Find An'Sur. Emberblade.
The words were scrawled untidily on the paper. Virion sat on a hill overlooking Findine Bay. The Bay extended into the Merthal Ocean, the surface of the water glistening in the morning light. Virion stared at the note his mother had left him once more.
Three words. She had written these three words for him at her deathbed, yet he did not have the faintest idea about their meaning. He folded the paper. He would keep it safe regardless. The ocean wind started to pick up, rustling the leaves in the trees dotted around the path behind Virion that led into the stronghold. He stared out at the calm waters and couldn't stop the stream of tears. The wind was calm and cool, in sharp contrast to the turmoil of his mind.
His vision blurred over as a tight knot formed in his chest. With his mother's condition, he had known that her death was impending, but he did not expect it so soon. Virion wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took a deep breath, choking up slightly. He was now the last remaining hope for the perabels. He could not stay grief-stricken. He took one last look at the ocean stretching out before him then rose, turning to head towards the stronghold.
The warlock invasion had lasted two months. They made their way through the elf population, wiping out every last town, city, and village. Virion was the only elf survivor after his mother's death. The last elf. But the warlocks did not stop there.
After occupying elf territory, they quickly advanced into perabel territory. The perabels went down fast being a mostly peaceful race. They prioritized knowledge and learning over combat ability. The perabel army was, as a result, very lackluster with very few who were willing and able to take up arms against the mighty warlocks. Within two weeks, the perabels were brought to their knees. The entire population was boarded up in the stronghold at the coast and Virion had joined the last string of stragglers along with his mother just before the gates shut.
Virion entered the stronghold proper. The city was built along the coast and was surrounded by high walls towards the land. Furthermore, the perabels had devised a protective barrier that could keep the warlocks out. The city itself was large and had neatly arranged rows of buildings.
The elevation was largely uneven, but the central area of the city was slightly raised, though not quite as much as the hospital which was separated from the rest of the city overlooking the great Merthal Ocean from the top of a tall cliff. The city was separated into three sections which were used for living, trade, and livelihood respectively. However, due to the invasion, the entire city was being used as living space and was covered in makeshift wooden huts. The only functioning buildings not used as living space were the senate hall and the library.
Virion strode through the streets of the stronghold. Perabels young and old went about their business; none spoke. The impending attack of the warlocks loomed like a shadow over them all. Virion could feel their pain. It was highly likely that many of them had faced similar hardships as he had. He felt duty-bound to prevent the horrors from continuing.
Virion tightened his resolve, pushing his grief to the back of his mind as he arrived before the senate hall. It was the largest building in the city and was situated at the very center. It had tall brass doors flanked by large marble supports. The building was circular with the same marble supports repeating around the sides in regular intervals. In between was stained glass with various images showcasing perabel achievements.
It was a feat of architecture, especially considering the fact that perabels refused to make use of magic. Unlike the elves and warlocks, who relied heavily on natural magic, the perabels attempted to understand the workings of the world. In their terms, they were trying to understand the interactions between the fundamental forces of the world - including magic. A philosophy known simply as science.
Virion took a deep breath as he prepared his mind for the morning senate meeting. He had recently been allowed to sit in attendance at these meetings but was hard-pressed to get his opinion heard by the stubborn members of senate. Yet, he needed to try. The stronghold could fall at any moment. He raised his hand to knock on the large brass doors of the senate hall when he suddenly heard a voice.
'Salor...'
He spun around quickly, his hand on his sword. What he saw before him was not the central square of the stronghold he should have been standing in. Instead, he saw several elves collapsed on the ground. Dead. It was a battlefield. There were fires burning in patches throughout the ground.
Several metal weapons were strewn across the bloodstained dirt which had taken in a deep red tinge. There was a cloud of dust suspended in the air coating everything which was also tinged slightly red. The corpses on the ground were of elves, many of which were burned and charred in several places and many of which were still burning. The smell should have been terrible, but Virion could smell nothing.
He looked away from the corpses in disgust as he relived the memories of the attack on his city. Suddenly his vision started to blur. Everything around him faded into colors that swirled and mixed like ink forming new shapes around him. He collapsed onto the floor of a room. It was a throne room.
There were several solid gold pillars supporting the tall ceiling. A red carpet ran along the length of the room and up a flight of steps until it stopped at a throne. Behind the throne were tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a storm visible through the windows, casting a bleak atmosphere onto the entire throne room. Standing in front of the windows was a hooded figure. It turned to look at Virion.
'Not strong enough', it said in a raspy voice. Virion stared in confusion.
'I need you to be stronger... Virion Salor.'
'Stronger? Who are you? Where am I?'
The hooded figure provided no answer. It looked Virion up and down then shook its head. Virion stared at the hooded figure, confused. He could not make out any of its facial features under the hood. He seemed to be staring into a black void where the face should have been. The large cloak covering the hooded figure stopped right before the ground, covering its feet.
Virion stared around him frantically, wondering where he was. The throne room started to shift out of focus as the edges of his vision started to blur and the colors slowly began to dissociate once more. Virion looked back at the hooded figure in panic, but it simply turned to face the window once again. Everything dissociated until the throne room completely disappeared from view and all Virion could see was blackness.
Virion was standing in front of the senate hall again with his sword drawn. The perabels around him stared in fear. He looked around in confusion for a few seconds as he processed where he was. Then he realized that he was back in the stronghold. He relaxed his posture and sheathed his sword. He felt slightly nauseous as he went to sit at a bench near the entrance to the senate hall.
The vision he had seen was due to a magic spell, he could sense that much. His magic channels pulsed weakly, letting him know that the vision was undoubtedly of magical origin. He placed his head in his hands as the nausea became overwhelming. The sight of elf corpses was less than welcome...
The timing of this vision was uncanny. Right after his mother, the extremely powerful magic user Zaleria Salor had passed away, he was stricken with a vision of magical origin. He thought back to the hooded figure in the vision. He had told him he needed to be stronger. Virion clenched his teeth.
'As if that wasn't obvious...', he muttered.
But when had this spell been placed on him? There were no magic users within the walls of the stronghold, and would his parents really leave him with such a cryptic message? He shook his head.
‘They wouldn’t. Besides, mother would’ve written something about this on the piece of paper.’
Virion's thoughts were suddenly cut off by the sound of the alarm. The bells rang out into the silent stronghold, signaling danger. He stood quickly and ran towards the gate, counting the number of rings and praying not to hear three. The bells rang twice and stopped. Virion picked up his pace. Two rings of the bells were a fairly regular occurrence but alarming all the same. It meant warlocks were giving chase to a straggler attempting to enter the stronghold…
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