Ryan M Wilson

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO Box 4363

Penrith NSW 2750

https://www.indiemosh.com.au

Copyright 2021 © Ryan M Wilson

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

Book Cover and House Sigils illustrated by Lisa Louey.

Book Cover and House Sigil Designs created by Lisa Louey and Ryan Wilson.

All maps made with and used under the Commercial Licence agreement with Inkamate.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To Aaron, Celine, Larissa, Megan and Nathan:

Thank you for bringing these heroes to life.

They couldn’t have existed without you.

To Amanda:

Thank you for always supporting me,

for all the feedback,

and dealing with my late-night ramblings.

PROLOGUE

Beware the champion of blood and water,

Merely a tool to commence the slaughter.

No one can stop him, it is truly said,

Until the golden sun is stained black and red.

Parchment Fragment held in the Utros Hall of Records – Unknown Author or Origin

Carefully, the old man trod the dirt path that had been cleared through the tree line and up the hill back to the village, the buckets of water weighing heavy upon him and in constant danger of toppling him over. More than a single bead of sweat fell down his brow. The summer months may have passed, but it still felt too hot for comfort in these parts.

Normally his son Gerald would collect the water for the day, but that lazy excuse for a boy had gone off with Maree’s daughter two days past and was yet to return.

‘I’m going to end up finding those two floating down the river,’ the old man muttered to himself as he carefully repositioned the pole holding the two large buckets on his shoulders.

William, known by others around the village as ‘Old Bill’, was approaching his seventy-first birthday. Well liked in the small village of Blackhall, Old Bill had a reputation of fixing what needed fixing. While an early life of labour in the cornfields of Owha had taken a toll on his body, he continued day by day to do what he could around the village. His leathery skin from working long hours in the sun showed, and when he finally sat down to rest at night, it sometimes felt as if he could hear his own bones creak. But he kept pushing on; this was the life he knew, after all.

Besides, Maree had been pestering him all morning for fresh water. She would already have a fire going, ready to boil the water before they rationed it out to their neighbours. Like him, Maree was also widowed, so they had become close friends within their small village. Their children, on the other hand, seemed to have taken that close friendship to another level.

As Old Bill crested the hill and beheld Blackhall, his home, he sighed with relief. Almost there, he thought. Blackhall was secluded among the forest trees that began Myek’s Woods and a day’s ride from the next nearest town of Madford. He had actually been born in the very same hut that he resided in now. With his age now caught up and save for the occasional journey that he partook in to Madford for supplies, he had no real reason to leave.

But the sigh of relief was less for seeing the familiar sight of home, but rather a desire for the small pouch of tobacco next to his bedside that had been calling his name all day. But first I need to get one of these buckets to Maree. Old Bill repositioned the heavy pole again, feeling the strain on his shoulders and back. ‘I’m getting far too old for this,’ he said out loud to the grass around him.

‘Indeed,’ a calm voice said from behind him.

Old Bill was taken by surprise, the pole falling off his shoulders and the two buckets hitting the ground, bouncing down the hill and depositing their hard-earned contents onto the grassy floor. ‘Son of a Crowstein, look what you’ve gone and done!’ Old Bill swore as he turned to face his intruder, and with an angry stare, he took in the sight of the man standing before him.

The man who had spoken was so awfully plain in appearance that many would have struggled to pick him out of a crowd. His sandy hair and brown eyes blended into his beige tunic, which was situated under a traveller’s cloak. He had no satchel or backpack, nor weapons visible on him. However, what stuck out like a sore thumb was the two companions he had standing behind him, awaiting his next command. Their long, red robes were an eyesore against the forest behind them.

The plain-looking man replied in almost a whisper, ‘I apologise, good sir, sometimes I find that I lack a certain awareness when intruding upon the common man, but that is to be expected.’

Something seemed strange almost immediately to Old Bill. The occasional non-resident entered down this way, but it was the way the man spoke; it was too slick with an unfavourable hint of superiority. A lord perhaps, or maybe a Spark wielder?

‘Alas, my companions here will happily retrieve more water for you; however, I do require a favour of you first,’ said the mystery man.

‘A favour?’ Old Bill laughed. ‘You sneak up on me and ask a favour? Who are you?’

The man turned and whispered to one of the red-robed companions, who hurried down the hill and picked up the dropped buckets. Old Bill saw him disappear into the forest line.

The mystery man turned back to Old Bill and said, ‘Would you mind showing me to the crypts? I have come to pay my dearest respects.’

Of course, he is here for the crypts! Old Bill should have guessed that that was the reason for this stranger’s intrusion. Blackhall housed the crypts for villages stretching from Portstyre to as far as Newbarrow. This poor fool is probably just wrought with grief. Why else would someone sneak up on an old man?

‘Well, as long as your man gets the water for me, then sure, I’ll show you the way,’ Old Bill replied.

The man gestured ahead with a smile that looked all too fake.

Old Bill turned and continued his way over the hill towards Blackhall, the man and one of his companions now in tow.

They entered the small village square of Blackhall together. However, ‘village square’ was an exaggeration—it was a small, circular space of rough cobblestones dug into the dirt, with small huts scattered around the outside. The crypts were just on the other side of where they had entered. A few weeds grew out among the stones of the square; Old Bill promised he would clean it up last week but hadn’t got around to it yet. To the east of the square was Myek’s Woods, which stretched on all the way to and past Madford.

With the green pastures, dense forests and sunny sky overhead, the village almost looked serene.

As they walked across the open space, a few of Old Bill’s friends and local villagers went among their business. Two children were chasing each other with wooden sticks, ducking in and around the huts.

Maree sat outside her own dwelling, cleaning her underclothes. She spied Old Bill with the man and his companion. ‘Where’s my water, Old Willy?’ Maree yelled out in a cackle.

‘Bah, it’s on its way, just you wait!’ Old Bill shouted back with a wave. The quicker I take this foreigner to the crypts, the better.

They needed to pass by Old Bill’s hut on their way to the crypts, and when he passed his door, he caught a glimpse of his wooden chest next to his bed—the tobacco ever so tantalising. Old Bill stopped and said, ‘Ahh this is me. So, if you just head on behind my hut, you’ll find the entrance and Marbin will—’

‘Would you kindly show me the way,’ the man interrupted, gesturing with his hand past Old Bill’s doorway and around the hut.

It was then that Old Bill noticed that the man’s red-robed companion was no longer with them. I guess walking in a straight line across the village was too much for them.

Old Bill walked around the back of his hut and to the large stone passage that had been built into the ground. Stone steps led down into the tunnel, which was currently lit by torches. Inside, he could hear the crypt-keeper making some sort of a racket with his stone hammer.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Suddenly, the world around Old Bill went quiet while the banging sound of the stone hammer filled the air, hypnotising him. His arms and legs felt stiff. It must be the heat of the day.

That was when Old Bill heard a woman’s scream fill the air. It had come from behind him, where the village lay. Willing his body to move, Old Bill turned on the spot to investigate. However, he felt a strong force push into his chest. The ground beneath him moved like ice and he was falling into the open space behind him.

The last thing he saw was the mystery man’s fake smile, hand outstretched as he looked down upon the falling old man.

Part 1:

The Journey

8th day, 5th month, 923TD

CHAPTER 1

To all Adventurers far and wide across Druyun.

Are you seeking a life of luxury?

A chance to prove yourself? Or just the glory of being the best?

Then your moment has come!

On the 1st day of the 6th month, find yourselves in the town of Newbarrow, to the South of Fairdrift, along the coast of Owha, for a great tournament shall be held for only the bravest, the strongest, the wisest!

A great celebration the likes of which Druyun has never seen!

And at the end of this festival, the winning Adventurer or Team will have a prize that even the Great Holiness of Edos would be jealous of!

Only the best shall succeed!

Praise Edos!

Letter sent to all in Druyun,

by Dennas Codd, Mayor of Newbarrow – 923TD

Cyrus Orve spotted the horse first before the boy, despite the boy’s frantic waving arms. Though truth be told, ‘horse’ was being generous, Cyrus thought.

‘I’d crush that beast if I sat upon it,’ Morn said, chuckling to himself as their group observed the poorly kept animal and its assumed young owner from afar.

Cyrus held up his hand for the group to halt.

The dirt road they were travelling on offered little in visual protection. Judging by the boy’s flailing arms, it could be assumed he had spotted them, yet Cyrus preferred to err on the side of caution.

Cyrus turned to Eska and said, ‘Esk, what do you see?’

Eska strode forward and stood beside Cyrus. The tallest in their group, Eska was twenty years old and slim with long, straight hair that was jet black, falling almost halfway down her back. It contrasted heavily to her pale white skin and bright blue eyes. Around her neck and sitting upon her dark green robes hung a large purple crystal encased in silver. Eska was still young but her years of training in the art of Spark gave her wisdom and abilities the others didn’t possess. Cyrus watched as Eska stared intently ahead at the faraway stranger.

‘I see a young boy, not a day over twelve at least, wearing an oversized tunic with the faded sigil of a shark,’ Eska said to the group.

‘Shark is noble, right?’ Morn said with a smirk.

Cyrus knew Morn was baiting him to respond, but he couldn’t help himself.

He scolded, ‘Brother, we are the sons of a Noble House and yet how it is you still fail to know the sigils of the others?’

Upon first glance, you wouldn’t have guessed Cyrus and Morn Orve were brothers. Cyrus was twenty-four, tall and lean with wavy brown hair and a pointed clean-shaven jawline. He currently wore his clean-pressed tunic emblazoned with the sigil of House Orve, a magnificent sunburst, upon the breast pocket. Being not only noble but the first-born, he took good care of his appearance.

His younger brother Morn, however, was shorter than he was and shaved his own head every morning with his freshly sharpened dagger. Cyrus could even now see the small uneven patches of black hair beginning to quickly grow back, matching the stubble on Morn’s chin.

Morn was equipped in his noble armour, the golden sun sigil large and proudly displayed. Underneath that solid chest plate was a body exploding with muscles, all earned through hard practice with their battle-master back home. Despite only being twenty-two, Morn could easily match any fighter in one-to-one combat at home in Suntown.

Currently slung on Morn’s back was his prize possession: a two-handed maul he had affectionately named his ‘Bloodhammer’. Painted dark red, the large weapon was unique because its hammer and spike were crafted from the rare metal known as vuktel, the same used on the Atristan airships. A gift of support from House Airvuk to House Orve after the uprising. Despite its size and weight, in typical Morn fashion, he had trained to be able to wield it single-handedly.

Though while Morn had spent years training in the yards to perfect his fighting skills, Cyrus had spent his time in the various inns and halls of Suntown, practising music and the arts. Morn had a maul; Cyrus had a lute.

However, there was one similarity between the brothers Orve: they both had their mother’s brown eyes.

Morn shrugged at Cyrus’ reply, but it was Silverwood who answered, ‘The shark sigil is of House Dyeling, noble owners of the land of Owha, where we currently reside.’

Hanging back by the small horse-drawn cart that trailed their group, Silverwood had also grown up with nobility, though not by birth. The youngest in their group at only nineteen, Silverwood was fit and had long, silver hair, green eyes, and a shield currently slung across her back that was painted with the large green tree, which was the Robintree sigil. While she could have been mistaken as slim, currently wearing travelling leathers, Cyrus had seen her strength when she had donned her full battle armour, along with the metre and a half long lance that she wielded. Smaller than a tournament lance and used in the Robintree Guard, it took a great deal of skill to wield. She had put on a show a few nights back with some playful sparring with Morn, cutting quite an intimidating figure.

A shining silver warrior, Cyrus thought briefly before returning to the present. ‘Indeed, Silver. See, brother, perhaps if you had paid attention even once in your lessons, you could have learnt something,’ Cyrus said.

‘I’ll stick with the fighting, you stick with the books, brother,’ Morn said.

‘I’d wager she can teach you a thing or two about fighting, as well,’ Cyrus teased Morn.

Morn opened his mouth to argue back, but Eska interrupted them.

‘I don’t see any threats around the boy, and he does seem to be waving at us quite joyfully,’ Eska said, clearly ignoring the argument brewing. ‘We could let Dharxius sneak ahead for safety though if you are concerned, Cyrus?’

‘Alas, let her sleep. I’m sure Morn can handle a single child,’ Cyrus said, smiling at Morn and receiving a deathly stare in return.

Silverwood laughed as Morn turned and slapped the backside of their horse, who was pulling their cart. The horse began to trot forward, and the rest of the group started making their way towards the stranger.

Cyrus led the way, with Eska and Morn behind. Silverwood kept to the rear while their fifth companion slept in the back. The Owha countryside surrounded them: dense grassland and the occasional tree or farmhouse. The young boy stood at the top of a small hill, his waving getting more frantic as they approached.

Cyrus stopped a few metres from the boy and assessed him. He indeed had the sigil of House Dyeling, the fearsome shark among the blue stripes. However, the faded colours and dirt-stained tunic did nothing to help promote the House’s nobility. The boy’s unkempt black hair also didn’t do him any favours; he looked distressed before they even arrived at him.

‘Greetings, you … you are on your way to Newbarrow, are you not?’ the boy said, his voice a small squeak.

Cyrus noticed the boy’s eyes darting to their various weapons. Perhaps fouler parties have come by prior? Luckily, the boy has nothing to fear from us. ‘We may be, young one. To whom do we have the pleasure?’ said Cyrus.

‘My name is Marroc, squire … squire to Sir Guilbert Dyeling, who is the local knight of Madford. Rise from the waves,’ the boy said, echoing the words of House Dyeling.

Cyrus thought upon what he knew of the lineage of House Dyeling, but the name Guilbert didn’t ring a bell. A cousin, perhaps?

Marroc gestured to the dirt road behind him as he continued, ‘He has tasked me with seeking any travelling parties for help with a local matter. If you are heading to Newbarrow, you must be strong, brave and wise adventurers?’

Cyrus quickly picked up on the fact that Marroc quoted the tournament letter that he and his companions had read a month or so ago. The boy said it with such a blind sense of desire that Cyrus felt a small bit of pity for him. It was clear Marroc wished their positions swapped.

‘No time for your local matters, boy. It’s twelve days to get to Newbarrow, and I don’t intend on arriving late for my prize,’ said Morn.

Cyrus held up his hand to calm Morn down, but Marroc still blanched at the strong response. ‘I … I … uh … we …’ Marroc stammered.

‘Marroc, I apologise for my companion’s bluntness, but he is indeed correct,’ said Eska as she stepped forward and knelt down to the boy. ‘We unfortunately must make haste and don’t have time for local matters.’

‘But … but you don’t even know what the matter is yet. Oh please, Sir Guilbert and the priest would be ever so grateful if you could assist. The last three groups who passed through refused,’ Marroc replied, his voice now more frantic.

‘Priest?’ a voice said from the cart behind them. ‘What kind of priest?’

Marroc looked around for who had spoken before he noticed her climbing out of the back of their cart.

‘Ahh, the holy one awakes,’ Morn growled as their fifth companion now strode towards Marroc.

Dharxius paid no attention to Morn. Short and nimble, Dharxius barely had to bend her neck to speak to Marroc.

Cyrus watched Marroc’s eyes dart all over Dharxius’ small frame, her olive skin, short brown hair cut to just below the ears. She had a heart-shaped face with welcoming brown eyes, and Cyrus watched the boy relax slightly as she smiled at him.

‘An Edos priest,’ said Marroc.

Dharxius continued to smile as she replied, ‘And this local matter concerns him?’

‘Well, it’s about his wife. She has gone missing, see, well a lot of people have, but she is one of them,’ said Marroc.

Dharxius stood up tall and stared back at Cyrus, though Cyrus already knew the answer.

‘Very well, Dharx, we will enquire. Just enquire for now. But we are on a schedule, remember,’ Cyrus advised before he turned his attention back to Marroc. ‘Let us go see Sir Guilbert, shall we.’

The group followed Marroc, who now sat upon his small horse, as he led them over the hill and down the dirt road. They could already see the smoke rising from various chimneys ahead. As they got closer, Silverwood finally saw the makings of a small town. A welcome sight, she thought as she walked behind the group.

Up until now, they had been travelling on the road for just over a month and a half, stopping to make camp where safe or at the occasional inn. Through countless forks and paths, the road they had travelled stretched from the capital city of Westborn in north Utros, down south through Agron and Atristan, before crossing into Owha, and eventually the port town of Newbarrow.

Eska and Silverwood had joined up with the brothers Orve in Agron, crossing from Tru Brya at a part of the state known as ‘The Pass’. It was Silverwood’s first journey outside of Tru Brya, and the dry grasslands of Agron had been quite a sight compared to her life in the forest.

It had then been followed by the mountainous regions of Atristan, where they had recruited their fifth companion, Dharxius. Now, the grassland and woods of Owha were a more peaceful retreat.

The journey itself had actually been relatively quiet and free of trouble, save for the occasional ruckus caused by Morn at inns. A little too quiet for my liking, as Silverwood felt the itch for adventure within her growing stronger. When Eska had promised her a ‘journey of all journeys’, Silverwood had assumed it wouldn’t have begun with weeks of riding in a cart or walking.

The quiet times did have their benefits, as they gave Silverwood ample time to get to know her new travelling companions. She already knew Eska, having been her closest friend longer than she could remember. Silverwood was grateful to have her as a confidant for the long nights on the road.

While Silverwood got on quite well with her new companions, she found that Morn was a little rough around the edges. You just needed to ensure that he didn’t get too carried away. But he could certainly put up a fight in the training yard, which helped keep her skills honed.

Dharxius was pleasant enough, though she kept mostly to herself. Whereas other Edos followers that Silverwood had met in life were loud and lively characters, Dharxius seemed to spend more time in quiet prayer and reflection. Perhaps she is just shy, especially with Eska nearby.

To have a Spark wielder, Eska, and a Tramborn priest’s daughter, Dharxius, in the same travelling party made for a very unique grouping.

And then there was Cyrus. Always ready with a song and a joke. They had singers back in Tru Brya, other nobles. But not someone like …

Silverwood shook herself out of her thoughts and pulled out the tournament letter from her pocket, reading over it for the hundredth time as if a clue might suddenly unveil itself as to what lay ahead. This letter had been what had brought them all together. ‘A prize that even the Great Holiness of Edos would be jealous of,’ Silverwood said quietly to herself.

Dharxius must have overheard her, as she replied, ‘There is nothing that our God would be jealous of. But they must believe they have a tremendous prize, to quote it as such.’

Silverwood chuckled, but her thoughts stayed on the letter. She started to twirl her silver hair with her fingers, a tick she had whenever she started getting intrigued or was deep in thought. It surely can’t just be coin; we all have coin, and it would be a shame to have travelled so far just for that. A weapon maybe? Or perhaps just my name in the history books.

Either way, she wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to prove herself. Originally, Silverwood thought her and Eska would travel together to compete, but it was Eska who suggested joining up with the Orve brothers.

Silverwood’s thoughts drifted back to a conversation she had had with Eska before they had left the Rosefort. They had been sitting in Silverwood’s chambers under candlelight and it had been a few weeks since the letter had arrived for the tournament.

As they were preparing for their journey, Eska had received a Communicator from Cyrus of House Orve in Suntown, stating that he and his brother would be travelling through The Pass in a weeks’ time to answer the call of the letter. Cyrus had asked if Eska had wished to join them.

‘I’ve known the Orve brothers since I was a child,’ Eska had said to Silverwood. ‘Remember during my Spark training last year, when Master Celinst made me visit each of the capitals as part of my initiation? To breathe in the world, my master had explained to me. Well, I certainly did, from the stench of the city of Qostein to the stench of the capital of Westborn!’

Silverwood and Eska had both shared a laugh over that one before Eska continued, ‘But the Orve boys at Suntown, well they left quite an impression on me. Do you know that Morn is the only non-Spark who deflected me with just the swing of his maul? Cyrus may not be a strong fighter, but from what I’ve