A History of Blade and Light

by Joseph Turkot

responded.

  “Hah! So strong in your resolve, are you, that still you think there a chance to destroy me? Naive, Swordhand. Know that Melweathren my father flows through me. Look about your slain fellowship,” he taunted.

  “Might you recall that Vapour, as he rides in at you now from the black clouds, named Molto,” Flaer lied; in the dim light of his soft-glowing sword he pointed over Vesleathren’s shoulder.

  “He is dead, fool,” Vesleathren replied, turning to be sure that Flaer spoke in lies. As he turned his neck ever so slightly, Flaer jumped at Delfog. Delfog recoiled against the biting edge of the Brigun Autilus, and being angered, returned with a streaming breath of fire that overtook Flaer. Aware of the misdirection, Vesleathren returned his gaze to Flaer, who struggled with the wyvern, but it was too late: Flaer slid underneath the great beast and struck up into its belly, which smoothly glistened, unarmored. A piercing yelp broke the quiet of the plateau, and suddenly the wyvern writhed madly, flinging Flaer away with its talons, immediately taking to the sky. Vesleathren watched madly as his dragon flew away north, raining thick globs of black-tar blood as it went. Flaer jumped to his feet and turned to face Vesleathren again, swinging his sword down upon the mage’s skull. In a flash, a force of energy drove the blade back and away.

  “Very well done, Swordhand. But alas, our worthy skirmish ends,” Vesleathren said. Once again thunder sounded across the plateau. A great ball of light formed at the mage’s fingertips.

  “You cannot see the defeat of the Crawl Plaque even during its final flight, and so I pity you much as I pity Nulbus, who rushed needlessly to his death in anger: Your magic is airs and songs, whispers and wind, but no bite do you have, foul wizard, nor your sting have I felt,” Flaer returned. Onward he rushed again, wielding his sword for a desperate plunge at Vesleathren’s chest. Before the blade went in, Vesleathren drew an idle saber from his side; light flashed and clangor beat, and with strange ease Flaer’s assault was ended. Before he could react, Vesleathren thrusted below the hilt of the Brigun Autilus; his greysteel saber slid into Flaer’s stomach. Flaer fell gasping, clutching his side. The light of his sword dissolved, as its cold steel body rolled from his unclenching fist and thudded to the earth.

  “Perhaps I shall have to tell Melweathren that I could not tame Swordhand, that he decided his life should be extinguished, before his spirit made to expire. A sad choice, you have made. Melweathren had grand designs for you. A great power you have lost. There is a mystery about your past—oh that I could speak of it!” Vesleathren said. Flaer lay dying on the ground, coughing blood, striving for breath. Oddly, Vesleathren beheld a smile form on Flaer’s visage. Before another moment passed, Molto the Vapour descended upon Vesleathren from the darkness beyond. A great fork of war impaled the evil wizard from behind. Vesleathren’s eyes turned white; his black robe soaked with blood, and a great thunder sounded for a third time. The evil mage vanished.

 

  Molto stood where Vesleathren had just been. All that remained of the dark wizard was the steam of his blood. Flaer smiled up at Molto. A warm light of pearl poured forth from Molto’s fingers; it filled and throbbed within Flaer’s gaping wound.

  “Thanks,” Flaer coughed at the ghostly apparition standing over him.

  “Hold your thanks—he is not defeated, nor is Delfog, who I saw pass north whence I came. I sorrow also to tell that the rest cannot be saved, for the hour of my arrival is too late. Rest. You are yet protected by Molto. And I work a strange new magic that may end this war.” Flaer smiled and nodded as Molto left his sight. He closed his eyes and resolved to dream of his love, far away, unknowing of war, by the golden shores of the South.

  OF MOLTO THE VAPOUR and the SPIRITED WINDS

  IN THE IINDER AGE, BEFORE THE FELWITH AGE AND BEFORE THE Midst and Last Ages, a great war was fought in Darkin. An alien race had descended upon the northern regions of Arkenshyr, above the Angelyn Range. These aliens would come to beget the foul brood of the Feral, in later ages, deep in secret, but in the Iinder Age their might was strong yet, and as such it came down from the pass of Corlisuen through the Angelyn Mountains to claim the southland of Arkenshyr.

  Molto was the greatest Vapour (Vapours were those who knew the magic of Gaigas) in the Iinder Age, and so he was called upon by Mesfel, King of the Staylinds, to aide in the abating of the alien race’s malevolence. These aliens became known to Mesfel as the Crawl Plaque, for they were slow to crawl and destroy the lands they toiled within, ever aligning south their course.

  Molto was forged of fast wisdoms, and imbued with a neutral aspect, though he aided Mesfel yet, for the Crawl Plaque advanced ever still towards Molto’s home upon the Plains of Calane, that area that would in the Middle age become the Solun Desert.

  Being aided by Molto of Vapoury, and Creskulk, Captain of the Rislinders to the West, Mesfel marched to the feet of the Angelyn and there faced the Crawl Plaque Army in their full might. A great battle was fought, and forces of the alien race poured forth through the Corlisuen with unending numbers. Finally, on the twelfth night of battle, the Crawl Plaque seemed brittle in numbers at last, though this feat came at the cost of Creskulk, brave captain of Rislind.

  Creskulk fell not before laying waste to Melweathren, Admiral of the Crawl Plaque, cutting his limbs while he himself was slain. And ever after there were tales and lore of Creskulk’s valor in that battle on the twelfth night.

  Finally, after the victory seemed imminent, a menacing force drove forth through the Crawl Plaque ranks, and threatened to reverse the impending tide of the battle. This force was Holfog the Fire Wyvern, and many were slain in that last hour of the battle by the napalm flame he rent down. Alas, it was Molto himself who ended the coming of the Crawl Plaque army, and thus, ended the war that came to be known as the Darkling War.

  Even as Holfog descended upon Mesfel himself, among his waning legions, Molto from atop a nearby hill smote Holfog in a great spell that scorched the earth there, and ever after was there a wide crater a league across, that crater that would in the Middle Age become known as the Vashnod Eye.

  Great rumor spread of Molto’s devastating spell, and it became known as the Spirited Winds by those who had witnessed it, for before the crash of light and shock came a great wind all about Arkenshyr. With the tale of the Spirited Winds came a great respect for Molto, and his legend was strengthened ever after, and so he was held in the highest esteem by the people of Rislind and the Staylinds.

  It was also rumored that Molto took two full days to recover from the Spirited Winds, and in that time he lay in bed without motion or speech. No remains of Holfog were found, but the remnant of the Crawl Plaque army retreated back north through the Corlisuen pass through the Angelyn range, fast in pace without their master Melweathren.

  Thus ended the Darkling War, and in Arkenshyr of Darkin was there then an age of peace and prosperity.

  FLAER ISENHART ENDS AN AGE

  FLAER ISENHART (OTHERWISE KNOWN AS FLAER SWORDHAND among men or Flaer The Slayer among Feral) set out upon a task to begin the Midst Age and end the Felwith age, though he knew it not.

  And so it came to be known to men throughout the Felwith age that a great spell was upon Flaer, and with it he was seemingly ever young and fertile in strength and valor. It had been many lifetimes since Flaer’s youth when he first took to sword and shield, and thus he had prospered to exalted skill.

  And so it was that the last great King of Peace, Felwith Aukc-Intdres, set Flaer to a task north to destroy Melweathren’s descendent, Vesleathren Vile Blood, and all his legions. Long had Felwith maintained an age of peacefulness in Darkin, save for troubled sores on her scape that fell to plotting of darker gains, and in these places festered those loyal to Melweathren, and so Vesleathren.

  Of the former age Felwith knew well, of those great deeds of Mesfel Aukc-Intdres and Creskulk of Rislind. Felwith knew of Delfog the Fire Wyvern and the manner in which the Crawl Plaque was suppressed. But that brood had hidd
en and evolved after the Darkling War, and in ages of peace did it evolve into that species known as the Feral. Springing forth after many lifetimes of peace did the dark line of Melweathren resurface, in form of Vesleathren’s command of the Feral Brood. Slow were the Feral to crawl and creep forth again into a golden age of Felwith’s prospers, but enough time had passed so that all was assumed to be well in Darkin, and those lines of Melweathren lost and severed.

  Behind Flaer were a great many legions, and the backing of the Five Countries of Darkin. Many small battles occurred once the Feral began their infiltration of the most remote villages, until it was pressing enough at last for the Five Countries to unite in a cause to war, and Flaer was made a commander. The might of the Five Countries warred against the latent might of the Feral in three great battles, each of which spanned no less than seven full days. It was in the third battle, known as Hemlin-Auc, when defeat seemed imminent for Vesleathren’s host, that a great tide was turned in the war, for a mysterious Vapour aided Vesleathren, one of a power never before seen by men. This menacing Vapour came to be known as Aulterion. It was in the Hemlin-Auc that Aulterion descended upon the very earth of the battlefield and