the-lions-path

[the-lions-path]

Chapter II

Deep beneath the bellows of the holy city a man stalked the winding sewage tunnels.  In tarnished armor he navigated the narrow corridors. Barely wide enough for him to pass. Dank was the doom that lurked beneath the cities of men. For whilst waters bore allegiance to all life the knightly orders of the empire had been all the wiser to remember. It was not only life that the flesh of Ba weaved through the world. But a prison. The flesh of Sanguine deep beneath it’s rushing waves entombed. It matters not how glorious of a tomb nor how deep of a grave you dig. Malice will surface through even the tiniest of cracks. With Ba as it’s jailer the flesh Sanguine had merged with the oceans of the world touching all the lands, be they of Man or Elven kind. In the rundown passages of Zyl-Slann’s underground it festered as well. He could hear it behind him; it sounded too from his front. An ominous snore, warning men against disturbing it. Fortunate than that no mere man walked the sickened halls. But a Fury of Aryeh stalked them instead. His sabatons splashing in the cold puddles while, against all reason he neared the slumbering beast. Sight of decaying bones reassuring the knight that he was indeed close to its lair. He paused for a moment to reflect on his surroundings. Wary in his realization that he had only traveled a few dozen steps beneath the city, the warrior came to understand that the creature could not have come here of its own instinct. It was simply too close to the surface. And judging by the bite marks on the snapped bones, it was more than a mere ghoul. Just as he knelt by a gnarled pile of bones did a bark sound in the distance. At first only a single one, before what seemed like more than a dozen rang through the echoing hallways. With little time to waste he pushed on. To find himself in the sewage systems central chamber. He observed the tunnels and drainage pipes that led to this room, and could not make out the direction of the sound. Nor could he make sense of the creature that lurked it. It was the snapping of a bone beneath his feet that gave the knight an insight into the abomination that lingered in the waterways. For they were broken and torn open yes, but what truly unnerved the champion was the marrow that should have lay inside of them. Instead there was none, the bones hollow and drained out while dried out worms littered their insides. It can’t be, not this close to the city the champion thought to himself. And in that moment paid no more heed to the barking or the growling.It should be abundantly clear to any man learned of Hrozit’s perversions that it was indeed an Obfuscator that stalked the underground. The only thing that could be done was lure it out. Cunning are obfuscators, ancient creatures as old as the world itself. A fiend that would not strike until it was assured that the advantage was it’s. A scholar or a priest would have been ideal bait. In the case of this particular obfuscator, a Lion’s chosen would have to suffice. So he made the necessary preparations. Careful fingers removed the magical ward from his left gauntlet, the trinket was of no use against primordial evil. The Obfuscator would sense it’s magic and not attack. He instead slumped over to the wall, closed his eyes and lay in the filthy puddles. Calming his breathing as against all human instinct the champion seemed to relax. For some time it circled him, prodding and testing with bone chilling sounds. Convinced that it’s prey had slipped into slumber, the fiend began it’s attack. At first came the mental assault. Visions crept their way into the man’s mind.  He was a child, timid and weak, wandering a city set ablaze by war. Shadowy figures chased the child through streets that seemed to narrow and elongate. With every step he took the end of the road seemed more distant, and the shadowy figures ever closer. Mere moments before they could grab him, the knight felt a familiar grip take his hand, and looked up at a memory so distant that for all he remembered it may have been entirely fabricated. Still the champion knew the warm features that looked upon him, and while the face was that of a stranger, the eyes were those of his mother. And in her arms he was safe. “Arkas” she whispered quietly lowering her forehead into his. Her bright cyan eyes wet with relief and joy as the mother moved to plant a kiss on his forehead.  “You know… My mother's eyes… were green” the knight grinned, opening his eyes to see a twisting mess of toothed tentacles that neared their hooks to his face. With a swift flourish, Arkas drew his longsword. Severing the tentacles from the monster's mouth as it wailed in stunned agony. “By the first law” he commanded as light seemed to coil around the fuller of his blade “I command you!” the champion shouted as divine flames erupted along the length of the blade. “Leave this place!”   The creature recoiled. Twice the height of a man it hunched and bent as it tried to flee from judgement. Layers upon layers of its long elastic skin dangling from the monster. Using the slimy black muckus that oozed from every pore the Obfuscator tried to slip from the Knights grasp. Instead it met the edge of his blade. A swift cross cut separated its disproportionately long arm from the torso. Moving with the motion of his blade he brought it back for another rapid strike. This time finding flesh where the neck met the shoulder. Wasting no time, Arkas half sworded his blade. Pinned the creature to the wall, and with a twist of his hips removed the head from its body. A body that seemed to fade away, devouring itself in the acidic blood that gushed out of its neck. Quick-witted he unbuttoned his cloak, wrapping the head in the Azure linen he made for the surface. He made his way through the market district that lay in the southern section of the city. Shouting merchants and barking dogs mixed with the hammering of blacksmiths. Heavy scent of coal accentuated by the smell of freshly baked bread and fruit from all corners of the empire. Further north the knight neared the gate into the temple district, where a tall man of ebony skin stood watch. By his heavy round shield he recognized him to be of Aryeh's pride. By his thick and heavy accent he recognized him as his friend, and long time compatriot. “You mind helping me with this…” said Arkas lugging the heavy trophy slung over his shoulder. “What in heaven's name is that?” replied the dark skinned man, focusing his gaze on the stained sack of cloth that Arkas had fashioned from his cloak “And why do you smell like…” “Shit?” Arkas beamed. “Eren will have your hide for this Arkas, you were supposed to induct the young furies” The knight seemed to pause for a moment, waiting until the marching feet of the city watch had grown a tad more distant, so to avoid being heard. “Trust me Ihran, we have far greater things to worry about” he leaned in to whisper “ I just slew and obfuscator… no fewer than six levels down below the city.” “Come then” said his brother with a grim brow “He needs to hear of this” 

[the-lions-path]

Read In Chronological order

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[the-lions-path]

Chapter I

Uncounted centuries had passed since the tribes of the first men huddled beneath the warmth of Koths wings. Far and wide their Imperium now stretched. From the grim peaks of the Onyx Tower, to the sun kissed lands of Aryeh. It was there, where the river Renfrew cleared the base of the Lions Fangs Mountains, that the mightiest of men would make their home. Upon that narrow stretch of land where Aryeh's maw girdled and safeguarded the realm of men. A natural barrier had sprung and, behind it the rest of the kingdoms stretched. At its center lay the Imperial Plateau from where, in all four directions of the compass the God’s devout carved out their kingdoms. To the south east of the capital, in a land of eternal cherry blossoms, the disciples of Drear had made their home. A gentle people of unrivaled beauty, where all who heard the call of art and song would find their kinship. To the East of the plateau the proud faced children of Len, tended to the lush forests, renown for their silky hair and humble yet impeccable craftsmanship. West of the great Plateau, the verdant meadows of Ved called to the strong and ill tempered. A land of tall hairy men had gathered in it’s clearings,  to commune with the earth and birth the first of the Imperiums druidic orders.To the North, the primordial cradle of mankind bore witness to the Devout of Ahon, men and women who drank in the flame of Koth. Since the dawn of the Empire an Onyxborn with their fabled dragon riders commanded the Imperial Military. Ba’s disciples claimed no lands, for they were merchants and travelers, wayfarers and explorers that, sailing the waters of life had charted the unknown lands. South, upon a narrow stretch of Land, orders of Lurena vigilantly watched the northern slopes of the Lions fangs mountains. Fiercely loyal, the rangers and hunters of the land stood ready. And in each of their cities built a Temple to their gods, and each of the gods called fourth a conduit, to channel its divinity on to the world, and serve as the keepers of their boon to Aredras.   Yet after all was said and done, and the lands of the gods had been carved up and divided, and the Eternal Emperor sat atop his throne, corruption still lingered. Dark were the withered oaks of Carne Tiellie, for unlike Men, the Elven people rejected the glory of the gods, and sought for themselves the mysterious fabric of the cosmos.  Reaching for the stars they prodded forbidden knowledge. Their minds sailing the void between the stars found not the blissful radiance of the universe, but fell instead to the hushed whispers lurking deep within the abyss. Wondrous, their kingdoms fell into disrepair, what once were bastions of knowledge and discovery, now became temples of perversion, the very land sick and the sky sunless and devoid of stars loomed over the cursed peoples. They would envy the joy that was the Gods, and they would bow to the perverted darkness of Sanguine, ever hungry for what they did not have the foresight to claim.   To safeguard form the threat the great Citadel was built. Zyl-Slann, the indomitable city. Its north reinforced by the impassable mountains, while walls of impenetrable corundum encircled the four quarters of the city. At it’s center lay the boon of Aryeh, a smooth sphere no larger than a florist’s basket laid out in a humble archway. The blazing beam of warmth that shot out into the sky is said to be the very source of Aredras’s sunlight. Pilgrims from near and far would voyage to bask in its glow. To hear the voice of a God, reduced the most stalwart of heroes to tears, and turned the most heinous of villains back to the paths of righteousness. From time to time, a child would look upon the sphere, and where others heard the Lions scornful wrath, these children heard instead a call to glory… These children would form the Knights of the Golden Mane. Scholars of the imperial city believe that the Knights hold in their records the perfect law. For in the lands of Aryeh there are no serfs and rulers. There a man is Judged by the virtue of his heart, and the nobility of his deeds, not always the outcome of his actions.   The day was one of gladness for the Just people of Zyl-Slann, for today the newest generation of young lions would enter the ranks of the Kingdoms protectors. Crowds of excited people gathered in the temple district to observe the proceedings. Rose petals covered the ancient cobblestone pathways as one by one two hundred younglings, none more than sixteen summers old assembled in the wide courtyard of the temple. Their hands un calloused, eyes alight with hopeful gleam, they waited in silence as the high priestess chanted and blessed the new forged warriors. In regal, sky blue coats they knelt to the ground when before them stood the mightiest of Aryeh's pack. The Morning’s roar silently stood before his charges. His shoulders strong and wide wore the heavy golden armor, of graying beard and grim brow, he looked upon them, with eyes tired, and eyes old, that still burned with warmth and purpose. In a tired and raspy voice, he addressed the gathered folk.

“Noble people of Zyl-Slann! We gather on an occasion most dear. Beneath his gaze, and in witness of your unfaltering devotion, We commit ourselves once again, to the service of Justice and the heavy weight of our charge. But fret not good people, for it is a charge we take up with love. Of our home and all our kind, and the future that these young Lions will usher. Grim grow the days in their passing, and the terrors once only beholden in the hush whispering of doomsayers now intrude upon our glorious land. But it is as the wov we laid at the dawning, that we again wov on this day.”

 He bowed his head, and the gathered younglings followed, echoing the oath in unison. “I am a Lion of Aryeh! The watchful Gaze, beneath which all malice shall burn! I am his mane , and all that know beauty bare witness to its splendor! I am his hide, and to all that know justice I offer its protection! I am his rake, and let all that know villainy be torn by it’s strikes! I am his maw, and all that is hopelessness I will devour! And I am his roar, and my voice is command, for only truth I shall utter, And mine will be the voice of daybreak!” Thus rejoiced the children of Aryeh, when the warmth of the priestess chants flowed through the assembled crowd so too did the Eye of Aryeh burst with Joy, and a gentle wave of light passed through his chosen, and all who felt its calming splendor, in that moment, knew naught but blissful calm. One by one they called the cubs by name. To each a virtue of Aryeh was ascribed. By virtue of His perseverance, a group of squires took their oath, to brandish mighty shields, to stand at the bulwark of his Kingdom. By virtue of His Pride , a group of squires took their oath, to shoulder the burdens of leadership, to guard and maintain the holy places of the great Lion By virtue of his obedience, a group of squires took their oath, to heal and watch over the land, the sick and the fleeting. But none stepped forth, when by the virtue of his fury, did Aryeh call upon his vindicators… The Mornings roar looked around in frustration “By the heavens…” he mumbled to himself “where are you Arkas”....

[the-lions-path]

Prologue

At first the sparrow sang. Drear, she who is the sky, who is beauty and joy and song. She wept to witness the crushing darkness wrought forth by the Nothing. She wept to gaze upon a starless sky as she sat, alone atop a withering branch, forgotten and lost at the end of all creation. And as the last of her teardrops touched the cold, black doom of the world they crystallized into a timid sphere that glistened defiantly. So the sparrow watched it, and despaired, as ever reaching night crept upon the morrowles sphere. Deep within its faint glimmer Drear remembered... That one thing that now seemed distant and forgotten. But she remembered and sang anew. For hers was a song of hope, one of beauty and of joy. What happened then even the great sparrow could not have foreseen. Somewhere far beyond where sight lingered she heard her. The howling of a night wolf. And so she chirped merrily, for she knew it to be Lurena. She, who is the wolf mother, who is ferocity and the moon, and is family.  It was a howl, the likes of which were never heard upon creation, or ever would be. So the Wolf goddess clashed with the darkness! Her fangs tore into its writhing tendrils. And where Lurena punctured it’s dreaded flesh, the Sparrow saw a distant gleam of starlight. She watched with fleeting heart as it coiled and wrapped itself around the Wolf. Crushing her under it’s terrible malice. Still she sang, she sang of daybreak and distant memories of joy. And who would hear her song but him. Who would answer that grim injustice of the cosmos but him. Aryeh, the Lion, he who is strength, and is justice, and is valor. Who is the Sun that banishes a winter day, and the fire that purges the wicked. He rose above the sphere, with neither a howl nor  song. But a roar, of such righteous fury that the darkness itself seemed to give pause. And for the first time Drear could see the blackness recede. But it was a mere  moment, before the great lion too found himself gripped by its uncaring hunger. He clawed and bit at the darkness, mighty strikes cleaving it’s flesh apart! Wherever his paw moved it painted a trail of gold upon the gloom. But it was no use… And before it would swallow him, he made the first sacrifice. For he would relinquish his form, and the divinity that burned within him, birth the sun with a boom so catastrophic, all the gods heard it in their slumber. Sorrowing under the rays of the last sun, Drear waited for the devouring black. But found that under his radiance, it could not touch her. And looked below where, under the sphere she saw too, the sacrifice of Lurena. If the Lion was to be the Sun, then the Wolf, would be the Moon. A boon and a memory, she would be the mirror , a reminder that even in the blackest of nights the gods' radiance shone brightly. Ablaze by divine light, the darkness stretched and reached for the sparrow yet again. Twisting in horrific violent trashes as the Lions Light, and the Wolven reflection seared its corrupting flesh. Then sounded thuds, slow and heavy they grew closer. Roused from his slumber the Great Bear Ved, took to the field. Drear watched the gentle emerald hue of his eyes, how they twitched in pain while his thick fur shielded her from the lashing tentacles.  And when Ved’s fur touched the crystal tear his flesh merged, forming the soil of the world. From his fur grew the meadows and the fields as his corporeal form embraced the last glimmer of hope in a cold and dying universe. But how vile and mighty was the black, that it lodged itself deep into the flesh of Ved, to seep hatred unto the newborn world… He then stepped, upon the freshly sown grass. For nobility itself gave form to the proud Len. The great deer charged, His antlers reaching wide across the horizon of the world they smashed with the sickly tendrils that had now gripped it. And as it struggled, dislodging the sickness from the earth his antlers snapped. Forests sprouting where they fell upon the ground. Tall pines of evergreen, the first of the ancient trees, so that under them, all that is timid, and all that is frail may grow. Alone and afraid yet again Drear marveled at the gods creation. Yet Drear despaired at the beauty, for the Blackness that is to be Sanguine, had seeped into the world, and the perfection of the gods creation had forever been tarnished. At first they fell quiet and gentle, one after another the drops of water filled the world , but quick and furious they suddenly grew. She knew it to be Ba, and thus Ba became the oceans and the seas, deep within her very being, at the bottom of the new-bound oceans she would cage it, her spirit would wash the corruption from the earth, to be the cleansing rivers and the life baring springs. For the first time in memory Sanguine stood motionless. Had it not permeated all of creation Drear might even have seen it tremble. Was it through the sacrifices of gods, or her hopeful and joyos song is unknown. But what the universe had witnessed then , had not been testified of, since the very dawning of the cosmos. At long last he took to the field of battle. He who is the first,who is the ageless wisdom of the stars. He who is Ahon, the High Dragon,and father to the gods. Who is the magma burning deep within all who are true and just. The fiery engine of life he flew over the fleeting world. Wings so mighty that the Sun and Moon lay blocked by their tremendous size.  Where his breath touched the mountains of the world, the lifeless rock birth noble dragons. Joined in flight they battled with Sanguine, for so long did the battle wage, that the first of the critters had begun to walk upon the aging soil. But they could not grow, too stricken by fear at the sight of the horrible battle. One last time she chirped, for the things that are small. For the ones that are weak, whose hearts had not yet been tempered by the passing of the ages. She flew, her song calling upon them to witness her beauty rather than gaze at the terrible battle that waged above them. And so one by one they crawled out. The crickets and the squirrels, the bobcats and the wolves. The hares and the bears, as all of life greeted the splendor of the goddess. It is said to have been the song of greatest beauty, never again heard on all of Aredras. Rapidly her wings flapped faster and faster, until at long last she came to be the sky. That the creatures of Aredras may never again despair at the darkness that loomed over them. At long last it was complete, and Sanguine would forever be envious of it’s perfect beauty. But something was still amiss. For what purpose does beauty hold, if none are alive to bare witness to it. So Ahon breathed his breath unto the world. And far north where his breath mixed with the icy snow that lined the roof of the world, the first of men took shape. And down south, where the rivers flowed and twined his breath,it birthed the Elves.  Before he too would relinquish his form, and implant his boon upon their creation, the High Dragon, plucked a single scale from his mighty chest and hurled it to the earth. It was to be the Koth, the Great Dragon of the North. Upon the tall peaks of his landing, the Dragon coiled his wings around the timid tribes of men. Shelter and warmth for the gathered men. Upon that place Man would build the Onyx Tower, and by the warmth of his breath spread across all of Aredras.