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Let me tell you a story. A story of a time long ago when chaos gripped the land, and the only law was that of the sword. Amoung the chaos was a man. A man who feared none, and was feared by all. He was called Rykar. He was a master swordsman and an expert thief. He traveled the lands in search of new challenges to conquer and more riches obtain. This is the story of one such adventure. This is the tale of his quest for the legendary Tomb of Anduron. . . .
A harsh gust of stifling dessert air swept
sand across the barren landscape. A lone figure made it’s way through
the burning sands, shielding his face from the onslaught of minuscule rocks
that filled the air around him. He wore nothing more then a ragged
pair of leather boots and a loincloth. Resting across his back was
a powerful weapon. A massive sword tucked neatly away in an aging
scabbard. His powerfully built body glistened with sweat and blood.
His long black hair was pulled back in a damp ponytail that swayed from
side to side as he briskly made his was across the dessert. Fierce
determination burned in his dark brown eyes; fixated on an enormous city
which spanned the horizon line.
A huge stone wall nearly fifty feet high surrounded
the huge city. A guard tower was located every two hundred feet or
so with two archers posted at each one. Directly in the center of
the wall were a massive pair of iron doors guarded by four men. Each
wore a sturdy breast plate and carried a deadly looking pole-axe at their
side. Rykar confidently approached the gate.
“State your business in Arkaynia.” Two of
the guards crossed their weapons blocking the entrance.
“I was attacked by a group of bandits and seek shelter
for the night so I can tend to my injuries.” Rykar informed them.
“What is your name stranger?” They asked curiously.
“I am Rykar of Loranth.” He said with a penetrating
stare.
The guards looked at one another uneasily and hesitantly
stepped aside, more out of fear then sympathy for his current situation.
One of them looked up toward one of the guard towers and signaled to them
to open the doors. They slowly opened, groaning on their ancient
hinges. Rykar walked through the open doors and stood in the dirt
with his hands on his waist surveying his surroundings.
The giant metropolis was bustling with activity.
Tents and stone buildings covered the landscape and rising above it all,
sitting directly in the middle of the city, was an enormous stone building.
From each of its corners rose four towering spires that reached far into
the sky. It was undoubtedly the Lord’s palace. Narrow dirt
roads criss-crossed the city filled with thousands of different people;
milling about, haggling with merchants, arguing with one another, and even
physically attacking one another.
The doors slammed shut behind him, he glanced over
his shoulder one last time, and ventured onward into the city. He
pushed his way through the crowded masses with ease and made his way toward
a tavern called “The Blue Dragon.” As he approached the seedy looking
tavern suddenly a body smashed through the window, and landed at Rykar’s
feet groaning with pain He glanced down at the man who now had shards
of glass protruding from his flesh, “Rough crowd?” He asked sarcastically.
He pushed open the tavern door and stepped inside.
The place reeked of cheap ale and sweat. Hopefully he could get some
information out of one of these drunken imbeciles. He approached
the bar tender and ordered a drink. He seated himself between an
old man and a fat slob of guard who probably spent more time in here then
on duty. He glanced back at the old man. He had a short
grey beard on his face and wore ragged looking clothes. He sat hunched
over a half-empty mug of ale staring into it as he sloshed its contents
back and forth.
“Excuse me.” He tapped the old man on his
shoulder.
“Whaddaya want?” The man replied in a quiet
withdrawn voice.
“I need some help.”
“With what?” He asked peering at Rykar as
he raised an eyebrow.
“I’m a visitor here, and I don’t really know my
way around town. I’ve heard rumors of woman living here.” He
leaned closer, and began whispering. “Her name is Verdana.
She-”
The old man cut him off abruptly. “I don’t
know who you’re talking about.” He stared back down at his drink.
“Now leave me be.”
Rykar studied the man momentarily, “You know who
she is don’t you?”
The old man looked up at him with a startled expression
on his face. “Who are you?” He asked.
“I am Rykar.”
“The Rykar?” He asked skeptically. “Rykar
of Loranth?”
“That is what I am called. Please, you must
tell me whatever it is you know.” Rykar pleaded.
The old man sat in silence for a moment contemplating
what to do. “Come with me.” He said. “We can’t talk here.”
The two men rose from their seats, and as Rykar
spun around he collided with a massive brute of a man. He was at
least a head taller then Rykar which wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
The man was heavily built and nearly twice as wide as Rykar. He didn’t
even sway an inch when Rykar bumped into him.
“Excuse me.” Rykar said.
“Watch where you’re going little man!” He
boomed shoving Rykar to the side.
“That’s Brutus.” The old man whispered to
Rykar. “You should stay out of his way.
Rykar decided not to heed the old man’s advice.
He didn’t take kindly to insults. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He told Brutus.
“And why the hell not??” The savage beast
asked glaring down at him.
“It’s too bad you don’t know who you’re dealing
with.”
“I don’t CARE who I’m dealing with!” Brutus
shouted. “It’s a pity you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut,
because now I’m going to have to bash it in for you.”
The enormous man swung his right arm in a
wide arch, and Rykar easily ducked out of the way of the incoming blow.
He grabbed a hold of a bar stool and swung it upward into the man’s face.
It smashed to pieces and Brutus stumbled backwards into the bar.
He growled angrily and charged at Rykar who gracefully rolled to the side
and extended his leg, which connected with Brutus’ ankle, sending the huge
man tumbling to the floor. He pulled himself to his feet and hefted
a table in his arms. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and
hurled the wooden table at Rykar. Rykar smoothly drew his sword and
cleaved the flying table in half with a swift overhand stroke, sending
the two segments clattering to the floor harmlessly. Brutus
was fuming. He let out a bellowing roar and leapt at Rykar who effortlessly
stepped out of the way and struck the back of Brutus’s head with the flat
of his blade.
Brutus lay on the floor holding his hand on the
back of his head, where blood now trickled out of a wound. He crawled
around groggily until Rykar thrust the tip of his sword in front of the
man’s face.
“Give up yet?” He asked with a triumphant
grin.
Brutus slowly pulled himself to his feet still holding
the back of his head. “You haven’t seen the last of me outlander.”
He said, glaring at Rykar for a moment before he turned around and left
the bar.
Rykar looked around at the faces of all of the people
who where still staring in awe at the scene. An uneasy silence hung in
the crowded tavern, and slowly they all turned back to their drinks and
started up their conversations again as if nothing had happened.
He looked down at the old man. “Let’s go.” The two of them
made their way through to the door and left the commotion and foul smells
of the seedy dive behind them.
Rykar followed closely behind the old man as they
made their way through the crowded streets. The old man hadn’t told
him where he was taking him yet, but he wasn’t really concerned with that
information. He needed to find Verdana. She was one of the
sorceresses who had helped to cast the spell that sealed King Anduron’s
tomb. It was rumored that she was living in Archaynia.
Anduron was a notorious king who was overthrown by
his subjects. After over a decade of living in fear the people finally
joined together and he was killed by a small group of rebels. The
leader of them, Kyloris, took over as king and Anduron’s body was burned.
Several years later King Kyloris was mysteriously murdered. In the
ensuing days Kyloris’s family, advisors, and even his body guards
were all murdered one by one. Anduron had risen from the dead to
get his revenge. He took the king’s crown and proclaimed himself
king.
A small group of priests were sent to the castle
to stop Anduron. Knowing he was too powerful to kill, they captured
the crown from him. Obsessed with ruling the land he pursued them
in order to take back the crown. But the townspeople had constructed
a tomb for him and placed the crown inside. With the help of some
sorceresses and wizards they placed a powerful, magical seal on his tomb
and when he entered to try and retrieve the crown he was locked inside
forever. For over one hundred years his tomb has remained undisturbed.
Verdana is supposedly the last remaining of the sealers of the tomb.
After traveling for several minutes the old man finally
came to a stop in front of a dilapidated old house. It was constructed
from hardened mud placed over a wooden frame. A ragged old tarp created
an awning to shade the front of the house. The old man rummaged around
in one of his pockets and produced a brass key. He inserted is into
a rusty lock on the rotting wooden door and gently pushed it open.
“Please come inside.” He said to Rykar.
He stuck his head out the door after Rykar had entered, glancing cautiously
from side to side, before closing the door.
“Have a seat.” He said pointing to a wooden chair
that was probably older then he was. After Rykar was seated he began talking,
“I couldn’t risk talking about this in the tavern. Too many people.”
He walked around nervously as he spoke; occasionally pulling the ragged
piece of cloth aside that covered his window in order to glance outside.
“It is true, that I know Verdana. But what I would like to know is
why you are looking for her.” He said suspiciously.
“Well, if you must know. . .I need to get inside
Tomb of Anduron.”
“Why in the name of the Gods would you want to do
something like that?” The old man asked in shock.
Rykar let a smile form on his lips. “Do you have
any idea how much that crown inside is worth to some people?”
“You are a crazy one.” The old man declared.
“I never heard of anyone actually wanting to get inside the tomb.
You’ll die for sure.”
“Let me worry about that, just tell me where I can
find Verdana.”
“I don’t know. . .” The old man said scratching
his head thoughtfully, as he made another trip to the window.
Rykar reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew
something small in his palm. He opened his hand to reveal beautiful
blue crystal nearly the size of his fist. He shoved it across the
table toward the old man who was now staring wide-eyed at the wondrous
gem. “Where can I find Verdana?” He repeated.
The old man stood there in silence for a moment,
then quickly reached for the crystal. Rykar seized his arm mid way
through the motion. “First tell me what I want to know.”
The old man looked at him a bit skeptically, but
soon began to speak, “Verdana lives at the north end of the city.
You can’t miss her house. It’s an old run down cottage. All
sorts of strange things hanging all around it. Skulls and bones,
statues and other odd little things. Just fallow this road for a
few miles that way,” he explained motioning with his hands. “When you reach
the palace turn left. Follow that road down till you get to a tavern.
Make a right and you’ll see her house soon enough.”
“Thank you.” Rykar said rising from his seat.
He made his way toward the door, when the old man
spoke in protest. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Rykar turned around and flipped the crystal through
the air. The old man gasped in alarm and reached out to grab it from
the air. He fumbled around dumbly with it for a few moments, and
let out of long sigh when it finally came to rest in his palms.
Rykar turned again to leave.
“One more thing,” the old man started. “Don’t
mention me.”
Rykar nodded in approval and left the man’s house
behind.
After walking for some time Rykar soon arrived at
the tavern the old man had spoke of. He rounded the corner and in
the distance he could see what he decided was Verdana’s home. As
he walked closer to the house the air seemed to grow thicker and darken
right before his eyes. A black raven sat in a cage outside her front
door, and began squawking harshly as he approached. He made his way
down a narrow walkway, lined with twisted briar patches. Two small
gargoyle statues flanked each side of her doorway, and a huge skull of
some horned beast rested atop her roof. The head of some strange
devilish creature gripping a large brass ring in it’s mouth was her doorknocker.
He placed hesitantly gripped the ring between his fingers and gently tapped
it against the wooden door. As he waited he could hear footsteps
inside. Without opening the door an old women spoke in a raspy voice
that was muffled by the thick wood, “What do you want?” she asked.
“I am Rykar of Loranth,” he said introducing himself.
“I have traveled far to find you.”
“Rykar, eh?” She interrupted. “Never
heard of him.” She paused, “Now go away.”
“Wait!” Rykar shouted. “You were one
of the sealers of Anduron’s Tomb weren’t you?”
There was a long awkward silence before she spoke
again, “Where did you hear that story from?”
“You are her aren’t you?”
“I might be,” she replied. “But then again
I might not be.” The door creaked open slightly and the wrinkled
form of a woman’s face peered through opening. Her pale grey eyes
studied him momentarily. “Leave your weapon outside.”
Rykar looked at her with a baffled expression on
his face as if he hadn’t understood the question. “But-” he began.
“Do you want my help or not?”
Rykar stood on her porch contemplating his options.
He didn’t really have any. He has to talk to her, but he had never
been without his sword. Asking him to leave his sword behind, was
like asking someone to leave their head outside. He pulled it off
of his back and stared it at for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he
placed it in the bushed next to her door.
“Please, step inside,” she said opening the door.
Verdana was short and withered, covered almost completely
in black robes. Her bony hands were gripped tightly around the twisted
walking stick she stood hunched over. He walked into her small
home. It was poorly lit and had hundreds of strange objects scattered
throughout. It was a mess. He looked around for some place
to sit but gave up no sooner then he had started.
“What is it you want exactly?” she asked him
curiously.
“I am searching for the Tomb of Anduron,” he told
her.
“Why is that?”
“I want to go inside,” he said frankly.
“What!?” she exclaimed. “You can’t do
that.”
“And why not?”
“Well first of all you need a magic user to break
the seal. And even if you could find one stupid enough to do that
you’d still have to deal with Anduron. He was never destroyed.
He’s still locked away inside the crypt, just waiting for some fool like
you to let him out.”
“But just think of the how rich we could,”
he began. “I’m willing to give you a fare share of the profits I
get from selling that crown inside.”
“No amount of money is worth risking so many innocent
lives. He’ll go on another murderous rampage if he escapes,”
she warned him. “And we may not be able to stop him this time,” she said
with a foreboding look in her eyes.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t escape.”
“Hah! And how exactly do you plan on doing
that?” she asked him raising an eyebrow. “You young ones are all
alike. Think you’re so wise and powerful. Go ahead! Get the
crown!” she exclaimed with frustration. “But you’ll get no help from
me. Now out of my house!” she ordered him. She hastily
walked over to the door and opened it, ushering him out with her walking
stick.
He stepped out onto the porch, and turned back to
face the old woman, “But, where-” she slammed the door in his face before
he could finish his question. Angrily, he grabbed his sword from
the bushes and slung it back over his shoulder. He’d have to find
someone else to help him open the Tomb.
Rykar sat in tavern down the road from Verdana’s
house guzzling down ale angrily. “Blast!” he shouted slamming
his mug against the bar, sending it’s contents splashing over the sides.
“What did that mug ever do to you?” asked
a voice from beside him.
He turned his head ready to give the bothersome
half-wit a piece of his mind, but decided a threatening growl would suffice.
“Not very talkative are you,” the man commented
seemingly undisturbed by Rykar’s display or the massive sword strapped
to his back. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have some sort
of problem. Nikos at your service,” he said, extending his arm which
was covered in gaudy jewelry.
“Unless you know any wizards for hire I suggest
you keep your puny mouth shut,” Rykar warned him.
“Well, as a matter-of-fact, I might. . .”
Rykar turned to him with interest. He reached
out a hand and wrapped it around the man’s neck. “Well, do you or not?”
he asked glaring at him.
“Calm down big fella,” Nikos said nervously.
“I do, but I would appreciate it if you let go of me first.”
Rykar removed his hand from the man’s neck and stared
at him waiting.
“My services don’t come for free you know.
I’ll tell you what you want to know for a modest fee of twenty five gold
pieces,” he informed Rykar with a sly smirk.
Rykar growling angrily and reached out one of his
huge arms toward the man. He backed away from Rykar and chuckled
nervously, “I was just kidding, my friend. I meant fifteen gold pieces,”
he said smiling as Rykar continued to descend upon him. “All right!
Ten gold pieces!” he shouted, holding his hands in front of his face
protectively. He stayed that way for a moment with his eyes shut
tightly, waiting for Rykar to strike him. But it never happened.
He slowly opened his eyes and saw a shining piece of platinum in Rykar’s
palm. The same as ten gold pieces. His eyes lit up with joy
as he snatched at it, but Rykar quickly closed his palm.
“Tell me where I can find this wizard first,” Rykar
demanded.
“I don’t reveal any information until I am paid,”
Nikos replied bluntly. “That is. . .if it’s all right with you. .
.of course,” he added with one of his conniving little grins.
Rykar pondered for a moment and slapped his hand
down on the bar. When he removed it he left the platinum piece behind
which was immediately scooped up by Nikos’ greedy hands.
“Come with me,” he told Rykar.
As the two men turned around to leave, a familiar
shape loomed in the tavern doorway. “Not again,” Rykar muttered to
himself.
Brutus entered the ale house followed by five thugs
carrying a large assortment weapons. “I have a score to settle with
you outlander!” he shouted pointing his finger at Rykar. The
bar grew quiet as everyone turned to see what was happening.
Nikos turned to Rykar, “A friend of yours?”
he asked sarcastically.
“I’ll handle this,” Rykar said. “Just stay
out of the way.”
“No problem,” Nikos replied as he ducked behind
a table.
“You don’t want to do this Brutus,” Rykar warned
him.
“Oh, but I do,” he growled slowly making his way
toward Rykar. He stopped midway between Rykar and the door, and motioned
with his hand for his goons to attack, “Get ‘im!”
Rykar pulled the sword off his back and gripped
it tightly in both his hands. His muscles tightened under the weight
of the powerful blade. “I warned you,” he said with a smirk.
Two of the thugs attacked simultaneously. One swung a spiked club
at Rykar, and the other attacked with heavy chain. He ducked out
of the way of the club and swung his sword at his assailant. He sliced
the man’s belly open, spilling his warm blood all over the floor of the
tavern. As he recovered from the swing he stepped to his left slightly
as the chain came sailing toward him. He reached his arm out and
grabbed the weapon in mid-air. He tugged on it powerfully pulling
his attacker toward him. His fist connected with the man’s face sending
him to the floor.
Still holding the chain in his hand, Rykar swung
it at one of the other thugs. It wrapped around his neck, and with
a powerful jerk the man stumbled toward Rykar and found himself impaled
on the massive warrior’s sword. Rykar dropped the chain and grabbed
onto his sword with both hands. He kicked the dead thug off of his
sword which was now coated in blood.
Brutus pushed the remaining two thugs out of the
way and stormed toward Rykar hefting a huge wooden club in one of his massive
arms. Rykar thrust his sword at his enemy. Surprisingly Brutus
darted out of the way and sent his club smashing down on Rykar’s back.
He collapsed to the floor, dropping his sword. Brutus let out a bellowing
chuckle and stepped on Rykar’s hand as he reached for his beloved weapon.
Slowly Rykar reached downward toward his boot, wrapping his fingers around
the handle of a concealed dagger.
“How does it feel to know you’re about to die?”
he asked Rykar.
“I don’t know,” he began, sliding his dagger from
it’s sheath, “why don't you tell me.” With that he thrust his dagger
into Brutus’ foot. The immense brute let out a painful howl and staggered
backwards. Rykar hopped to his feet and wrapped his right arm around
Brutus’ neck. Pushing off with his feet, he swung his body around
behind the huge man, wrapping his legs around Brutus’ waist. With
a powerful jerk of his left arm he snapped the man’s neck effortlessly.
Brutus’ body fell limply to the floor, and Rykar spun around quickly to
face the remaining two thugs. They looked at him nervously and ran
out the door.
Nikos emerged from behind the table. He looked
around with a frightened look on face, expecting someone to jump up and
attack him. He half-smiled at Rykar, waving to him across the tavern.
“Nice job,” he commented.
“Let’s get out of here,” Rykar said picking his
sword up off the floor and ripping his dagger from Brutus’ foot.
Nikos hastily made his way through the crowded bar.
“I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Following closely behind Nikos, Rykar found himself
walking through the crowded streets toward an unknown destination yet again.
This was a relatively short trip that ended in front of a small tent.
The smell of some sort of incense escaped from within, and the faint flow
of a fair could be seen through the ragged cloth.
“One moment please,” Nikos told him as he entered
the tent. Rykar waited outside for several minutes trying to listen
to the discussion that was going on inside. All he could make out
was a few words and phrases that meant nothing to him. Eventually
Nikos’ head poked out of the tent and told Rykar to come inside.
He walked into the cramped tent. The air was
thick with smoke, which made it difficult to breath. A small fire
burned in a pit as it cooked some sort of unknown concoction. A dark-skinned,
robed man sat in one corner of the tent peering up at Rykar curiously.
“So, ya needa wizard, eh?” he asked Rykar
in a quick, thickly acented voice.
“I need someone to break a magical seal on Anduron’s
Tomb.”
The wizard’s eyes widened in surprise, “Are ya mad!?”
“I can pay you one hundred and fifty gold pieces
now and ten percent of what I can get for the crown.”
“A hundred an’ fifty, eh?” he said slowing
down his speech as he sat in contemplation. Rykar nodded. “That’s
alotta gold. . .” he said, his voice trailing off. Rykar and
Nikos both sat watching the wizard as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought.
“All right. We go now though,” he informed Rykar. “I am Milorus,”
he said extending his hand.
Rykar clasped his hand and shook it, “Rykar.
Pleased to meet you.”
Rykar and Milorus approached the tomb’s entrance.
Rykar gazed at the massive structure, studying it. It was very plain.
A simple stone building with a pair of large stone doors. Rykar curiously
walked up to the crypt to get a closer look. Milorus stayed behind,
watching Rykar nervously.
“Come one,” he said to Milorus, “Let’s do this.”
Milorus began rummaging through the many pouches
strung about his waist. He pulled out a red chunk of crystal and
a small pouch tied with a piece of twine. He walked over to the entrance
of the tomb and Rykar watched curiously. He placed the crystal in
the sand and began chanting quietly. Rykar stared at the sky as clouds
began swirling above the tomb violently. Milorus untied the pouch
and poured it’s contents out which were swept up by a gust of wind.
He continued his chanting and soon the sky began to blacken. Lightning
crackled and Rykar flinched in response to the unexpected boom of thunder.
Wind began to blow harshly and Rykar put his arms in front of his face
to protect it from the sand. Milorus’ chanting grew louder and seemed
almost inhuman in volume. Suddenly the earth began to shake and the
doors to the tomb slowly slid open with a loud groan.
The storm died down as quickly and suddenly as it
had begun. Rykar removed his arms from his face and watched as Milorus
collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Rykar ran over to him and
lifted his head off the ground. “Milorus,” he said. “Are you
okay?”
Milorus opened his eyes weakly, “I’ll be fine.
Da spell just drained me of my strength.” He explained softly.
“I’m going inside,” Rykar told him. “Don't go anywhere.”
“I don’t think dat’ll be much of a problem.”
Rykar walked into the darkness of the crypt, pulling
a torch from his side. He pulled out some flint and a bit of dried
plant matter from his pouch. He struck the flint together until a
spark ignited the dry leaves. He held the flaming leaves up to the
torch and lit it. He slowly walked through a narrow corridor with
the torch lighting his way. Slowly he disappeared into the darkness
as Milorus watched.
Milorus was sitting on the ground drawing circles
in the sand as he waited for Rykar to return. He began whistling
a tune to himself out of boredom. “Where is he,” he began muttering
quietly to himself. “If I don’t getta drink soon I’mma die of thirst.”
Suddenly he turned his head toward the tomb Rykar burst through the doorway,
sweat pouring down his face. “You have to reseal the tomb!”
he shouted to Milorus.
The wizard looked at him in alarm. “What -”
he began.
“Just do it!”
Milorus fumbled around at his waist and pulled
the red crystal back out of his pouch, placing it in front of the entrance
once again. He began chanting. As he chanted he could hear
foot steps coming down the corridor. He watched in panic as a rotting
form emerged from the shadows. He could see Anduron’s glowing red
eyes glaring at him hatefully within their sunken sockets. Slowly
the undead king walked toward him with his arms extended. Milorus’
chanting quickened. Suddenly the doors began sliding shut.
The strange creature that was once Anduron, quickened it’s pace as it raced
toward the exit. Milorus finished the chant and backed away from
the entrance as the creature approached it. The doors slammed shut
on one of it’s arms as it reached toward freedom. A rotting severed
hand fell limply into the sand, and Rykar looked down at it in disgust.
“Some things are better left undiscovered.”
he commented looking up at Milorus. He allowed himself to smile.
“I may not have gotten the crown, but what fun would treasure hunting be
without some excitement every now and then?” Milorus stared at him
in disbelief as he turned and walked back toward Archaynia.
“You had better still be able to pay me!”
Milorus shouted at Rykar, running after him.
The tomb sat alone in the desert sands, shut off
to the world once again. Inside the door the muffled cries of a long
dead king could be heard. Outside, resting in the shade of the stone
structure, lay his hand. And slowly, it began to move. . .
