Curse

d3kst3r · Feb 25, 2006, 08:48 AM // 08:48

After a long decision I've decided to finish off what I began. Despite my wishes, this story is going to be longer than Cataclysm of Orr and will probably take longer to complete due to work and study.

If you haven't already, I strongly recommend you read Cataclysm of Orr before you read this story. That story can be found under this link: http://www.guildwarsguru.com/forum/s...d.php?t=108660

Well here's the prologue.

The Lost Volumes

Trials of Saul

Copyright David X. 2006

Prologue

The kingdom of Kryta, unlike the other two human kingdoms, was not built upon the great fortresses and defences but by the numerous villages and towns scattered across the dense forest. A wealth of green pastures covered the inland areas while sandy beaches covered the shores which promoted both farming and fishing which provided the economical backbone of Kryta. Among the towns of Kryta, the biggest was known as Lion’s Arch, home to nomads, brigands and all variety of colourful folk. It was Kryta’s capitol and was known as the central marketplace where the people would take their wares daily to be sold. The main area of trade in all of Kryta was the Fountain directly in the centre of Lion’s Arch. This large stone fountain had flowed water none-stop for centuries and was a testament to human architectural ability. Thousands of deals would be made daily around the fountain.
Saul D’Alessio breathed in the fresh ocean air as he gazed in admiration at the setting sun above the docks. Hundreds of wooden boats were moored all around with colourful lanterns decorating them. The boats served as shops and restaurants and the patrons of the town would venture onto them in the search for entertainment nightly. There were boats selling fire works, restaurant boats, boats where mesmers would perform various tricks and many more. But what caught Saul’s eye on this day was a dark wooden boat that looked old and creaky.
The Black Horse was a casino boat that also served alcohol and was one of Saul’s most favourite haunts. He’d go there on almost a weekly basis to spend all the money he had accumulated during the week. Sometimes he would win a small fortune but more often than not he’d lose.
Feeling around his bag, his fingers counted fifty-two gold pieces in all. Enough gold there to buy his own little fishing boat and sadly, it was all he had left. However he did feel lucky.
Boarding the Black Horse, the first thing that struck him was the dirty smell of dirty men. A host of uncouth faces greeted him in the dark halls of the large ship, the none-stop sound of wood creaking setting an almost hypnotic beat.

“If it isn’t my favourite customer,” said Nancy.

Nancy was the daughter of the guild leader of the Lucky Horseshoe, the biggest gambling guild in all of Tyria. Their activities spanned from the snow capped mountains to the western jungles and employed countless unruly folk to make sure debts were honoured, rules were not broken and most of all, that tributes be paid by any gambling organisation wishing to remain active.

“If it isn’t my favourite mistress,” smirked Saul with his drunken grin despite the fact he was not yet drunk. “I’ll just have the usual.”

Nancy had a mischievous look upon her face. She had red hair and was quite slim but had dark eyes that spoke of a deep coldness underneath the exterior. It was rumoured she had trained with the finest assassins in the land and was ready to cut down anyone who tried to skip a debt.

“You really should cut that hair of yours,” Nancy said in a welcoming and warm voice as she poured him a goblet of Lion’s Lager.

Saul grinned. She was right, he had not cut his shaggy brown hair for over a month and now it was hanging on his shoulders like drapes from a curtain.
Sipping his lager he approached the dice table. There he saw the regulars who were always there. There was Don the old hermit who spent all his savings on gambling the precious last few years of his life away. There was Fred who Saul believed was some sort of ranger who caught animals and sold their pelts. And then there was Oren who was from a wealthy family of merchants and spent his lofty allowance in any way he saw fit. Saul didn’t particularly like Oren since Oren was so badly spoilt and had all he needed in life from his wealthy family. Saul decided he would try to pickpocket him some day.
But today there was a newcomer he had never seen before. And judging by the clothing, he believed this stranger was from Ascalon. The stranger wore a black robe which hid the top of his face and had eyes as dark as night.

“Taking refuge from the war eh?” Saul said to the stranger as he sat down at the table.

The stranger merely nodded in acknowledgement. Saul decided to test him.

“What’s the bet?” he asked Fred.

“Twelve sided die, highest roller wins,” Fred said sharply. Fred wasn’t interested in formalities, he would always get straight to the gambling without any further chit chat. “Current bet is six gold each.”

Saul fingered his gold coins and smiled.

“I’ll raise you. Eight gold,” he said.

“Aye,” replied Don throwing in another two pieces along with the six gold he had already bet into the centre of the table. All the other followed.

“No tricks this time,” Oren smirked at Saul.

“Tricks? I’ve already been caught twice. If I get caught again the Lucky Horseshoe will have my head on a platter,” laughed Saul throwing his coins into the centre of the table.

“In that case we better make it ten,” Oren replied tossing another two in.

The others looked at each other warily especially Don who seemed to despise Saul.

“Fold,” said Don and spitting upon the floor while Nancy wasn’t looking which in fact Nancy did notice.

Saul grinned. He could feel his luck was good and upped the ante.

“Lady luck only smiles for the handsome,” he said. “Fourteen!”

Fred folded leaving only him, Oren and the stranger who had followed all the bets so far.

“You have the confidence of a true gambling man,” said the stranger out of nowhere with a deep raspy voice.

“Just letting you know who’s boss around here,” Saul stared the stranger down. “I figure if I win this then I’ve effectively made enough for a new boat.”

“True. However a new boat is nothing,” the stranger replied rudely. “Only the brave can seek fortune in the hand of fate. My question is how much courage do you truly have.”

Saul was beginning to get agitated. The stranger had made a direct challenge to him and by now he knew he could not back down, nor did he want to.

“So what do you suggest eh?”

“Fifty gold,” replied the stranger coolly and staring at him directly in the eyes.

Beads of sweat formed on Saul’s brow and his heartbeat increased. Oren looked highly offended and folded on the spot.
Regaining his composure, Saul signalled for Nancy to come over.

“What is it hun?” she asked.

“I need some credit. I need to borrow fifty gold pieces,” he whispered in Nancy’s ear.

“Don’t be foolish Saul. We expect you to pay the entire amount back with interest,” she said in a deadly serious tone. “This is no laughing matter.”

“And I require another goblet of Lion’s Lager,” he spoke aloud and smiled patting Nancy on the bum and sending her back to the counter to fetch his alcohol.

Nancy returned to him with a purse full of gold coins, another goblet of lager and an angry look.

“Now, as I was saying,” he said calmly to the stranger. “One hundred gold pieces is the new bet.”

The stranger smiled.
Saul wished badly that the stranger would fold. But to this, the stranger simply went into his purse and began taking out pieces of gold, counting them one by one and throwing them into the middle until he had counted a total of a hundred gold pieces.
Oren, Fred and Don were looking on in disbelief. Rarely had they ever seen such a foolish spectacle of gambling in their many years as regulars. There was now such a fortune of gold lying on the table that two gruff looking guards were now standing nearby to make sure there was no foul play.

“Let’s roll,” said Saul casually throwing all his gold onto the table in one big stack, the coins clattering as they fell.

Taking up the dice, he whispered a few words of good luck and then threw the dice down. It slowly landed after an agonising few seconds.
Soon a wave of disbelief rolled over Saul’s body as his heart sunk in his chest.
He had rolled a one.

kais · Feb 26, 2006, 06:31 AM // 06:31

nice

i cant wait to see the next part.

storm of daeth · Feb 26, 2006, 06:14 PM // 18:14

awesome i loved cataclysm of orr i cant wait for the next chapter i think this story is gonan be even better =D

kdhoney44 · Feb 27, 2006, 04:44 PM // 16:44

I agree with Storm...I enjoyed the Cataclysm and I'm glad you decided to write another even though it may be a bit more work.

Goats17 · Feb 27, 2006, 10:02 PM // 22:02

Ooooooooooooh, a new Lost Volume! YAY! *squeels with glee* I loved the last one, hope this one is as good, or better.

storm of daeth · Feb 27, 2006, 11:47 PM // 23:47

cmon man plz at least 1 more chapter today maybe =D

d3kst3r · Feb 28, 2006, 04:16 AM // 04:16

One

While the fires of war burned far to the north east, Saul had much more pressing matters to address. He was completely broke and he owed The Black Horse a lot of gold. Last night he had dreamt that Nancy had sneaked into his hut and stabbed him as he slept only to wake up to a cold sweat.
Times were getting desperate and desperate times called for an even more desperate action.
When Saul was a boy he had been a pickpocket orphan living on the scraps of the wealthy. It was during this time that he learnt many of his most valuable skills. And now, so many years later Saul had to revert back to the old ways. He had known all along that it was inevitable but what surprised him was how early it would be. Over the years however, he managed to pickup a few mesmer skills for they specialized in the acts of illusion and deceit and it was in these two things that he found a perverted delight.

“That lager was strong,” he thought as he hid behind the bushes beside the road in waiting.

With a light short sword in hand and a bandit’s mask, in this moment he was sober for he needed his wits more than anything else. He had to be quick, the road was a trade route that was once brimming with traffic between Kryta and Ascalon but now had dried up ever since the Charr had burst through the wall.
Up ahead he could hear a wagon approaching as the sweat began to fill his palms and his chest began to beat heavily. The adrenaline rush excited him and made him sick at the same time.
He had resorted to highway robbery.
Saul jumped with all his might as soon as the wagon passed and landed on the deck of it. In a quick motion he lunged forward pulling the driver off and throwing him onto the side of the road.
A frightened nobleman sat there looking terrified as Saul drew his sword and pointed it at his face.

“Gold!” Saul barked beneath his mask.

Saul could see this man was wealthy from the fine robes he wore and the impeccably clean groomed face he had. The noble by now was so shocked he could not comprehend what was happening.
Frustrated, Saul searched around the wagon fumbling through bags of goods ranging from exotic spices to precious metals which he threw into his bag. The noble must have been a successful merchant. Spices and materials were scattered all over the place until Saul finally uncovered the bag that held the gold.
A heavy burden dropped from his mind as soon as he found the gold. Without another word he grabbed the bag containing the gold and was ready to jump off and run when the noble suddenly fought back.
There was no warning when the nobleman suddenly grabbed at Saul’s mask and ripped it off in a frenzied attempt at rebellion. Angrily, Saul punched him in the face so hard that he fainted. But in that split second the nobleman had seen Saul’s face.

“Good riddance to bad nobles,” spat Saul as he clambered off the wagon with his loot.

What he hadn’t counted on was that the rider had regained consciousness during the scuttle and was making his way towards him with an axe drawn. Saul spun around just in time to dodge the falling axe that was coming towards him. Before he could strike back, the rider took another swing at Saul, this time from the side in an attempt to slice Saul in half.

“I take it you aren’t too happy with me,” Saul mocked sarcastically dropping his loot to the ground and assuming combat position.

The two men circled each other for what seemed an age, both waiting for the other to make his move, both trying to read the other.
Saul struck out first with his short sword at the rider’s neck. The rider ducked and tried to take out Saul’s leg’s to which Saul was fortunate enough to jump out of the way.
Adrenaline was filling Saul’s veins and he could feel sweat pouring down his neck. One of them would not be leaving today.

“Come on, I’ll give you a quarter of the loot if you leave me alone,” Saul tried to bargain as they locked gazes.

“That man in the wagon is my father!” the rider said angrily. “Only a dog would sell out his own flesh and blood!”

The rider came at him again, this time furiously and with full offensive swings. Saul dodged and blocked frantically trying to find an opening for an attack but the rider was both swift and brutal and Saul could find none.
They both stepped back to regain their breath and balance. Saul had a feeling if he kept this up he would be dead. He needed to use every single trick he knew to get out of this one.
He had learnt many skills as a young orphan living in the streets of Kryta. At the age of sixteen he had fallen in love with a woman almost ten years older than him. The first time he had saw her she was performing at the playhouse an old ballad written by a famous poet from Ascalon. She had enchanted him using the art of illusion seemingly making fire breathing dragons appear out of nowhere, pixies and other bright lights and the such.

“That was amazing! How did you summon so many things?” he asked naively.

“Silly boy,” she giggled. “They are all in your mind, a figment of your imagination. I am a mesmer, we specialise in illusion.”

“You’ve got to teach me some tricks!” Saul had said seeing his chance to learn a great deal from her.

Over the years she had taught him several small party tricks and treated him well by feeding him and giving him a place to sleep. Saul had proved to be a fast learner and by then was able to summon lights and other such fancies.
One day however she said to him gravely: “Saul, what I’m about to teach you is advanced illusion. It should never be used unless in the most dire circumstances.”
The lesson proved to be both frustrating and difficult seeing as Saul was only allowed to learn the trick however he was never allowed to test it and to this day Saul still had no idea whether it would work or not.
It was the last thing the mesmer taught him before she had died tragically. A Zaishen assassin had been employed by one of her jealous former lovers and had crept into her chambers as she slept and stabbed her to death.

“What are you waiting for you foul dog!?” the rider spat, his eyes aflame with pure hatred.

Saul knew he had to be swift.
The rider rushed towards him at full speed with axe drawn. This was either going to be the fatal blow that would end Saul’s life or one of the riskiest things Saul had ever pulled off. Saul however was a heavy gambler and risks were his speciality.
A millisecond before the rider could strike Saul, he looked directly into the rider’s eyes and concentrated hard. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he tried to penetrate his attacker’s mind using his will.
The axe came down swiftly. Saul waited.
The next moment the rider was lying on the ground with a huge opening in his torso spilling out blood like a fountain.

“You must never use this skill unless it is to save your life,” she had said. “The skill I am about to teach you now is called Clumsiness.”

“What have you done to me?!” the rider asked in disbelief that he had killed himself with his own axe.

Saul turned around, picked up his loot and walked off into the distance. He may be a gambler, an alcoholic and a downright rogue, but Saul had never been a murderer.
He walked off towards Lion’s Arch to confront those he owed money to with a heavy feeling in his stomach. Images of the man dying by the side of the road bleeding to death filled his mind with guilt.
From this point on Saul knew that he was a changed man.

kais · Feb 28, 2006, 01:45 PM // 13:45

nice.again, great job, more plz

storm of daeth · Mar 01, 2006, 05:39 AM // 05:39

awesome job cant wait for the next chapter

d3kst3r · Mar 08, 2006, 04:55 AM // 04:55

Sorry about the extremely slow updates. Been very busy.

Two

Aidan, Mhenlo, Cynn and Thom had arrived at the front gates of Old Ascalon. Fire ravaged buildings lay everywhere as dust and the smell of death filled their senses. The sky was ablaze in flame as though burnt through with the hatred of the Charr, this was partly due to the heavy smoke from all the fires and also of the magic used by the Charr which had torn down almost everything.
Gone were the quiet fields, the grasslands and the laid back lifestyle of raising pastures. Ascalon was a permanent ruin of despair.
In all the centuries of defending Ascalon against the Charr, never in anyone’s wildest dreams did they believe that the Charr were capable of destruction upon this magnitude.
Aidan remembered the day of the Searing clearly in his mind. It was a sunny day when all the children were playing in the streets and the flowers were in bloom. Bright rays of sunlight shone through the skies and down upon the land bathing it in golden light. Outside the gates, white lilies sprung up everywhere and the river flowed with water glistening like crystal.

“Come on boy, I haven’t got all day,” his father moaned trying to move a large piece of wood across the farmyard.

Aidan was stringing up his bow and tightening the grips.

“I’ll be right there pa,” he announced hurriedly trying to finish what he had begun.

“Come on! You can do that later!” his father’s voice was inpatient now.
Aidan quickly dropped his bow and hurried over to his father’s side and helped him carry the large piece of wood, his back heaving.

“You’ve gone soft Aidan. You used to be stronger. All this lying about all day has softened your muscles,” said Aidan’s father.

“I know pa. One day we should go spend a week hunting. It would do me some good.”

After a long haul, they dumped the wood in a corner of the barn and wiped the sweat off their foreheads.

“You know Aidan, hard work is a blessing in disguise.”

“How so?” asked Aidan, his father was always a philosophical man who reflected upon things.

“After a long hard day’s work, food tastes better. Sleep feels much more comfortable and your body becomes much stronger. Not to mention things get done quicker.”

“My back also gets sorer,” laughed Aidan.

His father shook his head and went outside to get some fresh air. Aidan was still giggling when he sensed something was wrong.

“Aidan…” his father said as though he were in a trance. “Come here…”

Aidan rushed outside and looked up at the sky. A flaming ball of fire seemed to be falling down from the heavens. The two men stood there staring up at it without a clue in the world what it was.
Then there was the loud mind numbing explosion which destroyed their way of life forever. The Great Wall was torn down in that instant and Ascalon was forever plunged into war.

“Aidan are you alright?” asked Cynn taking him by the hand as they stood at the gates.

“Nothing… I was just thinking.”

Up on the battlements a lone voice called out at the group.

“State your name and business!”

“My name is Mhenlo, heir of the Vital Blessing guild and we have returned to Ascalon to repel the Charr. Here are my papers,” the boy said in a regal voice and held up a piece of paper signed with a golden seal.

“Your mother and father are high priests… Yes I know about you,” the gatekeeper replied.

A second later the gate slowly creaked open to the sound of chains clacking and wheels turning.

“Welcome back to Ascalon my friends,” Mhenlo said sternly. “My parents will treat you to the finest hospitalities we can afford in this time of war. Although it breaks my heart to see Ascalon in this way, I feel it is my duty to help my friends.”

Although the gatekeeper knew about Mhenlo’s famous parents, he had not the heart to tell him that they had been killed during the Searing.

Meanwhile far, far away in the beautiful lands of Kryta, Saul D’Alessio had just returned to Lion’s Arch.

“There’s all your gold paid in full,” Saul smiled slamming it all on the crooked table in the Black Horse.

Nancy gave him a weird look as though she couldn’t quite believe it.

“Now pour me a drink,” he grinned.

For now he decided that his gambling was going to be put on hold. The luck, he believed, like the weather was prone to change with the seasons. And he didn’t just pay his gambling debts off, he had also made himself a small fortune from the recent highway robbery.

“What are you up to now?” Nancy asked as Saul was walking out of the gambling den.

“I’m a free spirit lassie. I go wherever the breeze takes me,” he smirked and walked out.

Outside he paused to enjoy the fresh air and the cool wind on his face. The world had never looked so fresh. But in the back of his mind something was itching. The look of almost recognition that the nobleman had given him just before Saul killed his son was etched in his memory.

“I didn’t kill him,” Saul looked off to the side and assured himself. “It was his clumsiness.” He paused for a while. “But then again… I did use the powers of illusion to cause it.”

His guilt was returning to him steadily and for a while he forgot that he was a free man. A heavy burden seemed to rest on his shoulder wherever he went. He tried to go down to the markets to sample the fresh produce and marvel at the dyes on display but to no avail.
It was just as he had picked up an orange to feel its rich texture that all of a sudden he was surrounded by four guards. He had seen them come at him from all directions and marvelled at how well they had blended in with the crowd.

“I take it you guys have been following me,” Saul said hiding any fear he felt and glad he wasn’t intoxicated at this vital moment. “Now what business do I have the pleasure of doing for you gentlemen?”

“You are under arrest for murder, robbery and violence,” said one of the guards. “By the laws of Kryta you are hereby to appear before a court of law where you will be tried by a high priest.”

Saul’s sweat turned cold. And from the back of the guard’s emerged the hunched figure of the nobleman he had robbed.
The noble was old and his eyes had become dark and bloodshot. He had been recognized and remembered. The old man stared into Saul’s eyes accusingly and Saul was so ashamed he could not bring himself to make eye contact.
As the guards led Saul away he felt as though his whole world had ended. He swallowed his own spit like a hollow lump of coal.
It seemed to him that fate was no longer his friend. He had no idea of what was truly to come.

kais · Mar 08, 2006, 09:56 AM // 09:56

as good as always, keep it coming

storm of daeth · Mar 08, 2006, 11:26 PM // 23:26

niceeeee plz write more and dont take a week this time =P

Poison Ivy · Mar 09, 2006, 10:04 AM // 10:04

Makes me want to continue your story...

Goats17 · Mar 14, 2006, 06:26 AM // 06:26

Don't, it is d3kst3r's and d3kstr3rs alone.

(if he says ok to that, plz disregard above words)

storm of daeth · Mar 15, 2006, 02:47 AM // 02:47

plz write more you have soo many fans

d3kst3r · Mar 15, 2006, 03:45 AM // 03:45

Worked til midnight last nite and got university tomorow... ahhhhh!!!!

Well I'm gonna try pump 2 chapters out today.

d3kst3r · Mar 15, 2006, 04:53 AM // 04:53

Three

Firstwatch Sergio sat down with the high lord, Malan in the Keep situated within the centre of Lion’s Arch. A grim look was upon his face. The Keep was the inner sanctum where Kryta’s guardians held their meetings and was sectioned off from the rest of the town by a large double gate that revealed no clues of what was behind them.

“Is this news so grim that you avoid to look me in the eye when you speak?” Malan asked, his face regal but full of concern.

Sergio stroked his bald head shrugging off his hesitations.

“By now you will have heard about the terrible Cataclysm,” he said hiding all emotion.

“Yes, the destruction of Arah is being told everywhere from Ascalon to the forests around Denravi to the desert. Even the dwarves have heard about it. There are rumours going around that the Charr have harnessed a powerful weapon and destroyed it, that the gods themselves took vengeance on the city, and even as far fetched as the priests within destroying it to defeat the Charr.”

“Whatever happened in Arah is history now.”

“What are you here to tell me?” Malan was beginning to grow impatient.

“The Charr are two weeks march from here and they are coming in great numbers.”

There was a long pause of silence, as though the confirmation of dread had just been given. There was long speculation of the Charr’s intention to invade the human kingdoms but this news had confirmed it.

“I have considered that for a long time and in my dreams I have been haunted with that prospect,” Malan said, his face downcast.

“We do not have the army or the organisation to fight these Charr. Look around you, all we have are farmers and fishermen and a meagre armed guard. For decades we Krytans have been peaceful to the point that we have not even built fortresses to defend ourselves. We have nowhere near the defence capabilities of Ascalon or Arah.”

“True but we are surrounded by forests and our towns are spread out. If the Charr come we will use the land as our defence and Lyssa will bless us with the forces of nature.”

Sergio gazed into Malan’s eyes for the first time since the meeting began.

“We need to call for aide,” he said sternly.

“From who? Ascalon? Arah? The dwarves?”

“The survivors of Ascalon. I have heard that they are slowly beginning to rebuild and that they have many men who can fight.”

“They are survivors of the Searing. They are starving and demoralised.”
“Then we can bring them to Kryta as refugees.”

“They will not leave their homeland after what has happened,” Malan protested. “They will cling to all they have left.”

Sergio shook his head and stood up.

“Either way I will call for aide.”

“I will disallow it.”

“I’ve already sent an envoy ten days ago. They will have arrived already,” smiled Sergio as he stormed out of the Keep.

He stood outside to bask in the dying hours of the sunlight and looked at the beauty of the bustling and colourful village that he had known all his life as his home. The red hue of the clouds cast a serenely beautiful scene over Lion’s Arch that it brought a lump to his heart as he envisioned the Charr storming across the streets burning and killing. But for now this was his moment and he would defend this with all he had.

“I take it that didn’t go too well with the lord,” said Magi Malaquire, one of the high priests of Kryta.

Malaquire’s skin was dark tanned and he had a long beard from a lifetime of living near the sea and catching fish. He had become deeply attuned to the water, the air and the earth and was a devout worshipper of Lyssa.

“I’ve already put events in motion that will help us whether he likes it or not,” Sergio replied.

“It’s going to be a slaughter. You’ve seen what happened to Ascalon and Orr,” Malaquire explained with a sad voice. “Malan believes that bringing aide will only raise the number of the dead here.”

“I will fight it to the death and I expect no less from anyone else.”
Malaquire put his hand on Sergio’s shoulder and sighed.

“Death comes to us all one day,” the old man said in his priestly tone. “Just be grateful for the time you’ve had and don’t force your beliefs upon others.”

Sergio could tell Malaquire had also lost hope and this broke his heart.

“But nevertheless, I will die alongside you in a glorious battle and I will die content.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sergio replied as he looked off into the distance wondering what the coming days would bring.

Meanwhile far away to the east, the light of the dim sun shined over the horizon. In it’s wake a Charr scouting party of about two dozen marched across the barren landscape that had been burnt by the Cataclysm. Their savage footsteps reverberated through the post-apocalyptic ground that reminded them of the remnants of Ascalon. At the head of the column marched Zenn, the new war lord of the Charr, successor of Uggh whose head had been cleanly cut off by the first general of Orr. About a fifth of the Charr force had perished on that fateful day and many of the Charr’s top commanders had died on the field which paved the way for Zenn to become the new leader. The Charr elder priests had disliked Zenn’s brutal and savage ways that they had always decided against him becoming a leader however now that they were desperate, they had no choice but to choose him. His savagery was so powerful that even his own race found him sickening.
With his most elite guard, they scouted ahead a path towards Tyria. He predicted that they were about a two week long march away but he wanted to make it in one and a half. The troops lacked sleep and rest and were getting uneasy.

“You’re driving us like a pack of dogs!” one of his top generals had remarked in Charr dialect.

Zenn had turned around to face him with a wry smile. In the next second Zenn had impaled him with a poleaxe, ripped out his intestines and paraded him on the top of a pike as a warning to anyone who dissented against his leadership. The crowd had grown silent as Zenn met them all with calm and confident eye contact.
His elite guard had marched without sleep far the past three days, the massive bulk of the Charr army following behind many miles away.
Suddenly Zenn stopped in his tracks and shifted his gave far across the horizon in the direction where Lion’s Arch was situated as though intuitively knowing that someone of power situated there was staring towards his own direction.

“Soon,” he rumbled in a dirty Charr dialect. “Soon we will taste the blood of the Krytans and feast upon their flesh!” he roared.

And just as he did so the rest of Charr nearby also roared in a renewed vigour and bloodlust.

d3kst3r · Mar 15, 2006, 05:56 AM // 05:56

This is by far the chapter I am most proud of in all of the Lost Volumes stories. It pretty much picks up exactly where the Cataclysm of Orr ends, infact the first few paragraphs are exactly the same as the epilogue of that volume.

Four

Saul D’Alessio rode on his horse through the wilderness blindfolded and with his hands tied back. He had ridden five days non-stop and was dying of starvation and thirst. How badly he had wished it would rain so he could get his next drink.
Saul D’Alessio had been a drunken gambler and thief and had been exiled from the Kingdom of Kryta just days before for theft and murder.

“Bah! The whole world is a joke,” he spat.

After all this time alone he had grown accustomed to talking to himself.

“I hate Kryta. I hate Ascalon. I hate all the human kingdoms! They’re all a bunch of fools!”

But most of all he hated himself. He hated what he had become. He was a nowhere man. He had nothing to live for and stole the petty scraps of others to survive. All his money had been washed down the drain through his alcohol consumption and gambling and he felt he had almost lost his will to live.
The trial had been a failure. All the priests had looked upon Saul as though he were some sort of disgusting foul animal. It didn’t help that he hadn’t shaved or showered for says and when the final verdict came down, there were no suprises.

“The council hereby sentences Saul to exile from the kingdom of Kryta,” came the grim order.

Before he could reply with a cheeky remark, his hands had been bound, his eyes blindfolded and he was placed on an aging old horse and sent into the wild marching in a direction he had no idea of. Where he currently was he had no idea of either.
In the first two days he initially felt frustration that he couldn’t move or see and had contemplated suicide repeatedly as he felt helpless that his fate was tied now to none-other than the random journeys of an ageing horse. The next few days as his health deteriorated from starvation, he began to reflect back upon his life, all the mistakes he had made and how he had gotten into this situation.
To the Krytans, sentencing someone to this type of exile was a way of sentencing them to death however death sentences were outlawed and so this was a loop for the courts to send people to death anyway. The argument was that the convicted had a slight chance of survival.
It was now the fifth day of his ordeal, his mind was dizzy with hunger and thirst and he had began to hallucinate and imagine things. He imagined that his horse was silently laughing at him and taking him to a place to die. He imagined ghosts whispering to him across the winds. The sun seemed to glow a dark blue and tormented him for his lack of vision. The crows sat in the dark forests whispering evil rumours all around. Time itself seemed to slow down. He was losing his mind.
At that moment his horse collapsed from exhaustion and began to die on the spot. Saul was thrown off and he fell to the ground in a loud thud not knowing where he was. He lay there quietly and imagined he could almost smell death itself lingering around.
Then he embraced the darkness and died.

“I see you’re awake,” said a kind old voice that sounded almost motherly.

He opened his eyes and saw he was lying in a comfortable bed in a small hut being spoon fed some soup.

“Sorry to frighten you. My name is Gran and I live here alone in the jungle. I’ve lived here for thirty years.”

“I… Thankyou,” Saul said, his mind buzzing.

“You recovered fast. You have a strong and healthy body,” she said feeding him more soup.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

“Oh, about two days. When I found you it seemed you were ready to die of starvation.”

Saul got up and put on some nearby clothes as fast as he could forgetting that he was wearing nothing and that the old lady was still in the room.

“I’m sorry… I… I’m in a hurry,” he said as he got dressed.

“In a hurry you say? Where are you going?”

Saul looked outside at the vast jungle outside and straw hut and shook his head. He just realized he had nowhere to go. Gran went outside and smiled knowing what Saul was thinking. Saul noticed she had a hunched back and was very old and yet very strong. She had a garden where she grew fruits where she worked daily making her very strong and stable. They both looked at the garden.

“Perhaps you could help me plant some new crops,” she said after the awkward silence.

“I… Okay I guess I can do that,” Saul replied, his mind still buzzing with confusion.

That day they worked hard planting crops and watering the soil. Saul had never had a hard days honest work before and feeling the sweat on his forehead he began to forget who he was. The more he worked, the further he got into his work as it gave him a feeling like he was being cleansed. And at night he would be sleepy and hungry and he would notice how good the food tasted after a day of hard work and how good the sleep felt. And he would wake up early and work on the garden once again and each time the cycle passed he would feel more cleansed and forget more of what he once was.
Saul noticed that Gran never asked him where he was from and she seemed to accept him despite knowing close to nothing about him. She was not judgemental and after three days of the cycle, Saul had decided he would live with Gran as a humble farmer, working through the day and eating and sleeping at night.
His entire mentality had changed by now. He no longer had to steal, rob or gamble to make a living. He no longer had any access to alcohol and he no longer knew anything outside the hut in the middle of the jungle. He became a changed man in just three days.
However things change often for Saul for he was a man entwined in the fingers of destiny. At night on the fourth day Saul and Gran sat outside the hut on the dirt floor staring up at the stars.

“You know I never had a mother,” Saul said feeling as though he were talking to his best friend.

“And I never had a son. My husband passed away very early,” there was almost a tear in her eye.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“I want to be honest with you Gran,” he began. “The reason I’m out here is because I was exiled from Kryta. I just want you to know the truth. You’ve treated me well these last few days and I’ve never felt more alive and pure but you have to know… that I was once a murderer, a thief, a gambler and an alcoholic,” it strained him to say the words.

Gran just sat there looking at the stars saying nothing.

“Gran? Are you okay?” he asked starting to regret telling the truth.

“It’s okay Saul,” she replied in a genuinely warm voice. “For I too was exiled.”

This brought a shock to Saul. The Gran that he’d thought he knew was the hardworking, earnest, honest and warm Gran who lived a simple life.

“It was almost fifty years ago. I had an argument with my husband at the time and…” a tear streamed down her cheek. “I killed him in a moment of rage. I loved him and I’ve regretted it all my life but that one moment of rage…” she could not go on as by now she began weeping.

Saul felt extremely uneasy. His head began to fill with confusion once more as he went to sleep.
That morning he woke up to find Gran hard at work in the garden many hours before she was supposed to start work. That day as they worked the two of them said nothing. Saul now no longer felt the purity, the trueness and the vigour for life that he had felt while living the simple farmer’s life. All he had now was a feeling of emptiness.
As he went to bed that night he found it harder to get to sleep. He gazed at the ceiling trying to figure out what his entire life was about. By now he had felt truly alone.

“I should have died in the jungle,” he muttered to himself.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of footsteps outside which was very odd. Suddenly there was a loud yell and he got dressed and ran outside as quick as he could.
What he saw both surprised and shocked him. Several Grawl creatures were hurtling their spears at the hut and Gran was trying to fight them off with a shovel and a makeshift wooden shield that had once been a small table. There was blood on her face and savageness in the eyes of the Grawl.
The Grawl were a menace that had plagued the human settlements for centuries, they lived on the outskirts ambushing farmers and stealing crops. Very rarely did they group together to kill people but on the rare occasions that they did, they did so without warning.

“Gran!” Saul find himself yelling in fear.

“Run Saul! You haven’t got much time!” she replied.

“No! I want to help you!”

He could see they were outnumbered and had no weapons and that if they fought they would both die. He watched in horror as Gran ducked under the swing from a Grawl mace and tried to counter attack by plunging the shovel into the Grawl’s belly however the shovel was no sword and it did little but give the creature a bruise.

“Run Saul! I am old, you are young!” she cried as a Grawl spear pierced her shoulder and blood seeped out.

Saul watched as the garden was trampled and the hut burned.
Tears streamed down his face as he ran into the darkness and the madness of the jungle at night. He ran and ran until he was well away from them all and he could run no more. He collapsed against a log with his face in his hands and his tears streaming into the dirt below.

“What is happening to me?” he wept.

Goats17 · Mar 15, 2006, 06:36 AM // 06:36

That is deep man. These are great, almost inspiring me to do one kinda like them myself.............................

kdhoney44 · Mar 15, 2006, 02:09 PM // 14:09

As usual, these are fantastic. Thank you for writing more for us