Draconic Testament

by Zac Atie

  “Polliver Valer Hollihorum.” Tundra stuttered, eyes squinted at the paper. “A mouthful, isn’t it?”

  “M-m-my Cazrian friends call me, err... Polliver.” The boy stuttered back. His voice was high pitched and clumsy. “Young, aren’t you? Younger than I usually get.” Tundra sighed. “Oh boy, this is going to indeed be a drag. It says here that you’re from a rich family in Pontaron.”

  “Y-Yes.” Polliver said. “My family is a, err... Merchants Guild. They deal in high quality materials that are made into ship parts for the... The famous Pontaron navy, mum. I mean, err, sister Tu- no, Mother Tundra.”

  “Shh.” She hushed him. “Stop. Talking. Do you have something wrong with you?” Polliver shook his head. “So you’re just nervous. Cute.” Tundra took a quick read of his personality section. “It says you’re not good enough with maths to be a merchant like your half-siblings, but you’re extremely brave to the point of stupidity. Says here that you burnt your face while saving your stepmother from a fire in your house a month ago, and she would have been incinerated if you had not sacrificed your eye for her. Says you were sent here because you have no faith, and would have been sent to the Covenant if not for your bravery and hatred for... Domini?”

  “Bandits. I don't like Bandits. They started the fire in my house, mother.” Polliver said.

  “Most biographies are usually love letters from the parents, trying to kiss up to me. But this... This is a deliberate insult. Interesting. Oh, and it’s ‘Mother Tundra’.” She said. “But, just call me Tundra.”

  “Yes, Miss.” He replied, making Tundra huff out a laugh.

  “Amusing boy, aren’t you?” She asked.

  “As you say, Miss.” He replied, bowing his head.

  “Not much else on here, other than the fact that you’re bastard born.” She said, dropping the paper on her table and walking around the desk, eyeing him up. “Odd... A Halfling as an apprentice of a Elite Inquisitor... Are you sure you wouldn’t be better with the Covenant? Or perhaps, you can be an engineer’s appr-“

  “No!” Polliver blurted out, then he lowered his head again, blushing. “Erm... I'm sorry, miss. But I want to hunt Bandits.”

  “I don't hunt Bandits.” Tundra said. Polliver looked at her, puzzled. “Hunting mere bandits are for Initiates. Apprentices of Elite Inquisitors jump right up to a High Inquisitor, past the Rookie levels. You know why that is?”

  “N...No...” The boy said.

  “Being an apprentice of a Elite Inquisitor is supposed to be reserved for skilled swordsmen and sorcerers. However, they replace that with green, clueless, rich kids. They do this because nobody will notice, and it gets power on our side. Know why the parents send them?”

  “N...No...” The boy replied again.

  “Because the parents are lazy and have no idea what to do with them. Stories of old Inquisitors fighting evil for the good of Cazria comes to their minds, and they shoo off their precious sons and daughters to become an apprentice of the Elite Inquisitors, but not before telling them a bunch of tales about how great the elites are. Then, they fall in love with the idea, and becoming an apprentice becomes a bragging right in terms of their honour, even if they don't succeed.” Tundra said. “If they do succeed? They earn the title of ‘Vanguard’, which means they have proven their honour and are to be respected within society. Perhaps get invited to parties. That sort of thing. You’d think the Cazrians would find some other, less crazy way to earn renown for their kids throughout their ridiculously long years, the red-skinned fools.”

  “I... I don't want that.” Polliver said. “I... I just want to protect people from bandits!”

  “I don't hunt bandits.” Tundra said, poking his chest, face close to his. “Want to know what I do all day?”

  “What?” He asked, blushing.

  “I sit around doing nothing. I read through reports constantly. I am named head of forts that might as well be nameless, as nobody knows anything about them. I, Elite Inquisitor Tundra, famous for being the only Domini Elite Inquisitor in the history of this organisation, am tasked with nothing. I even get false reports of Maleficarum sent to me, wasting my time.” She spits, pacing round the room in anger.

  “Maleficarum?” Polliver asked. “What’s that?” The question made Tundra stop, look at Polliver and chuckle. The chuckle turned into a roar of laughter. “How green are you? You’ll last shorter than that one lad who fell in love with a succubus.”

  “A... Succubus?” Polliver asked again, rubbing his damaged eye. Tundra sighed.

  “Maleficarum are a special type of Forbidden Sorcerer, even more dangerous than Warlocks. Well, not them themselves, but their magic. They connect themselves to the Null and Void, that floating rock of demon filth out there, and summon the demons to this world for whatever reason. The strong ones bind demons to their will, and the weak die trying, sometimes accidently creating rifts for the demons to cross over through. That’s the sort of thing I'm sent up against.” Tundra said. “Well, not me. More like other Elite Inquisitors. Even though I have proven that I'm not like my ignorant brothers and sisters over there in Zolka, I'm still discriminated against. Sure, I get sent a bunch of people who are enamoured with me, but they never last.”

  “They never last?” Polliver asked. “But... You’re strong.”

  “Strong, yes. But that’s my strength, not theirs. They are all weak, and they have no idea what they are up against. They all get hit with reality, and slaughtered whenever I'm sent against something that actually moves instead of being put on guard duty. Poor things. They all come to me, blushing and saying how beautiful I am. Some even try to crawl their ways into my bed, the fools. Well, some succeeded.” She laughed, noticing him grimace. “B... But you’re not allowed!” Polliver groaned.

  “I’ll do what I want.” Tundra huffed. “If the Circle respected my skills, I’d respect their rules. I was only kidding about actually letting them seduce me, anyhow. I'm not like the last boy I had as an apprentice. Pfft.”

  “A-As you say, miss. What... What should I do? I mean, I can fight!” Polliver said.

  “With what, Zaranyte?” Tundra asked.

  “Y-Yes. Zaranyte Swords... and guns, too!” Polliver blurted. Tundra sighed, and thought about it for a few moments. “Alright.” She said, smiling. Polliver smiled too, until she said, “You’ll handle the reports. Throw away everything except for the new, major Warlocks. I want their names, age, location and anything special about them written down. Also, there’s a textbook over there about Warlocks and Maleficarum, as well as the history of our order, read them. If we ever get a mission, you’ll need that knowledge.”

  “Oh...” Polliver said, disappointed. “I... Uh...”

  “I'm going out for a walk. Do a good job, kiddo.” She chuckled, ruffling the scruffy boy’s hair. It was soft, apart for the long, singed part of his hair, which was still present for whatever reason.

  Tundra was patrolling the town square of a nearby town named ‘Valfor’. The lord here sent constant messages to the vigil, scared of impending attacks, saying that there was Warlocks all around him. Tundra thought he was mad with paranoia, as she detected to malice among the people of Valfor. The Aquatic isles made a big deal out of the water that surrounded them, as it was clear and clean, teeming with life. There was ice sculptures made perfectly, and water shows all around the town, and everybody was happy and friendly to one another. However, when they saw her, they moved aside and wiped the smiles of their faces, scared to death that she was a Warlock. She could feel them whispering all around her, the fear in their voices. That was how she could tell there were no Warlocks hiding amongst the townsfolk. She had spent a lot of time around evil people, so she didn’t even need to feel their Aura’s with her tentacles. A Domini’s tentacles could sense all sort of Magic, where it was coming from, the nature of the magic, far better than a Cazrian’s Hollow Sight. There was no need for her to close her eyes to sense such things. Before leaving the Vigil, she had left word that sh
e would be in town, and that someone should contact her immediately if there was word of Warlocks, or word from the Circle of Zealots, the Councillors of the Inquisition who took orders from the Grand Inquisitor. She found herself walking through the town, window shopping without actually examining any of the items she saw. She was just thinking to herself, while trying to blend in. Tundra was very insecure about her race. She found herself thinking of her place within the Inquisition. “They all fear me. Or Loathe me.” She murmured to herself. “I don't see why I should stay. I’ll never get any more famous than I am now... I'm never going to find her... I should find a husband somewhere... but where? I hold the teaching rather dear. I hate Warlocks, and most Domini agree with the Dreadlord in silence. I won’t find a husband anywhere. There isn’t a place for me.” Then she found herself thinking of Polliver. She chuckled. “I’ve left the boy to do my work for me. That was mean. I should try to tutor him like I did with the others... but what’s the point? They are all young, all rash, and all foolish. They get themselves killed. Perhaps having half Ispii blood would make him more aware of foul play, or how to deal with it. How is he to fight Maleficarum being as green as he is now? Oh, Polliver. You should go home.” In the corner of her eye, she sees a reflection in the mirror. A hooded figure in a foul smelling rag, though she didn’t smell it. She whirled, to find nobody there. Her sudden movement startled passers-by, one even gasped and shuffled away as fast as they could. Tundra did the same, hands shaking. “No, not again.” She sobbed. “Not now. Why? That damned Adda’Gorath. Damn him to the void!” Eventually, she found herself whirling into alleyways, checking behind her at every step. She stumbles over rags, and turns corners... Then, after a couple of minutes, she realises she’s still in the alleyways. She stops, and turns, looking around. “How many damned alleys are there here?” She asks, herself. “This... Isn’t right.”

  “What is?” A voice asked. She whirled in the direction of it, and the smell hit her. It smelled of death, blood, and bile. A hooded figure in brown, dirty rags, hood reaching all the way to his upper lip. His lips, and teeth, were coated with blood, and smiling evilly, it’s Domini teeth sharp as Tundra’s, only some were cracked and broken. “No. What the hell are you doing here? Leave me be!”

  “Is that anyway to talk to your friend?” The voice asked, turning feminine.

  “You’re not Mirage!” She hissed. “She’s out there somewhere!”

  “You ran from me. You left me.” Mirage said. “My father cut me down, and what did you do?”

  “You... Mirage was stronger than that! She survived, I know it!” She hissed. “I won’t listen to you! I’m stronger!”

  “Oh?” A male voice said. “If you were stronger, you’d have been able to fight me off for all those years you spent as my toy. Hahaha!”

  “Damn you.” Tundra said. “Damn you, hear me?”

  “Too late for Damnation, I'm afraid.” The man laughed. “Adda’Gorath saw to that when he cursed you.”

  “I am no-“ Tundra began.

  “No? You’re not? What do you call this?” He said, smiling, outstretching his arms. Grave worms dropped from the man’s sleeves and hit the ground with a light thud. The thuds seemed a lot more harder than they should be, though the worms were long and thin, their wet looking skin’s glistening even in the dim lighted alleyway. Tundra’s mouth opened and eyes widened when she saw them, wriggling their way into dirt, dirt clinging onto it’s skin. She grabbed her Arcana, hands shaking, and pointed it at the fiend in front of her, but her eyes were still locked onto the worms. She was terrified, images of her grim past flashing in front of her. The worms were the one thing she couldn’t get over. She could kill thousands of men and women, face demons of the Null and Void, exorcise curses made by Warlocks and slain Wraiths, but she could never get over the grave worms. They seemed to multiply, and creep towards her, constantly growing in numbers. “Wh-What are you doing?” She asked him. “Why? Why?” No answer came from the man’s bloody lips. He chuckled, teeth closed, and grave worms squeezed their way through the gaps in his broken, destroyed teeth. She tried to back away, but her legs were heavy. She tried to scream as they crept towards her, getting closer by the second and seeming to speed up, but her voice caught in her throat, and no sound exited her mouth. Her body and legs felt heavy as she backed away, eager to turn and run, and get away from her fears, but she couldn’t. She slowed down, and her trembling increased, to the point where she all but halted in her tracks. The grave worms reached her, and her fear broke the locks on her voice, and she screamed and wailed. They crawled up her legs, underneath her robes, wriggled between her toes and underneath her toenails. They seemed to bite her somehow, and the wounds they left oozed blood. Some even got inside her body, wriggling inside her legs and feet, slowly creeping up inside her womb and beyond. She screamed, and fell backwards, and the worms crawled onto her from the ground beneath her. She screamed, flailed, beat the ground, and cried as the worms enveloped her, and the little light that was let into the alleyway ceased to exist, and her eyes were eaten out.

  Something tugged on her waist as she came to, groggy and drooling from her ordeal. She was sat up against a hard wall, and she felt no wriggling on her body. She knew what had happened almost instantly. She blinked and looked around with what little strength she had inside her to find that she was still in an alleyway, but there were two exits plain and clear at either side. She looked to her left, where she saw an urchin pulling at her belt, trying to get her pouch of Tix. When the kid saw her, he gasped, and tugged on the pouch as hard as he could till it snapped away from her clothes. Then, he took the heavy pouch full of hard, metal coins, and swung it at her, hitting her over the head and knocking her to the ground where Tundra lay, listening the fast paced patter of the Urchin’s footsteps as he ran away. She spat the dirt that had entered her mouth out onto the ground, and quickly scanned for grave worms, images of her little scenario unwillingly re-entering her head. “Damn you, Adda’Gorath.” She moaned. She sat back up and looked around, examining her body, looking to see if she was hurt anywhere. She was weak as anyone could be at that point, and barely had the will to live. She turned out to be unharmed, apart from the ache in the side of her head where she had been struck by the Urchin. “Huh...” She pondered. “The child has more courage than all these Cazrians in this cesspool combined. My kind have been ravaging their streets, their homes, their women, and they simply pass by an important, Warlock looking Domini as if it were none of their concern. I would have cut this Domini’s throat, if the shoes were switched.” She wiped her eyes, sleepily as her senses and strength slowly came back to her. She looked a mess, and was in a sorry, pathetic state for someone so high in the ranks of the honourable Inquisition of Dusk. She pulled herself to her feet, patting away the dirt that had cloaked her sleeve and her robe bottoms. “This is my fault. I let the image get to me, and I secluded myself in a small spot.” This had happened often to her. It was like living a nightmare, being cursed like she was. After a certain period of time, the ghost of her past would haunt her when she was relaxed and calm, and drive her into a frenzy. Then, it would reveal itself in an area where nobody would snap her out of her ordeal, and drive her insane. It took a major toll on her psyche when the ghost of her past succeeded. Living in total fear, on the precipice of insanity, looking for the hooded, crack teethed man and his grave worms. This was Adda’Gorath’s doing, when she had come to him in the middle of the Domi-Cazrian war to put him and his underlings down. She had got him alone, and soon realised she was outmatched when he had her on the ground, mouth full of blood, arms and legs broken. But he didn’t grant her the release of death, no, he cursed her. There are many curses, and many ways to curse a single person, but Adda’Gorath’s was high level, and very deadly. He created of seal on her stomach, around the area the umbilical cord used to be, and infecting her Magic Pool with the curse called ‘Guilty Tribunal’. The Embodiment of her past would haunt her, and she would eventually fall to insan
ity and a slow death. Nobody knew of her curse, but her. She was alone, isolated, and she trusted nobody. One of the many reasons most of her apprentices died. She had spent long nights, staying awake with the candles on researching old tomes on strong curses looking for a cure for the Guilty Tribunal, but most of what she found that was on the curse ended up making her feel worse. She didn’t know how to break the curse that had been inflicted on her Aura, buried deep inside her magic pool. Whenever she dreamt and went to the haven of her Magic pool in her dreams, it would slowly shift into a graveyard, and the totem of Adda’Gorath’s clan would stand in the middle, above an empty grave full of Grave worms. Though, as she found out, sometimes, it was not always empty. The way she was now reminded her of the way she first woke up after the curse was placed. She awoke that one night, and her memories were gone. One name resounded in her head. ‘Tundra’. She felt sorrow when she thought of the name, and that was when memories flowed into her. An odd selection of memories. It was as if her whole life was a tapestry, and she had been given small pieces of it, as if it were but a puzzle. As if it were a game, and Adda’Gorath no doubt thought it was. The memories didn’t feel real, as if they weren’t her own. It confused her. “I can’t remember anything...” Tundra said. But there was one thing that reminded her that she was a person, and reinforced her belief that Tundra was real. Her ring, on her marriage finger. She pulled her hand up and looked at it, stroking the ring. “Draynar.” She said. She nearly blushed at the name when she was looking at the ring. Her perspective of the person changed entirely. Love choked her body as if it were a snake. Why did she feel this way? It felt wrong. Not because she was part of the Inquisition, or she tried to kill his father, or she hated warlocks... it was something else. Something she couldn’t place. All these things contributed to the madness of the being in the cloak. “What do I do?” She asked herself. “Nothing makes sense... All I have is the Inquisition... When evil has been vanquished, when I follow my heart, will my memories return?”