Chapter 8: The Road to Derelin
With a sickening thud the motionless body of Roland hit the cold ground of the forest floor. Surrounding Alric and his fallen comrade in the shadows stood six mercenaries. The first of these fighters drew a club and beckoned Alric to make the first move. A fresh bead of sweat dropped from Alric's brow and fell upon the steel of his blade. Staring at his own reflection from his glistening weapon, he looked deep into his own eyes. His eyes were as black as his soul...for he had truely lost everything. Now that these foolish men had tried to steal the one thing that he possessed, a friendship, Alric knew that he would not fail in combat. Steel and wood clashed as a deafening blow sliced the enemy's club in half. Splinters hit the ground like rain. Without hesitation, Alric struck down the next adversary with the valor of a knight. Four of the mercenaries backed down and continued about their business down the dusty path to town. Only one enemy remained, and he was truely a force to be reckoned with. Letting out a cry of great anguish, Alric clashed steel with this skilled warrior. Sparks flew from their weapons as the enemy drove our hero back. Alric felt the warm splatter of his own blood on his leg as the blade of this haggard fighter sliced through his side. With an uncanny charge of strength, Alric swung his mighty sword with great vengance in a last desperate counterattack, connecting with the neck of his opponent. Alric let out a breath of air as the head of the mercenary rolled to his feet. The battle had been won.
After stitching up his own wound Alric knew that if he did not find shelter within the remaining hour of daylight, he would have a shallow grave to dig for his friend. Using many methods of navigation Alric concluded that the only place to seek refuge was to go south to a nearby village. There he would treat the wounds of Roland. Upon further inspection of the dusty map of Halador, Alric calculated that the closest safe haven was the village of Derelin, where he had met many a friend including the fair damsel Esmerelda. Alric would take the shortcut listed on the map, cutting travel time nearly in half. Finally a sense of hope filled the soul of Alric. During the hour's travel down the dusty path to Derelin, many dark thoughts filled Alric's troubled mind. The shrill cries from his children and wife during their slaughter could still be heard from his re-occuring nightmares he had experienced ever since his tremendous loss. Alric partly blamed himself for their fate. He had let them down he thought, and would not fail again.
The harvest moon showed bright through the branches above, and the sounds of owls and crickets filled the air... they seemed to resonate from the very heart of the land. They remained the only sounds other than the horrors that plagued Alric's soul. Other horrors would soon be adressed as well, such as the rising threat of the Dark Lord and his armies. Why were they taking over? Alric pondered the meaning behind all of this. The dreaded insignia that the dark warriors bore on their black armor appeared in his mind... the very symbol that represented the Melekrons, sworn enemies of the knights of Thurkyll. But how could this be?! They were whiped out after the Thurykllian victory of the great holy wars fought upon the very lands of Halador.
Clearing his mind of these thoughts, an uneasy feeling came over the weary Alric as he journeyed forward to the approaching town as the sun set down upon the land.
After stitching up his own wound Alric knew that if he did not find shelter within the remaining hour of daylight, he would have a shallow grave to dig for his friend. Using many methods of navigation Alric concluded that the only place to seek refuge was to go south to a nearby village. There he would treat the wounds of Roland. Upon further inspection of the dusty map of Halador, Alric calculated that the closest safe haven was the village of Derelin, where he had met many a friend including the fair damsel Esmerelda. Alric would take the shortcut listed on the map, cutting travel time nearly in half. Finally a sense of hope filled the soul of Alric. During the hour's travel down the dusty path to Derelin, many dark thoughts filled Alric's troubled mind. The shrill cries from his children and wife during their slaughter could still be heard from his re-occuring nightmares he had experienced ever since his tremendous loss. Alric partly blamed himself for their fate. He had let them down he thought, and would not fail again.
The harvest moon showed bright through the branches above, and the sounds of owls and crickets filled the air... they seemed to resonate from the very heart of the land. They remained the only sounds other than the horrors that plagued Alric's soul. Other horrors would soon be adressed as well, such as the rising threat of the Dark Lord and his armies. Why were they taking over? Alric pondered the meaning behind all of this. The dreaded insignia that the dark warriors bore on their black armor appeared in his mind... the very symbol that represented the Melekrons, sworn enemies of the knights of Thurkyll. But how could this be?! They were whiped out after the Thurykllian victory of the great holy wars fought upon the very lands of Halador.
Clearing his mind of these thoughts, an uneasy feeling came over the weary Alric as he journeyed forward to the approaching town as the sun set down upon the land.