But Fasto jerked his arms away from the gnome, a feral snarl appearing twisting his face. “No!” he screeched, retreating from the annoyed gnome. “Fasto protected friend!”
“Yeah, I get that, ye bloody dolt,” Nalgene growled, staring down Fasto, his gaze shooting cold daggers of ice. “Now get yer arse over here so I can be healin' that mess.”
Fasto planted his feet and stood steadfast against Nalgene’s withering glare. “No,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Yer gonna get yerself killed,” Nalgene callously stated. “We can’t be protecting yer sorry arse out here.”
Fasto matched the gnome’s gaze, unwavering. “Then Fasto die.” There was no questioning the orc’s tone. He would not allow his arms to be healed.
Throwing his hands up in defeat, Nalgene turned away, shaking his head in disgust. “If ye die, that be on ye, ye bloody dolt.”
After Nalgene had finished healing the other companions, they began to prepare to journey out into the ceaseless Shadow. They had no way of knowing where they were, or where they would be going, but that did not stop them. They had to move and hope that they would find some way out of the oppressive blackness. SmibSmob retrieved his purple cloak, which he had placed over Nalgene as a blanket. Andromeda and Margaret threw sand in the fire, smothering the remaining flames.
As Ro watched the others prepare, he noticed something — in fact three things — was missing. After a frantic glance around the makeshift camp, and much scuffing through the sand, he sighed in defeat.
Where are they?
He scanned the beach one more time, but even with his heightened vision, he could not find his mighty weapons.
“Where are my weapons?” he asked SmibSmob, who stood nearby.
The gnome ran his eyes across Ro, and then glanced around at the dismantled camp. He scratched his head, and then his blue eyes widened with realization.
“Ah, well … you see …” he stammered, obviously quite embarrassed. “When you were fighting with the wraith … ah … we left them on the other continent.”
SmibSmob looked away from Ro and did not meet the draconian’s steel gaze.
Ro studied the gnome for a minute, his mind flying back to his skirmish with the undead creature. He had dropped his greatsword, and he must have lost his sword and shield sometime while he was unconscious. Chuckling softly, he smiled, and patted the gnome on the back.
“Worry not, my friend, all is forgiven.”
Relieved, SmibSmob matched Ro’s smile. “Ah, but I reckon I can give you something from my hat,” he said.
Reaching up, he took his pointed hat from his head, and plunged his hand into the endless void within. His brow furrowed, and his hand fumbled with the mysterious contents. The gnome looked up to Ro, and his eyes brightened like two beacons on the shore of an ocean. With dramatic flair, his pulled his hand from his hat, clutching a small dagger. The dagger had a glimmering, golden blade, and a simple, leather-wrapped hilt. The pommel was decorated with a marvelous, faceted gemstone of the purest white, and it sparkled in the gray light with the majesty of a starry night. SmibSmob eyed the small dagger with disappointment. Sure, for the gnome it was a fine weapon, but it was nothing more than a whittling knife for the towering draconian.
“I don’t mean to be the obvious one, but it’s not exactly the greatsword you had,” SmibSmob said softly, moving to return the dagger to his hat.
Reaching out, Ro placed his claw atop the gnome’s thin hand, a gentle smile on his face.
“It will do just fine, my friend,” Ro said reassuringly. “Thank you.”
Taking the golden dagger from SmibSmob, Ro ran it through his fingers before tucking it away in his belt.
Glowing, SmibSmob placed his pointed hat back atop of his head and skipped away.
Ro smiled as he watched the gnome gallop away. It was hard to believe that there was a dark, horrible side to the friendly gnome. Ro had seen that side before, and he shivered at the thought. He did not want to see it again. For SmibSmob’s sake, and Nalgene’s, he prayed that the gnome would stray from his insidious power.
Shaking the black thoughts away, Ro turned to see Nalgene studying his crystalline bottle, turning it over in his rough hands. There was water swirling once more in the glass. Nalgene looked up, noticing Ro’s inquisitive stare, and glanced down to his bottle, deep in thought. Ro could only wonder at the gnome’s struggle. As far as he knew, the bottle was the reason they had survived the gargantuan, undead serpent. If Nalgene had not unleashed its shimmering contents, they would long be dead. Another life debt to the gnome.
Nalgene grumbled something to himself and looked to the ocean. Shrugging, he threw the bottle into the waves. It disappeared beneath the churning water, never to be seen again.
“Why did you do that?” Ro gasped. He wanted to dive into the ocean to retrieve the wondrous bottle, but he knew it would be impossible. It was gone, a victim to the ever-changing tides.
Nalgene eyed the shocked draconian and shrugged. His blue eyes were at peace.
“That thing be the old me,” he said. He seemed more than content with letting the bottle drift away.
“What do you mean?” Ro asked. Yet more pieces to an ever-growing puzzle. A puzzle with no solution.
“I be seein' a lot o’ things when I was out,” Nalgene answered. “And I had a lot o’ time to be thinkin' about it all. We ain’t who we think. Why do ye think we can’t be rememberin' before the prison?”
Ro had no answer.
“That bloody bottle be who I was, not who I be now,” Nalgene finished, turning away to find his brother.
Ro was speechless. He could only wonder at what the gnome was talking about. True, he could not remember before the prison. None of them could. But what did that have to do with anything, let alone Nalgene’s bottle? He had no answers.
“What do you mean?” Ro called after the gnome.
Nalgene shrugged, but did not look back. “Don’t matter now.”
The companions finished gathering their belongings and set off south into the unknown wasteland. Ro took the head, leading the others into the darkness. He could only guess at where they were going, but still he pushed on, with every ounce of confidence he could muster. The barren landscape seemed endless, the shriveled grasslands crawling by with every step. It was difficult to tell how far they had traveled, for every direction was the same, gray earth. After a long, monotonous day of travel, they finally reached a slow, winding river. It was the first sign of movement they had seen, but it did little to raise their falling spirits. The weight of the void was pressing down upon them, sinking their feet in the forsaken dirt and dragging down every step they took. There was no life, no movement — not even a stray undead crossed their path.
The days dragged on, the pale, cold sun rising and setting for what seemed like an eternity. The companions' abundant optimism from before had long ago been devoured by the oppressive Shadow, and now they trudged along, hunger wracking their bodies with a continuous, grinding pain. A lake was visible in the distant east, but they were less than willing to travel near any more murky lakes. A faint, cool breeze could be felt trickling from the west, signifying that the ocean was nearby. But the landscape still ate away at their minds, a gray painting in a world devoid of color. On the fourth day of their harrowing journey, just as the pale sun was rising to the east, two Sparks crossed paths with the companions.
The two Sparks wore simple, light mail, with various plates and straps crossing over their athletic bodies, and a crimson tunic to accent their armor. One of the Sparks had a brown, shadowy beard that matched his tousled, brown hair, while the other was clean shaven and blonde. Their faces were cold and grizzled, and there was no doubt that they had seen the horrible throes of battle. As they approached, their hands rested upon their longswords, ready to draw them at a moment's notice and slice down any foes.
“Good to see a fellow Spark still burning bright,” the Spark with the blonde hair hailed, his sharp
eyes scrutinizing the companions. He halted, as did his fellow Spark, and they waited for the companions reply, respectfully keeping their distance.
Ro studied the two Sparks. He was overwhelmed with hope at the presence of life, and he wanted to cry out in glee, but he held himself in check. He did not want to give them any reason to attack. If these two Sparks were even half as dangerous as the Captain, then the companions would be in great danger. And Ro did not have a proper weapon.
Relax, you are a leader now. Lead.
Smiling, Ro raised his hand in a salute, and began to say the proper greeting.
The Sparks tensed, and their hands gripped their longswords.
But before Ro could speak, SmibSmob stepped forward, cutting Ro off with a sharp cough. “May your light pierce the Shadow,” he said clearly, projecting his quiet voice with an unwavering confidence.
The two Sparks relaxed, but they still did not approach. Even Shadowfriends remembered the proper introduction.
“What brings you to these parts?” the bearded Spark called. “It is uncommon to find Sparks far from the Shadowfront — let alone a group of six.”
Ro studied the Spark, his brow furrowing in thought.
Shadowfront? Why is there so much Shadow?
More pieces to the puzzle. He began to speak, but SmibSmob, the clever gnome, once-again beat him to it.
“If it is so unlikely,” SmibSmob began, his voice remaining steady, “then why are you two out here alone?”
“Mighty fine noggin' ye got,” Nalgene mumbled quietly from behind SmibSmob.
Ro nodded in agreement. He glanced down to the small gnome, his eyes sparkling with respect. It was not so long ago when the gnome would stammer and stumble under the heavy weight of pressure.
Smirking, the two Sparks released their swords, and shrugged to each other, obviously caught in their own logic.
“Fair enough, my good friend,” the blonde Spark said, his voice friendly. “My name is Roan, and this is Dain.”
“Hail,” Dain called, placing his hand upon his chest in a salute. “And what brings you to these parts?”
While the two were visibly relaxed, they still did not approach the companions. They may have been overly trusting, but they were certainly not naive, or dull. No one survived long in the Shadow by leaping ahead without carefully thinking first.
“Ah, well,” SmibSmob started, his voice cracking. Sweat began to bead on the gnome’s head, and he shot a quick, panicked look at his brother behind him.
Ro smiled.
“General’s orders,” he said, saving the uncomfortable gnome. “General Kraalek Cardmaster, if you must know.” The General was enough to somber the gnarled Captain, so perhaps a mention would be enough to win the two Sparks over.
Roan laughed aloud, his barreling laughter echoing across the empty plains, but quickly quieted when Dain gave him a sharp jab in the arm.
“Ahem,” he coughed as he tried to regain his composure. “You mean to tell me you were sent by that gambler? He spends most of his time wasted away in money, booze, and wom —”
Another sharp jab from Dain was enough to quiet Roan.
“Don’t mind him,” Dain said, a strain of annoyance flitting through his words. “He’s just upset that General Cardmaster is more popular among the woman than he is.”
Roan’s mouth shot open in shock, and he wheeled about on his companion, anger flickering in his eyes. “Oh, now don’t pretend like you aren’t envious either,” he fired back at Dain. “He should be commanding legions, not fooling about with barmaids!”
Dain’s eyes ignited at this, and whirled around to face Roan, bringing his fists up, ready to beat down on his companion for his insolence. “Oh, don’t place me on the same level as you!” he roared, his face red with anger.
Ro watched the growing spectacle with rising amusement. Of course, the two Sparks were not actually infuriated with each other. It was merely some friendly banter, a way to remove the mind from the surrounding depression. It was refreshing to see, even within the dismal blanket of Shadow, that the eternal bonds of friendship still held strong. Even with the everlasting blackness quenching all signs of life, the smoldering ember of love would always find a way to ignite. Ro’s heart soared, and he thought of his own companions, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.
“Kraalek, eh? That bloody worm?” Nalgene remarked; a shallow hint of amusement obvious in his gruff voice. “Now ye’ve done it, ye durned dragon. Ye set them off.”
“Bedding unsuspecting women?” Margaret jumped in. “That certainly sounds like something he would do.”
Ro laughed, but said nothing. It was refreshing indeed.
“Ah, anyway,” Roan said, turning back to the companions. A red welt had appeared on the side of his face, and a satisfied Dain smirked smugly next to him. “I apologize for our … erhm … behavior. It’s just relieving to finally see more Sparks in this horrible land.”
“Indeed,” Ro agreed, smiling. Life had to cling together under the oppressive weight of the Shadow. In a land where the decaying land stretched forever like a black ocean, and where the once-great cities now lay devastated like broken guardians of a fallen kingdom, a lone soul could easily succumb to the iron clutches of madness.
“I take it that you are not Shadowfriends,” Dain added, patting his friend on the back. “Or no doubt you would have long ago cut us down.”
Ro’s stomach lurched at the mention of Shadowfriends. Who would possibly want to side with the dark misery? What monster would betray his friends for the sake of death and destruction?
“Mmmm, we certainly are not friends of the Shadow,” Andromeda declared, her voice a thin hiss cutting through the still air.
“Excellent,” Roan said in relief. Raising his hand, he beckoned the companions to follow him. “Come, I’d say we’ve done enough scouting of these parts. Let us return to the Flame, together.”
Ro’s heart raced at the mention of the Flame. At last, after endless nights in this desolate land, they were finally going to reunite with the Flame. It felt as if a burdensome weight had been lifted from his strong shoulders. He turned and nodded to his fellow companions, who looked similarly relieved to finally escape the black maw of Shadow.
“Let’s go,” he urged. It was refreshing indeed.
Without hesitation, the companions started off after the two Sparks. Their bleak journey was finally coming to an end.
The Sparks lead the companions across the great plains of Shadow. Many exhausting days passed on their travels, each cold sunrise reminding them just how devastated the world had become. Yet even in the heart of depression, their spirits stayed strong. They would pass the dragging time with banter and by telling great stories. Roan and Dain would talk of their many perils with the Flame, and the companions would do their best to make up stories as they went — as it was far easier to fabricate a few tales than truly explain their situation. Fortunately, Roan was a brilliant speaker, and would drone on for hours about his grand quests and untimely mishaps, so the companions rarely had to tell a tale of their own.
As the days wore on, the Sparks lead the companions around the mighty lake to the east. Eventually, they came upon a barren, twisted forest, much like the black forest where the companions had begun their adventure. Rotten trees reached for the companions with vile claws, scratching and tearing at their clothes and flesh. The trees’ branches intertwined to form an impenetrable barrier against the sun’s pale rays, creating a blanket of unending darkness. However, there was no sign of the vile legions of the Shadow, and no undead bear appeared to maul them. After many days of travel through the treacherous forest, the companions finally broke free of its woody grasp, and escaped into the surrounding, gray world. The lake now lay to the north, and the snowy peaks of mountains could be seen far to the south. Yet just beyond the mountains, there was light. Not the cold, unforgiving haze of the Shadow, but the brilliant, pure illumination of the Light. It was the end of the enveloping Shadow. It was
their source of hope and determination.
It was the Flame.
Revitalized at the sight of their salvation, the group redoubled their efforts, blazing through the lands with a fiery glory. Nothing could damper their soaring spirits. Nothing could soothe their ecstatic hearts. And nothing could stop their triumphant march. Nothing, perhaps, except for the Shadowfront.
As the companions neared the approaching mountain range, the cold air grew quiet and still, and the land seemed to ooze and leak the essence of darkness. The Sparks grew somber, their outgoing friendliness giving way to a reserved caution.
“We are nearing the Shadowfront,” Dain said, his voice soft and low. His eyes darted about, as if constantly trying to spot an approaching enemy. “With luck, we will be able to avoid that chaotic mess.”
Roan nodded in agreement. “I would do anything to avoid going back there,” he said.
Ro studied the Sparks. There was no doubt of their absolute terror of the so-called Shadowfront. “Agreed,” he stated. He had to at least pretend he knew what it was. He glanced back to his other companions and gave them a faint shrug. They were all equally lost.
“Come,” Dain beckoned, already turning back to the towering mountains. His face was pale and taught, and his hand rested on the hilt of his longsword. “We have to reach the foothills.”
Nodding, but not quite understanding the Spark’s reasoning, Ro obliged. They did not have a choice. And with the first sight of a world beyond the endless void, he cared little to argue.
The companions followed the two Sparks to the feet of the great mountain. Their pace had slowed dramatically, and they crossed the barren plains, attempting to keep their profiles low. It would not do well to be seen. The two Sparks jumped at every gust of wind and every rustle of grass. Their hands never left their swords. After a long, quiet day of travel, the companions finally reached the base of the mountain range. While these scaling monoliths were noticeably smaller than the other mountains the companions had crossed, they were dense and created a jagged barrier that would by nigh impossible to traverse.
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