Tales of Hilroko: The Consuming Darkness

By Joshua Johnson

Janik was obliterated from existence. A tyrant known as Shaz had committed the ultimate treason, ordering the capital citys dismemberment, killing thousands and sending countless more of his people out into the gloom.

But that was thirty years ago.

Rolzin is a veteran guardsman stationed in the new capital of Hizana. With his sword and wits he takes his responsibilities to heart, protecting those that cannot do it themselves. But when a dream shows him a piece of history no one had ever witnessed, he begins to question this great lands past. But before he can, the darkness comes.

A presence that has been following Rolzins movements for a lifetime has latched itself onto him. As the voices swirl within his mind, the shadows begin to suffocate his humanity. And when he can no longer control his actions, and innocents bleed by his own hand, does his crumbling world fall away below his feet.

He is in a race against time to discover the truth to what seeks him. To what is inside of him. As the questions pile up, and his very existence starts slipping, can Rolzin only solider on towards his destiny, and an unexpected truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469197838

Joshua Johnson

Joshua was born in New York, and in his career, he specialized in understanding people and the art of persuasion.He worked in the FBI as a profiler until he decided to use his knowledge for sales and consulting.The environment, politicians, the media, advertising, and the people we deal with increasingly use techniques to direct or even manipulate us.Ignoring this information makes you easy prey and puts you and the people you care about at risk.Unfortunately, you may have noticed that the communication industry almost exclusively treats theory in a deliberately complicated way or treats the information that is not effective.Joshua has therefore selected the huge amount of information that exists, keeping only the knowledge that could be useful and codified this data to be understood by the ordinary person on the street.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Awakening

The world was falling apart. All about, the ground fell away into a dark abyss, while the sky rained down hell. Fires torched everything, and screams of terror filled the air. Yet a single torch’s light is all Rolzin could focus on. Even with the world dying all around him, he couldn’t remove his eyes from the dancing light in the distance. He wished his legs to carry him towards the light, as if it was a sanctuary away from this place, but they wouldn’t budge. A quick blink, a flutter of the eyelids, and the world that was dying had returned to a more peaceful state.

It was night, now a more peaceful one. Stretched out in front of him, a valley of grass swayed in the gentle breeze. Looking up, a full moon couldn’t penetrate the clouds, and only a few stars mustered enough energy to be seen. Taking a few steps forward, he felt the long grass brush against his legs, letting his hands feel the tops of the meadow. Just a few moments ago this place had been pure chaos. Yet the night was so peaceful he let the emotions pass without a second thought. The clouds high above flowed gently eastward towards the mountains. Every once in awhile the moon peeked out, then hid beneath the cover of clouds once more.

But the torch came once more… closer this time. The dusky summer evening grew darker as the light approached. The air cooled down and the temperature dropped quickly, with snow suddenly falling from above. The torch-light was now a short distance away, and the figure that grasped came into being. A man in his mid-sixties with a tattered uniform draped across a slender frame, and a weapon strapped to his belt. The markings upon the cloth suggested to Rolzin a leader, possibly a political figure, or a religious-minded man.

A quick blink, and the man stood an arm’s length away. Rolzin saw arrows protruding from his stomach and face. Slice marks that still bled could be seen through the ripped clothing. Floating above the very tips of the long grass, the figure hovered, torch in hand, smiling from ear to ear.

Pay attention, I haven’t the strength to take this form often, the figure spoke with a booming voice. The world was on fire again, as if it had always been raging in the background. Sounds of horses and riders rode by while arrows sliced through the air overhead. Rolzin could only see flashes; warriors were fighting one moment, and gone the next. But the sounds of battle continued. Blades clashed, screams of torment, and war drums echoed into the night air. He focused back to the man who hovered with his torch.

I have been called many names, but as it is written, I am the Essence of War, the figure continued. This is my gift to history, to retell the tales of war, no matter the size or duration of events. You see I’m a keeper of sorts, I allow the living to witness entire battles from years ago.

War smiled, as if delighted in his appointed duties. The sounds of combat seem to fade as War continued on with his speech. In dreams I come to be, and in that moment I can be of great aid. You see, I am appointed to show a certain event. One that must be witnessed to truly understand how the world was shaped into being. It is a duel between two god-like men. The purest of battles. The dawning of an age where one ruler existed. War came to stop upon a boulder that rested in the field.

The moon was high above now, and the night sky was clear of clouds. The Essence of War glared at it with unease. This will not do at all, he rattled loudly. Without warning, a glaring sun replaced the moon, bathing the valley in a brilliant light. Snow continued to fall, a snow of ash. Rolzin held out his hand, feeling the gritty cinders fall between his fingers. The smell of smoldering buildings and burning flesh entered his senses as screams and battle were again present. This time everything became visual.

All around the boulder in the field formed a city center, with a market place where stands of fruit and spices would be sold. Bodies were strewn about, some with arrows penetrating from their flesh, others consumed by fire. The marketplace was in shambles; many stands were torn asunder, and others ravished of their goods. Fruit lay over the ground, and War bent down, picking up a single apple that lay near his feet. Biting deeply, he smiled as he consumed the apple.

This is… or was… Janik, War says, delighted. This is simply the beginning of something much more tragic. The standing ruler of this city, Shaz is his name, had ordered its own dismemberment.

War began to quickly spin his hands. Events fast-forwarded, the figures moving far too quickly and blurring their movements. This is all pointless, War explained. I will get us to the main duel I spoke of earlier.

War stopped spinning his hands and began to clap. The idea that existence could even create such a thing as what I’m about to show you is memorizing to watch, he said excitedly. Rolzin no longer saw the marketplace, but a chamber of massive proportions. What must have once been a richly decorated room showed the wounds of battle. Several marble statues that had once stood adjacent from each other on opposing walls were knocked down, and beginning to crumble. Wooden tables with papers scattered on their surfaces had been broken into pieces, the parchment scattered onto the floor. Walls were cracked in places, and a man-sized hole was blown into the west wall. A standing throne where the leader would have sat had been toppled, and lay broken.

In the middle of the floor stood two figures, each man holding twin blades, but frozen in time. War hovered around the men, I still cannot believe with what ease this character ordered the destruction of such a pristine place. War gestured to the man who stood on his left. He is the one who ordered Janik’s destruction. This is Shaz. He is the ruler of the capital city of Janik, the ruler who held most of the lands of Hilroko in his palm. He has an iron grip on all.

Shaz’s features were intense, with eyes set back in their sockets, glowing black when deeply angered. He had lost his hair long ago, and tattoos adorned his skin. Of medium height and average build, Shaz was dressed in plated black armor that shimmered in the light, with symbols drawn upon the entire length, from boot to chest. Some of the symbols glowed red, others a deep blue. The twin blades he grasped were also black. Tiny spikes were grafted onto his forearms and boot tips. A look of pain was frozen upon his face, though Rolzin could see no wounds.

Standing opposite to Shaz is perhaps the most fabled and highly regarded hero Hilrokoens have known, War said. This is Ortilla, he who rose to challenge Shaz directly. Well, more accurately the one who wasn’t instantly put to death.

Rolzin saw that Ortilla was shadowed, as if the light in the room wanted to hide his features.

This has always been an issue, War pondered as he floated closely to Ortilla’s face. For some reason I cannot rebuild his entire figure. He always goes featureless in the stories. Even when I witnessed the actual battle thirty years before, the light never chose to shine on him. Faceless as it were.

Slowly War let the scene come into motion. The men’s arms came to life, their movements a crawl, but gaining momentum. A few seconds later and the clash is apparent. Dancing around the room in an epic showdown of swords and sparks, the fabled duel of Ortilla vs. Shaz is given life. A brawl so fierce that the air around grew dense and heavy.

Wind entering through the man-sized hole against the western wall had lifted some papers off the floor and into the scene. Shaz suddenly and violently raised his right hand, releasing a sword, and shouting a few incoherent words. A bright stream of light erupted upward from his palm, breaking through the roof and into the sky. Large chunks of stone rained down, and Ortilla was forced to jump between two large portions of granite. The light from Shaz’s spell was so bright that War and Rolzin had to shield their eyes, although Ortilla did not have to do so.

Daylight intrudes into the chamber from the massive hole that is now in the roof. Ash began to rain down through the opening, and the two figures stood in a face-off, checking each other. Sparks flew off the tips of each blade as their swords clashed against each other.

Shaz’s dual swords were named Light and Dark, War said. You can see that each blade is black, but both were forged in different places with different techniques. The one he holds in his right hand is called Light, which creates showers of hot sparks when it collides with another weapon.

Rolzin peered closer. Ortilla’s arms were burning wherever the sparks from Shaz’s sword touched his skin.

The other sword, given the name Dark, constantly erodes at whatever it touches. Shaz cannot even place it close to himself when not in battle. If it touches armor the metal will surely wear away in just a few minutes, and if it merely scrapes the skin, the flesh will fall off quickly. Shaz created a special glove to wield the weapon, lest his hand be devoured.

Shaz and Ortilla were dead-locked in a equal contest of strength, metal scrapping against metal, showers of sparks flying around. The history books cannot discern why Ortilla is here, or how he can hold his ground against his adversary, War said, bursting back into the story. I cannot think of any other battle where Ortilla is involved.

Rolzin saw that Ortilla also wielded a pair of short-handed swords. His actions were smoother then Shaz’s heavy and rigid sword strikes. As if the motion of the wind guided his every stroke, Ortilla painted gentle movements with his steel blades. Shaz’s opponent was not encumbered with the bulky plate of his adversary, his actions being easier to perform. Instead he wore a smooth leather chest-piece with bracers on each arm. Ortilla’s leggings were just a simple covering, and not really capable of standing up to the blow of a weapon. Yet Rolzin saw Ortilla defending every assault, and countering with his own barrage of attacks.

It is amazing to see such a display of strength in this unknown champion, War narrated. But even so, tragedy lingers. Each strike that Dark plays upon Ortilla’s sword, the metal wears away.

Rolzin could see that this was true: Ortilla’s swords were being devoured by Dark. So much so that after a few more minutes, Ortilla had to relinquish one of his blades as it had melted away. Yet Ortilla continued to starve off the advances of Shaz.

Shaz attempted a forward thrust with Light, coming overhead with a downward slash that almost connected. Ortilla quickly sidestepped Light at the last second, and blocked Dark with his remaining sword. Ortilla’s loose hand reached home around Shaz’s neck. Shaz brought Light back around for a slash, but Ortilla kicked off the attack so violently that the sword dropped and crashed to the ground. Ortilla held Shaz in a grasp so strong that within moments Shaz appeared to be unconscious, but he never fell to the ground. A few seconds passed, with no movement from Ortilla’s enemy.

Notice the lips moving, he’s casting a spell, War whispers through clenched teeth. Shaz appeared to mouth something, and as he finished, Rolzin saw the light in the room go dim. Even the day outside turns instantly dark. Then Shaz opened his eyes, unleashing an intensified beam of light into Ortilla’s eyes. Blinded, Ortilla struggled to stay calm and not panic, but at that very instant, his strength lessened just enough for Shaz to break his hold.

Stumbling backwards, Shaz gasped for air as Ortilla fell to both knees, feeling his burning eyes. Neither man was now willing or able to move, both trying to regain what little strength they had left. A considerable amount of time passed but finally, the combatants took their familiar places opposite their foe. Rolzin saw that Shaz wielded both weapons while Ortilla was now empty-handed.

Even in this state, with Ortilla partially blind, he still fights on against possibly the most dangerous person in history, War said, deciding to halt the sequence of events and gliding into the middle of the fight. War examined Ortilla as if to determine whether he could continue the fight.

You know I will never understand how he can do what he does. Yet… War trailed off, and moved once again outside the fight. Reality was restored again, and both men charged. Shaz let out a bellowing laugh as he swiped at what he thought was an unarmed victim. The edge of Light barely missed as Ortilla dodged the blow. Stunned, but only a little, Shaz drew Dark once more toward Ortilla’s throat. But Ortilla did the unthinkable and grabbed the edge of Shaz’s blade with both hands. The blade began to immediately eat away the flesh of Ortilla’s hands. With blood seeping from both palms, Ortilla screamed and twisted his arms quickly, breaking off half of Dark. Ortilla tossed the sword fragment aside.

Shaz quickly leaped backwards, yielding to his opponent’s act of desperation. Glancing at Dark, Shaz pondered how a man could destroy a sword so easily, and walk away with his hands merely bleeding. Shaz gazed, disgusted, at the remnant of the shattered and useless weapon in his hand. Going against his better judgment he tossed Dark aside, and gripped both hands around the hilt of Light.

You see, War explained, Shaz is a master of combat, and no matter the situation, he can always formulate a plan of attack so complex that his opponents hardly know what next to expect. Rolzin saw War grimace, as if he already knew what was coming.

Ortilla charged at the sound of the dropped weapon, and Shaz smiled. Rolzin could see that Ortilla was guessing at where his foe stood, apparently blinded from Shaz’z earlier attack. Once again, Shaz’s lips moved slightly as he began to chant. His sword Light began to vibrate, slowly at first, but quickly shattering into thousands of pieces. All about the room, the pieces spread, filling every gap. Shaz moved his hands up and down, the pieces of Light doing the same. As each piece of Light struck the ground, sparks caused a loud noise of steel against rock. Ortilla instantly stopped moving, unaware of how this thundering pulse of sound had so suddenly come into existence.

A thousand pieces of light, War says, is what the name of this event is given. Every strike showers the room in heated sparks, burning everything. But more importantly, the sounds overpower the senses. This pounding of steel and rock could be heard from the next village. Ortilla has just lost his eyesight, and now his hearing…

Shaz gently stepped his way toward Ortilla, who was now once again on his knees, both hands covering his ears, trying to dampen the deadly, oscillating sound. From one of his leg straps, Shaz brandished a small dagger, gripping it in his right hand. Still aware that Ortilla is quite dangerous, Shaz came to a halt a few steps away. With his free hand, he moved his arm up and down, forcing the pieces of Light into a even more frenzied beat on the stone. The sounds echoed so loud that Rolzin and War covered their ears.

Lashing out, Ortilla flailed, trying to strike at what he believed to be an encroaching rival. With unseeing eyes and deaf ears, Rolzin could see that Ortilla was no longer a match for his opponent. The tip of Shaz’s dagger penetrated deeply into Ortilla’s rib cage. The entire length of the blade settled in with just the hilt outside the body. Shaz moved quickly, backing away from the wounded beast. Ortilla cried out in the anguish. Yellow and scarlet blood began to seep down his chest, spreading everywhere.

Poison. War says. As he always does, Shaz coats every weapon he uses with a toxin. I personally studied this myself. This yellow toxin is called riven, it’s a paralyzing agent, and was invented by Shaz himself. I named the poison riven because beyond its paralyzing ability, it strips the organs into ribbons. Poor Ortilla, we cannot even know how much pain he can be in. That is why his next act is so incredible.

Ortilla quickly grabbed the dagger and yanked it free. Rising to his feet with unbelievable poise, he leapt suddenly toward where he believed his foe to be. Shaz’s muscles tightened at Ortilla’s unexpected charge, unable to sidestep the impeding doom. The dagger entered just below Shaz’s right ear, the poison quickly entering his blood stream, and almost instantly shutting down brain activity.

Ortilla slumped onto his side, the poison consuming all of his reaming organs. Shaz also fell, dead before touching the ground.

And both die in unison, War explained. The city of Janik crumbled even though Shaz had been killed, although many lives will be saved by what Ortilla had accomplished. War paused as Shaz’s military entered the room, surrounding the fallen warriors. Many of the warriors read the battle from the ground, the state of the battle scene, and the position and marks on each body. They stared in utter disbelief, not understanding how this unnamed soldier had taken the life of their leader.

Darkness then crept back into the valley. The wind still swayed the tall grass, and the moon shone as if beckoning to watch more of the fabled fight. The boulder upon which War had stood was now empty, no figure with torch in hand. Rolzin heard only a distant voice.

I can only show you the stories that have been written, but you can yet still write the ones I will witness. I am the Essence of War, and you are a warrior that may perhaps change the unchangeable. But I will leave that up to you, Rolzin. Now you must wake, and create a path towards your destiny. Bear in mind all that has occurred before, for that will guide what kind of history you will write!

War’s speech sounded from all around. Then, as it had done before, darkness consumed the dream, and forced Rolzin to wake.

Chapter 2

The Storm

Thunder shook the ground as Rolzin, startled, awakened from the dream. Sheets of water descended upon the sides of his makeshift tent. Yet all he could think of were the images he had witnessed just moments ago. I wonder… , he said, trailing off. A dream so vivid that it felt real. It felt alive! Sweat rolled down his forehead and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He began to shake, and a chill ran down the length of his spine, making the night even colder.

He had always known the legends and tales that circulated about Janik, of Ortilla, and Shaz. But they were only stories! No one had actually witnessed the events of that fight. Was the Essence, the war-torn story teller of legend, real, or just a dream? Had he just seen what no one else in history had witnessed before?

Rolzin slapped his forehead, muttering, No… a dream… a dream… . , trying to awaken his senses from the grogginess. Looking around, he finally got his bearings. He was lying in his tent and not the straw bed he was unaccustomed to back in the city. Letting go of his uneasiness he pulled back the flap of his tent, and looked outside at the raging thunderstorm. Shafts of lightning could be seen in the distance, and the heavy rain was soaking the ground, giving off a musty smell.

The makeshift tent he had constructed was only one layer thick of animal skin. The material did its job against the howling of the wind, but moisture leaked from the thinner areas. When lightning lit up the area, he could see several spots where water was leaking into his new home. Some retreat he had escaped into! Leave from the militia was supposed to be more entertaining then this, or at least more comfortable.

The spot he had chosen was favored by many fellow wilderness lovers. Just beyond his tattered tent was the edge of the Gernaples Mountains, with its breathtaking view of the mountains. The sunlight danced and sparkled as it touched the side of the mountain line. Tiny bits of minerals embedded in the surface of the rock reflected back outward, shooting colors of light into the air. Many called it the shimmering rock but Rolzin simply called it beautiful. He had many fond memories of this area since childhood.

Stepping outside into the pouring rain, his clothing quickly became drenched. But he loved the feeling of the rain and let it encircle him, his emotions and tensions melting away with every droplet that splashed upon his face. He wasn’t going to allow his leave to be burdened by foul weather or terrible dreams. He would let it all in, and make best of the situation.

Drawing away from the cliff and his tent, Rolzin began to track back into the woods. He knew the path well, and even in the dark he traveled it quickly. He remembered a certain spot. Dense foliage grew all around, with the treetops becoming so thick that the rain didn’t fall here, and only sprinkles could be felt. Glancing around, Rolzin noticed the wildlife that seek shelter in the underbrush. Tiny bright yellow eyes followed his movements.

With every step deeper into the woods, the night grew a shade darker, yet his predator’s night vision took over. It was a trait few carried, and even more wished they were born with. To see in the dark is a warrior’s gift and made him even more dangerous, and made night-walking in the woods an achievable task.

Now only separate drops descended downward as the storm lingered off eastward. Rolzin felt his clothing utterly soaked, now chilling him to the bone. He would have to make a fire as soon as he returned to his campsite. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he begun to track, and he was reasonably sure what he was looking for should be just up ahead.

With that thought he witnessed the giant wall of rock looming out from the brush. Coming into view was the Cess waterfalls, a stretch of earth that seemed to touch the very clouds above and ascend beyond. Clear waters erupted downward through the still lingering black clouds, and came crashing down in the pools.

The same mineral that shimmered in the light of the Gernaples Mountains was also embedded in the rocks of Cess Waterfall, and from a distance it appeared to Rolzin like a shimmering arm grasping for the heavens.

Finally… , Rolzin groaned, moaning as he undressed his upper body and threw the drenched cloth aside. He let out another moan as he sat upon the cold earth; his body aching a little from the short trip. Sunlight would be touching the world here shortly, and he wanted to witness the waterfall shimmer with the dawn.

All was quiet, if for only a moment. Sound escaped from some underbrush cracking in the woods. Though thieves and criminals did circle these woods, Rolzin sensed that the sound came from something much lighter than a person. Possibly a deer, or maybe even a gennio, a small hairless mammal with four eyes, that resembled a household dog. He really hadn’t noticed much wildlife in the four days he had been up here. It was as if everything had decided to remain hidden. He looked around, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was tracking about the woods, but he saw nothing. The night grew silent again. He relaxed a bit, but kept one eye trained into the woods.

If a predator were to strike he was more than ready. His sword was strapped to his left hip, a sword that had sadly tasted human blood before, much to the dismay of its wielder. Another blade much shorter than the first was strapped around his right forearm, in a holster. He chose to grip his left hand around that blade. It would be a quicker release to use the short blade against an animal.

The brush splintered again. Keeping his eyes trained on the darkness of the woods, he rose to take a forward stance. Seconds passed with nothing happening. It was too quiet for something that was just moving moments earlier. He noticed that he was standing near the forest’s edge. Something could strike immediately. Rolzin took a couple steps backward, against the water’s edge of the pools, and a good distance from whatever was stalking him.

Time passed. Nothing else stirred from the woods, and only the crashing of the waterfall behind him could be heard. The dream and the storm must have shaken him up a bit, he thought. He let down his guard a little, dagger still in hand. Oh, what the boys would think of me now! he cried with a bellowing laugh, thinking about his comrades who would either be on patrol or bunking it in the barracks at the moment.

‘Some noise and up in arms,’ they would say. Oh well, he said to himself, chuckling, relinquishing his sword back into its strap.

Rolzin begun to think of Hizana, his city, where he was stationed for the militia, only two days journey from here. A shining gem set in the lands of Hilroko. Hizana had been born after the infamous battle of Ortilla and Shaz, and the war that had destroyed most of Janik and birthed the new empire. As soon as Rolzin could bear a sword he took the Oath of Ortilla, and begun his career as a city guard. Not long after he had taken his station he saw his first action that very night.

Even though Hizana was the center point for the re-creation of an empire, there was still much warring over lands. Since Shaz no longer controlled most of the organized armed forces, many of his warriors had dispersed into different clans. Even though these clans were structured and led differently, all held a single goal: