Chapter 1 – The Mission

The midday sun shone down relentlessly from the cloudless sky. Its bright rays touched the deserted town below with a burning touch, sending distorting waves of heat high into the air, joining those already let off by the town’s charred remains. The fires had gone out by daybreak, and the smoke ceased soon after. But the heat remained, distorting the skeletal remains of the sad little town on the outskirts of the Human realm. Blackened bones were scattered along the streets around the center of the town where once a mighty tower stood, now a pile of rubble.

It had been the only fully brick structure within the town, built long before the first settlers ever pitched their tents around it. Legend told of the tower’s construction during the time of the Z’ndar, before the rise of Ulrok, before the Dark Age. But, as with most stories of the Z’ndar and the time before the rise and fall of Ulrok, they were mere speculation and tales told to the young children by the elders late into the Summer Festival.

The Summer Festival was a grand celebration, remembering the founding of the town, and praising the Crystal nestled atop the tower. The Crystal was a god to the people, for, in the early years of the town, the Crystal was found to have mystical properties. The town’s historians told of how the Crystal, during times of peril to the townspeople, would create an impenetrable barrier around the city, effectively warding off the would-be attackers.

Few had ever seen the miraculous might of the Crystal, and certainly none within the last 100 years. Not until that fateful day the Crystal failed. The Summer Festival was reaching its peak; the ceremony of remembrance of the Crystal. The entire town was gathered around the tower in the dark of the night. Fire pits around the tower cast light on the massive crowd as they sung praise to the crimson Crystal high above.

Suddenly, with a loud, deep hum, the Crystal came to life, glowing brightly and casting a red glow over the town. A cheer went up in the crowd by those ignorant of the sign. The elders were not among those. The Crystal had activated. An enemy was upon them. The Crystal continued to hum its saving tune loud into the night as it shielded the town from the unseen enemy.

The celebration went on. Drinks were set out. Alcohol was consumed in large amounts, by men, women, and even children. It was a celebration for all. And for all came the end quickly and suddenly.

Without warning the Crystal ended its saving song and its glow dimmed to nothing. A drunken cheer rose up from the inebriated townspeople, but was cut short by something that filled the people with fear despite their drunken state; the battle cry of the Goruk.

Up, atop a hill overlooking the town, stood an army of the cursed creatures called Goruks, their dark green skin illuminated by torchlight, their hog-like faces easily visible in the light thrown off by their leader. Tall and humanoid in appearance, there was only one way to describe it: a living flame. It extended a flaming arm and bellowed to the Goruks. With an earsplitting battle cry, the Goruks charged.

Within minutes the brutal, warmonger race swept through the town, slaughtering all. Men, women, and children; none were spared the merciless blades of the Goruk. None but two: children on the brink of adulthood who escaped into the night.

-

Koja awoke with a start. Lying facedown in the grass, he had no idea where he was. He pushed himself off of the ground and looked around. Flat and grassy, and lots of it, surrounded him. Off in the distance the faint form of mountains could be seen poking above the horizon. He knew exactly where he was. Or a general idea, anyway.

Suddenly the previous night’s horror flooded back to him, and for an instant all power in his arms ceased. He hit the ground and rolled over onto his back, coughing from the impact. The sky was bright with the midday sun and Koja had to close his eyes against the light.

“Son of a Goruk,” he cursed to no one in particular. His mouth felt dry, and he hoped he’d remembered to bring water with him. Although after what had happened only ten hours previous, something stronger than water was sorely needed. He needed some coffee.

With a groan he sat up and opened his eyes, glancing around for any sign of his bag. He found it, about a dozen lengths away, lying beside a body. An unmoving body.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, “I was traveling with what’s-her-name. The barkeep’s daughter.” He shrugged to himself. He never got to know her very well growing up in Ja’tul. Her father kept her close at hand, especially after her mother left. And, of course, he was usually in the shop with his father learning the family trade: metal smith. Koja patted the sword at his side and smiled slightly. He’d been working on the sword, and had finished it too, during the Summer Festival. It was all he had left.

“Gah!” he yelled, shaking his head, shaking himself out of his musing. He needed to get moving. He had a mission, given to him by the High Elder. He had to go to Ottora City or at the very least get a message there to the king about the attack on Ja’tul. Many more cities in the Ottoran Realm could be in danger, including Ottora City. He had no time to sit a think. He had to act.

Koja stood up, moving over to retrieve his bag. But he stopped. He looked down at the girl. She looked dead. What did he care anyway? It would seem she’d left him for dead, taking his bag and attempting to carry on without him. But something in him told him he should at least check to see if she was still alive. He crouched down and rolled her over. He placed his hand lightly over her mouth and nose to check for breath.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open, and her red eyes stared at him for a second. For a moment she looked confused, then, seeing Koja’s hand hovering over her mouth and nose her expression quickly turned to fear. And with her expression, her eye color. With a yell, Koja jumped back, dropping his bag, and then tripping over it. He landed hard on his butt with an audible curse.

“Oh, what the crap,” he exclaimed, picking himself back up and slinging his bag across his shoulder. The girl struggled to her feet, but just stood there and eyed Koja warily. Koja eyes her just a warily.

“I’m sure there’s a good explanation for all of this,” she began, pausing to let Koja explain himself.

“Yeah, I was checking to see if you were still alive,” he explained. The girl gave him a quizzical look.

“By covering my mouth and nose?” she blurted.

“Well, yeah! Checking for breath!” Koja said rather loudly.

“There is such thing as a pulse, you know!” she explained, pointing to her wrist and then her neck.

“Oh yeah, and how was I supposed to know that?” Koja retorted angrily.

“Common knowledge, I would think,” she snapped back at him. Suddenly a look of comprehension dawned on her face and she grinned darkly. “Riiight… I forgot; education isn’t much of a priority among metalworkers.” Koja’s frown deepened.

“And social skills aren’t high priority for bookworms,” he retorted. Silence followed the spat between the two, both of them just glaring at each other. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the girl’s face softened and she took a deep breath, as if to calm herself.

“Alright, look; the High Elder sent us to get a message to Ottora City. Arguing is not about to further that mission any. We need to work together, and work past our social differences. Whatever our lives were back in Ja’tul, they’re now gone. They don’t matter anymore, so let’s just put them aside.” She made a good point; Koja had to admit, as much as the truth hurt. She was right; everything he’d had in Ja’tul was gone, lost to the raging flames and bloodbath that followed in the Goruks’ path. He was still angry at her, but he knew she was right.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m the leader of this mission; got it.” He didn’t even wait for her to respond. He just turned and began to walk northward towards the Ottoran Mountains.

“Typical male,” she muttered under her breath before following after Koja.

As they continued towards the north, the landscape began to change, slowly at first, then very quickly until they found themselves at the edge of a forest. It was a thin forest, the trees widely spaced, lots of sunlight streaming in. Very friendly looking. All the more reason for caution, Koja told himself.

Koja would have continued on into the forest. But the girl looked exhausted, and thirsty. Mercifully Koja unpacked the water canister and tossed it to her. She popped the stopper and drank greedily from it, water missing her mouth entirely and running down her chin and soaking the neck of her shirt.

“Whoa, take it easy, kiddo!” he chided. “That’s got to last us until we reach the P’rora River!”

“Sorry,” she apologized, drinking less sloppy afterwards. Koja watched her for a moment, and then a thought dawned on him.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly. He waited patiently as she finished drinking and stopped up the water canister. She handed it back to him and sat on a nearby boulder.

“Lynna,” she responded finally. She looked up at Koja, eyes turning blue. “What’s yours?”

“Koja,” he said after a minute. She gave him a questioning glance, but said nothing. Koja was grateful. He heard enough crap from his people for his name. They were firm believers that your name created your destiny and Koja hated that. Being called ‘chosen’ had made his life interesting.

“So,” Lynna began, “How do you know this land so well?”

“My father used to take me along on his trips to Iron City’s market. We sell off our weapons and then purchase iron to make more.” Koja paused for a moment, thinking. “We’ll probably hit Iron City in a few days. The city holds the only protected path through the Ottoran Mountains. It’ll make our trip a bit easier.”

“And then from there? How the heck are we going to find Ottora City anyway?”

“We’ll ask someone in Iron City. Someone’s bound to know.”

“I absolutely love your plan.”

“Good thing there’s no such thing as sarcasm,” Koja retorted. “Let’s go.”

-

Night fell quickly in the forest, but not before the two Ja’tul survivors made it to the P’rora River. The two found a clearing next to the water and decided to make camp there. Koja quickly caught, killed, and skinned dinner and, after struggling to make a fire, began to cook the meat.

The two ate in silence, not wishing to disturb the stillness all about them. Koja was the first to finish. Satisfied he got up and headed towards the river to wash off his hands.

Well out of the firelight Koja knelt by the river to wash up. The water was cool to the touch, feeling good in the warm night air. He pooled the water in his hands and brought it to his face. It was refreshing. But the water served a better purpose than just refreshment.

Koja heard the twig bend before it even snapped, his ears were so well trained for travel through this region. Immediately he was on his feet and turned in the direction of the intruder. But before he could draw his sword he was tackled by a dark figure that suddenly flung itself at him. Koja hear himself yell despite himself.

“Koja!” he heard Lynna scream as he and the dark figure tumbled into the clearing and into the firelight. Koja rolled to his feet and with the sound of scraping metal his sword was out and at the ready. His eyes shot to the dark figure, now standing on the other side of the firelight, shoulders hunched and gangly arms dangling at its sides, one hand carrying a dagger, the other balled-up into a fist.

Suddenly the figure lifted its head, and the firelight caught its face. The grotesque features were unmistakable. The hooked nose, the yellow-iris eyes, and the greasy black hair that dangled down into its face in clumps: it was definitely a Krite.

“Aw, crap.”