There are few things in this world that I am generally afraid of. No, Draen Do’Gra does not cause me fear. Neither does his exquisite wife Kor’rieanna Auvryani the dark elf queen. They can destroy me in an instant, but they have no reason to do so. They have my respect and adoration, especially the elven queen if I may be honest. I digress.
This forest, is a nightmare come to life. The undead that roam the aptly named Forest of Souls, range from the pitiful skeletons and zombies, to the more dangerous skeletal knights, zombie lords, and vampires. A few lesser infernals roam these woods as well. However, those are the threats that cause me no worries. Most of them would never be able to enter the circle of protection I create every night before I sleep. Those that could, would be weakened by it. I am well versed in the art of combat, and in this environ, I would need all the advantages I could provide myself.
So last night, as I laid myself down for the night inside my circle of protection, I watched as the multitudes of undead shuffled passed me. Some of the more intelligent ones approached me. Whether they recognized the potency of the runes of magic, or the power of Symphony, my beloved blade, they turned away. A valley elf monk paused to give me conversation, but couldn’t stay as she was on an errand for her master. The marks on her neck identified her as a vampire, and she carried herself with confidence. I hope I run into Thess again. She was simply charming. She clearly didn’t care for servitude. Perhaps I could free her. There I go again, ever the romantic. Always wanting to be the hero of a story.
At any rate, at some point I fell asleep.
I awoke knowing something was nearby. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight out. I felt the fear in my gut, without knowing the cause. Instinctively, I reach for Symphony, and rolled to a knee. I immediately froze. For in front me, inside the magical circle of protection, stood the most magnificent and terrifying creature I have ever seen.
To truly understand my fear, you must know about the Forest of Dreams, the name of the Forest of Souls, before the Corruption ravaged it. While most knew about its primary guardians and caretakers, the Circle of Oakenshields, and the Wyldefires, organizations comprising of mostly druids and rangers respectively. However, there were other guardians. A mated pair of unicorns, Lighthope and Truehart. Lighthope was descended from celestial stock, and she had been blessed with wings.
The creature who stood before me was once known as Truehart. Truehart was a prince among unicorns. He stood tall, some 22 hands, without adding his horn. He was massive, sleek like all unicorns, but powerfully built, with muscles rippling underneath his silvery coat. His mane was long and full, and glittered as he moved about. His horn, that magnificent symbol of unicorns everywhere, shone like a beacon, lighting the way for those lost, or chasing away the creatures of darkness. In fact he had allowed elven mages to scribe protective sigils on it. A story goes that Truehart once went head to head with the swamp dragon Istefaal, the horn protected him from the dragon’s toxic breath. Truehart was the epitome of what it meant to be a unicorn: noble, pure, good.
This monster before me was none of those things. He was still a powerful specimen to behold. Where a beautiful flawless equine had been, it appeared as it had been bathed in dragonfire. Or perhaps hellfire, for it is well known that there are species of monsters that are birthed when an innocent is killed with hellfire. The only way to describe him was that it appeared as if Truehart had been skinned first, then set ablaze. Every muscle was visible, but blackened. Flecks of burned skin fell off it as it swiveled its head to regard me. The spaces between the muscles glistening a sickly ochre-red. His hooves were malformed into jagged claws. His mane and tail were the only remnants of fur on his body. Both were wild and unkempt. Even in the dark, I could see that his mane was matted with blood. He snorted, and smoke billowed out of his nostrils. His eyes were burning coals set into his exposed black skull. The spittle that oozed from his fanged mouth, sizzled when it touched the ground. His horn, once a magnificent spire pointing towards the heavens, was jagged and glowed with an inner heat, curving like a saber.
I have seen nightmares, those hellish steeds favored by warlocks and devils alike. This creature, I would later learned was now called Ebonhart, made those things seem cuddly by comparison. It took a step towards me. I was aware and amazed that this creature could move without making a sound. It kept its eyes on me even as it lowered its horn. It snorted again, and I would swear by the gods and devils alike, it sounded like a laugh.
As powerful as Symphony was, I didn’t know if I would survive this night. I began to bring to mind my most powerful spells, even as I willed my magic blade to grow, from dagger-sized to greatsword. Ebonhart paused, noting the artifact in my hand, and then took another step forward. It was toying with me. I realized that it could have impaled me in my sleep. It wanted me awake. The horn glowed then, and awful red glow, and I could feel the heat emanating from it. Ebonhart’s hooves, and the blood red places in its body also began to glow. And his eyes, by the gods, burst into flame even as wisps of smoke drifted out of his nostrils.
My gripped tightened on Symphony, and I held my breath. For long moments we just stared at each other. I refused to even blink, as I believed any perceived weakness would start this battle to the death in earnest.
“Pain.”
The word was spoken directly into my head. I looked at the creature.
“Pain”, it repeated. I could feel the agony in such a simple word.
“How can I help,” I asked aloud, unsure if it could read my thoughts.
A horrible laughter came to me. “Death eases my pain, minotaur.” Ebonhart said simply. “For a time at least.”
I knew then I was doomed. This creature was in torment, yet I knew that it would not simply allow me to end its misery. Instead, I believe this monster hunted those in his forest. To ease its pain. We locked eyes then, my mind running through the spells that may hurt this abomination. Or at least, allow me to safely abscond.
It was then a sound drew both our attention. There in the clearing just beyond us, stood Lighthope. She was beautiful, even with the patches of diseased flesh that seemed to pulse, as if her very purity was keeping the patches from growing. She was magnificent, her mane and tail flowing gracefully in the wind. She still glowed, a divine peaceful aura, so out of place in this dark forest. My heart nearly burst when I saw that her wings had been severed. Only glowing stumps remained.
It was only then I realized I’d taken my eyes off my adversary. I turned my head to Ebonhart, fully expecting that beast to impale me for my folly. I needn’t have worried. Ebonhart was no longer interested in me. His eyes locked onto hers. I knew they were speaking then. By the gods, wish I could have “heard” what passed between them. Whatever it was, it was clear that Ebonhart was furious.
The heat that radiated from him doubled, causing me to take a step back. He charged then, his flaming clawed hooves barely making a sound as he shot past me in a blur. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his target. Before I could utter the word to a spell, the most angelic voice I’d ever heard entered my mind.
“Worry not minotaur,” Lighthope said softly. “He’ll pursue me until dawn, when he must retreat from the sun.” With that, she took off, with Ebonhart blazing behind her.
I stood there like a fool, jaw agape, Symphony at my side. I watched the literal vision of horror chase after the literal vision of divinity and while I realized I was out of my element, I felt foolish not trying to stop the beast. For the record, I did not sleep that night. Truth be told, while I stayed in the Forest of Souls, I only found sleep after I found the Elder.
That, as they say, is a story for another time.
Always remember to make time to listen to the music
Chord, the Ivory Bard
A Darkness Rising 