Prologue
The horse galloped through the trees and bushes, and came to a halt among a group of others. The man atop it, tall and skinny with a long curved sword at his side, dismounted and walked toward the group that now rested near the end of the trees. They remained in the shadows with no fire, even in the cool night air that drifted in from the shore line cliffs a few hundred meters off. As he approached, the others moved aside to let him pass, their nervous eyes glued to his gaunt face. In the moonlight, his bronze skin shone a deep gold whenever he passed through a stray beam from the canopy of leaves above them. The tall man approached a muscular, bearded man that still stood with his back to the group.
“Have the guards gone on patrol yet?” The tall man spoke first.
“Aye, Lord Dro’Kar. The mercenaries we hired should be taking care of them momentarily.” Dro’Kar stepped ahead of the bearded man and watched intently the shadowy silhouette of the ruins in the clearing below them. Two guards came into view from behind the gates, a bright torch in one of their hands. The sigil of a golden stallion shone majestically in the firelight. Dro’Kar snorted. He then noticed the movement from either side of the guards. From the far ends of the walls, two more figures stepped out quickly and both fired arrows in each others direction, catching the guards in between them. The guards simultaneously let out a groan of agony and fell limply to the ground.
Without a sound, Dro’Kar began moving from the treeline and down the hillside toward the ruins. The rest of the group followed behind, but at a short distance from him. The bearded man moved heavily and slowly, his chainmail now more present than before ringing dully with each step he took. The two figures below them picked up the torch and held it up, reigniting the dying flame and revealing them as two masked figures, one male and the other female, in dark leather armor. As Dro’Kar approached, they bowed and lowered their masks and hoods, revealing dark brown hair, cut short, and deep brown eyes.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Dro’Kar.” The male said as he rose from his bow.
“It is, lordling, to finally meet the Twin Death. Erokur and Erisha, as I recall?” Dro’Kar nodded his greeting to both of them, his tall form towered over the smaller twins. Not knowing their true age, one may assume they were children, but in fact they were twenty-five years old. Their moniker was known throughout the lands of Banodir and Volonir, and now it seemed they looked to make a name for themselves in Andolir. The sum of gold and silver he had sent as payment had likely swayed them to his side, as well, but it was a small price to pay for effective followers. Especially those who could execute orders without need of his insight. “Truly remarkable skill.”
“We are glad it pleases you, my lord.” Erisha said. She smirked in his direction, but it faded as her attention was then drawn to the approaching group, led by the chainmail clad warrior.
“Why’s a pretty lass like you doing work like this?” The bearded man chuckled as he stomped up to Dro’Kar’s side.
“Careful, Bjurri. This ‘lass’ would cut your throat like sick goat, were she so inclined. I don’t recommend getting on her bad side.” Dro’Kar’s eyes didn’t move from the gates of the ruin as he spoke. Bjurri glanced at the smirking Erisha, who tapped a sly finger on the scimitar on her hip. Bjurri scowled at her and stomped past, ignoring the chuckle she gave behind his back, and followed Dro’Kar up to the massive black iron gates.
“So, how do we open them? They’re said to be cursed to remain shut for eternity.” Bjurri asked.
“Nonsense!” Dro’Kar raised his hands up high. “They simply need the proper encouragement.” His hands suddenly began to glow a deep red and gradually grew brighter. He fanned his hands up and down, waving faster and faster, until the lights blended into two bright lights forming in front of him. He took a step back, his arms now at his side, leaving the two fiery beams floating in the air in front of the group. Flashing his hands forward, the beams morphed together before charging forward into the gates and bursting brightly against it. The gates began to pulse red, just as Dro’Kar’s hands had, before beaming brightly in the night. Slowly, they creaked open, rust and dust falling from the metal hinges as the magic pushed them back.
“Now, inside you lot!” Bjurri commanded. The group of men behind him hesitated for a moment, glancing around at one another. They drew up their courage and their swords and slowly crept forward into the dark courtyard that was now visible through the gates. In the distance, the massive silhouette of the remains of the Tower of Ka loomed above them. The men spread out across the yard as the moved inward, and slowly faded into the shadows.
“Should we follow, Lord Dro’Kar?” Bjurri wondered.
“Patience, Bjurri. Patience.” Dro’Kar whispered, a wicked grin growing from ear to ear. The red torchlight began to fade and the darkness inside seemed to swell and grow darker. An eerie silence fell over the courtyard, then was suddenly broken by a blood curdling scream of dying agony. Yells of confusion and terror quickly followed as the men inside the gates tried to flee back to the safety of the torch light. The sounds of clashing steel and of flesh being ripped from bone compounded with the screams and gurgles of death. A figure formed from the shadowy abyss that now filled then entire courtyard and was sprinting as fast as he could back toward them. Just as he reached the gates, he slammed into a red barrier, and shimmered and vibrated from the impact like a great red glass door. The man’s horror rose at the realization of his entrapment, and he began to panic. Pounding on the barrier, the red waves of vibrations reflected a dim red light into the shadows behind him. His cries were suddenly drowned by an echoing roar from behind him. A massive tentacle, nearly a meter thick, struck out from the blackness and wrapped around his waist. The was the snapping of bone and a stomach turning gurgle as it crushed his body, spewing a mass of organs and blood from his mouth, before ripping him from view and back into the shadows. Then there was silence.
“What… the fuck… was that?” Erokur said, breaking the dead silence.
“That, my friend, was our host.” Dro’Kar replied. “Look. The darkness is drawing back. I believe you’ll find our way now cleared.” He was right. As the shadows drew back, torches along the inner walls of the ruin began to spring to life and light their path. Where there should have been blood, gore, and corpses; there was nothing.
“What do you mean it was our host?” Erisha asked as they walked through the gates and toward the towering ruin ahead of them. “Our host, the very reason I have traveled to this wretched land, is the great sorcerer Jormikir.” Dro’Kar answered.
“But Jormikir was killed nearly three thousand years ago. How is it that… thing… is him?” Erokur questioned.
“He was killed, yes. His mortal form, anyway. Jormikir had unlocked the secret to immortality by merging his mind with a portion of an ancient god. One from far beyond our own plane of existence, from the far, outer reaches of the cosmos.” Dro’Kar looked back at the three confused faces as they walked. His face contorted in disgust and he turned back to his front. “Yes, my ignorant comrades, the gods of the abyss are very real. The legends from before light existed on all of Isidir are all true. You will soon see for yourselves.”
They continued walking across the courtyard until finally they came to the large stairway that led up into a crumbled tower. A flight of fifty steps laid the path to a rotting wooden door, thick and reinforced with iron beams that were likely the sole reason this entrance still stood. Bjurri stepped forward of Dro’Kar and nodded to him, then pressed his body against the door, pushing it open. Just like the gates, the door creaked loudly as rust and dust fell to the stone floor from the hinges. Dro’Kar moved inside as soon as the opening was wide enough, followed closely by Erokur and Erisha. Bjurri forced the door against the inside wall and propped it open with a large stone that had once been a piece of the now crumbled walls. The three then watched as Dro’Kar moved around the rubble, stepping over chunks of wall and patting the dust off of his white and gold tunic and cloak.
“What are you looking for, Lord?” Bjurri asked.
“The entrance.” Dro’Kar said.
“To what?” Erisha moved over next to him.
“This!” Dro’Kar then heaved his body against the walled. There was a hollow thud, and a faint echo from behind the stonewall. Now curious, Erokur and Bjurri moved over and helped him push. At first, the wall held them back and Bjurri started to wonder if this was some kind of joke, but it suddenly began to give way at either side of him and slide back like a door. They pushed it all the way against the inner wall, and revealed a short hallway that ended a stone staircase that led deep into the darkness beneath the ruined tower.
“What in all the gods names is this place?” Bjurri stammered.
“The Well of Surmurak. The resting place of the ancient god, and the true home of Lord Jormikir.” Dro’Kar’s wicked smile grew on his face again as he pulled a wand from his pocket and tapped the end. It lit up like a torch, lighting the whole hallway for about two meters around them, but the wand bore no flame. He started moving down the hall and down the stairs, illuminating the darkness as he went. The other three followed behind him, nerves rising as they marched further and further underground. None of them knew what lay ahead of them, aside from Dro’Kar, who didn’t seem keen to share that information with any of them. Erokur and Erisha kept their hands on their swords, while Bjurri stayed behind them with his spear at the ready. Hailing from Avengard, Bjurri knew too well the dangers of delving into ancient dungeons and crypts, and was all too familiar with what foul things lie in the dark places of Isidir.
After descending for nearly an hour, they finally came to a black door made of obsidian. A red star was carved and inlaid with rubies that sparkled in the light of Dro’Kar’s wand. Raising his hand to halt his followers, Dro’Kar stepped forward into the reflecting red lights and pressed his hand against the ornate gems. The door pulsed with a red aura and began to hum, until a loud grinding came from inside the stone walls. The door slowly slid into the wall and locked into place. Beyond the open entryway, a large room stood before them. Like the torches outside, candles along the walls and across a large table-like pedestal began to ignite themselves, illuminating the shadowy room. Bjurri was the first to notice the large black pool that rested still beneath the pedestal and took up most of the back space in the room.
“My Lord… Is this it? The Well of Surmurak?” He spoke softly, so as not to disturb anything that may lie inside the chamber.
“Yes. At long last, we have come to renew our allegiance with him, and to revive our magnificent teacher, Jormikir.” Dro’Kar strode excitedly into the room, his arms raised above him as he glanced about the room, examining the tables and shelves covered in ancient tomes and scrolls. “Within this chamber lies all we need to begin the ritual.”
“What?” Erokur snapped. “You said this was to be our reawakening! Not some religious gathering!”
“Fool!” Dro’Kar hissed, slashing his hand around in a slapping motion from about two meters away from Erokur, yet he was still knocked from his feet as if he had been struck by a great bear. “You think the task of reviving a god so simple? That it happens simply because the four of us will it so?” Erisha helped her brother to his feet, examining his once pale cheek that now shone bright red.
“Forgive him, Lord. My brother lacks the tact I have. What he means is that, you weren’t exactly forthright about the processes necessary to rejuvenate Lord Surmurak from the well.” She bowed toward him, nudging her now angry sibling in the ribs to join her, which he did.
“Because it was not necessary then, nor is it now, for you to know. You will simply do as I command, or you will be… relieved of services… do I make myself clear?” As his words echoed throughout the room, the twins simply nodded in agreement and stood from the bow. Dro’Kar then smiled and moved over to the pedestal. Atop the black obsidian block was a white cloth, with a wicked sigil sewn into it. A shapeless form, with tentacles from all sides, and one massive red eye in the center stared at him. On the cloth lay a silver dagger, and though it had been underground for countless centuries, it showed no signs of decay or degradation. With his gaunt face twisting up into his sinister wicked grin, Dro’Kar lifted the dagger off of the table with his left hand, and used it to slice open his right. He winced as the sharp blade bit into his flesh, but maintained his composure as he raised his hand high above his head, squeezing hard until blood began to trickle down his forearm. Bjurri, Erisha, and Erokur watched in amazement as the black pool also began to pulse red, and the still water began to rise up toward the pedestal, forming into a black bowl.
“With this sacrifice of my own blood, I bind myself to you, Lord Surmurak, and call you forth to our plane once more.” His voice now seemed to be of three beings, and echoed throughout the chamber. The temperature was dropping fast, and they began to see their breath on the air as they watched Dro’Kar lower his hand above the bowl and let blood flow from his hand into it. The room suddenly shivered and pulsed with a bright, red light. Then the pool flashed, before resting again into the still image they had initially came upon. Dro’Kar silently stood atop the pedestal, staring intently and grinning wickedly at his blood soaked hand.
“You okay, my lord?” Bjurri asked as he approached. He placed a hand on Dro’Kar’s shoulder, then suddenly wheeled back, letting out a yelp of horrified terror as he did. There, on his Lord’s hand, was an unholy and ungodly sight. Within his hand, Dro’Kar’s wound had become the resting place of a small being. One with black tentacles on all sides that emerged sickeningly from the gash he had made with the dagger, and in the center using the edges of the cut as eyelids to blink, a red eye glared back and gazed about the room. Dro’Kar stood in silent amazement for a long while, watching the eye, and seeing it draw up the remaining blood that had spilled on his hand and arm back toward the wound, then growing slightly as it took in the nourishment. By the time he snapped back to reality, the creature had cleaned his hand and arm for him. “What do we do now, Lord?” Bjurri asked, still sick with fright.
“Now…” Dro’Kar said, his grin spreading wider than any of them had seen before, “Now, we find the keys.”
