A Crown of Horns


PROLOGUE
In the beginning, there was fire and war and blood.

The armies came from nowhere. They slaughtered all in their path, coming in ships forged of steel and death.

All resistance was easily crushed under the immense might of this unknown enemy.

As word spread across the lands of this unstoppable force, rumours, legends spread of a monster.

Those fortunate enough to escape the carnage spoke terrified whispers of what they saw.

This monster they knew and feared was described vividly:

A hulking demon, wearing a bull skull atop his huge body.

The pure terror of those who looked into those voids in place of eyes was alone enough to strike pure and utter despair into the heart of any.

But, to the dismay of this “Horned King”, his dominion and conquering would not last.

In the final days, the Horned King amassed his forces of unimaginable might outside the great city of Darondil, the last stronghold of elves and men.

The Week’s war would prove to be the end, as Runaan, son of the great elven king Iltor Aratark, cast down the Horned King on the battlefield.

The Horned King’s blade shattered, and Runaan cast the shards of his shattered blade into the abyss, vanquishing his terrible essence into the Realm of the Forgotten, a world further than we could know.

But this would all be in vain for what was to come.

Even now, trouble brews. The reach of the evil in the north is far. The smell of corruption is in the air. The moments are at hand when the races of men, elves, and dwarves must decide their world’s fate once again.
END PROLOGUE
















“I have not felt this way in over one hundred years.”

The whispers of the old king Runaan Aratark filled the empty throne room, heard by no one save his only living descendant, his grandson Adulsar Aratark, who knelt before him. The gloom of past-supper dusk darkened the hall.

“Grandfather, why have you called me here? This is not a suitable place for a private matter.” Adulsar spoke with such confidence that was unwarranted, given that the circumstances and the reason of his calling were unbeknownst to him.

“Please, Adulsar. Indulge me.”

The king rose from his throne with a wobble, and stabilised himself on his ivory cane as he slowly walked towards a balcony which looked over the great city of Darondil, the shared city of elves and men; Adulsar followed his grandfather close behind.

“Adulsar. I am old, but I remember the days of my youth as if they were yesterday. Many wonderful things – the beautiful and faraway lands of Dagren and Cormanthin, my father, my son – but also many things I wish I could forget.”

Having reached the balcony, the king Runaan sat down wearily upon a bench.

“I am glad that you were not there to have experienced the carnage. The Great War encompassed the worst years perhaps ever seen, though I do not know. The day we found that the Horned King was outside the city-“

He paused in almost grief, remembering that time, thinking on what to say next as he gazed out upon his expanse, and beyond that, the green fields of the isthmus upon which his city sat.

“Someday soon, this will all be yours, Adulsar. I could not bear to see you, and this land, go through what it once did. I fear that the world would fall apart without the guiding hand of my father and your great-grandfather, Iltor Aratark. Without him, I know that even the greatest and strongest of lords would have fallen."

Adulsar turned to look at Runaan.

"Grandfather, what do you mean to say? Your mind seems to wander without direction. If I may inquire, what is your purpose for calling me here today?"

Adulsar asked this question not without frustration at the meandering nature of what his grandfather spoke of. This was not the first time this had happened. Runaan was very old, one hundred and sixty-eight years old to be precise. He was not from a long line of nobility: Iltor Aratark, his father, was the first Aratark to be decided as king, after the death of Avon-parath Ilyr-Tause-Alir. When Iltor was killed in the Week’s War at the age of one hundred and twelve, only fifty-six years into his rule, Runaan was to succeed him at the age of thirty-two. He did marry, and had but one child, a boy of the name Lenaous Aratark. Lenaous became king for a short amount of time: when Runaan was around the age of seventy-nine, he surrendered the throne to his only son, who in turn had another child, Adulsar Aratark. But too soon after, Lenaous was killed in a skirmish in a nearby town when raiders attacked. Runaan was forced to retake the throne and make a decision of what to do with the then-infant Adulsar. Adulsar was raised by the stewards of the city as nobility and with knowledge of his heritage, but after the death of his son, Runaan had not remained the same. Some say that his mind died when his son died. He was, by the point Adulsar spoke to him, notorious for taking a very long time to get to his point, even in meetings with other highly important nobility.

After a long pause, Runaan finally spoke once more.

"Adulsar, this is not a matter I wanted to speak to you of. You must understand the difficulty of my position."

"Then explain it, and be done with it!"

Adulsars response echoed through the hall. He immediately hung his head in shame and knelt.

"I am sorry, grandfather, I did not mean to shout–"

But mid sentence, he was cut off by Runaan.

"I will get to my point," Runaan said as he sighed deeply.

"I can feel in my bones that the evil I once fought, in years long past, has returned. I know not how, or where, but I feel it, Adulsar. I feel its presence, like some otherworldly being has tied me to this demon. And beyond that: my people have seen smoke in the forests and fields, smoke in places where people do not dwell. They have seen the abandoned camps with His mark upon them. They have seen orcs. We must journey to the dwarven city of Fornbost to gather and let the kingdoms of dwarves, elves, and men know of this terrible truth."

Adulsar merely stared at Runaan.

"Grandfather, that is not possible! He was killed one hundred years ago; I have read the accounts and heard the stories!"

Runaan stopped him before he could embarrass himself further with this unnecessary shouting.

"Do not lecture me on what happened that day! I was there one hundred years ago! I killed him!" Runaan's voice was far more powerful than that of Adulsar's and it stopped him in his tracks, before getting quieter once again. He continued:

"Or so I thought. I have let the stewards know that they must take temporary rule over the city. This is because I have assembled a party who may protect me as I journey to Fornbost and confer with the other kingdoms. As for you, I require you to go to Krevarsk and let Garor, the king of the northern men know of this meeting, and bring him with you when you leave Krevarsk for Fornbost. As for the king of the elves, Turan-il-Erde, I have already given him the knowledge of this meeting, and he is on his way. Your mission is absolutely imperative. Tomorrow, we are to leave as the Aloth reaches over the horizon. You are dismissed."

Adulsar, being rather shocked at these revelations, left the king to his own devices and headed to his quarters. Runaan, on the other hand, got up from the balcony and made his way to the front of the chamber, where he whispered into the ear of a guard, and the two proceeded down the steps to the city towards one of his many private rooms.

As Adulsar reached his quarters, he laid upon his bed, and looked at the ceiling, thinking in the dark before he fell asleep.

The next morning, Adulsar was awoken at dawn, just as Runaan had said. He got up from his bed and was promptly escorted through the city to a gate which led to the lands between his home and his destination. However, as he reached the horses, Adulsar not only found Runaan, but was surprised to see a different familiar face: that of his good friend, Beréowel.

Beréowel had been the friend of Adulsar since early childhood, for Adulsar was raised by the stewards, and Beréowel was next in line for the position of grand steward. Because of this, they considered each other brothers, although they did not truly have relation.

Beréowel instantly grinned at him, noting his surprised look.

“Ah, if it isn’t my sworn enemy!” he happily said to Adulsar as he ran up to him.

“Beréowel– what are you– I… did not know you would be accompanying us on our journey,” Adulsar responded with tired enthusiasm. Without missing a beat, Beréowel gave him a hearty slap on the back.

“Why, you didn’t expect me to just let you leave alone, did you, aye?” Beréowel told Adulsar, leaning in close to his ear. But Adulsar pushed him away, fatigued from the early awakening, leaving Beréowel standing with a tinge of hurt on his face, and seeing this, Adulsar said to him:

“Beréowel, I am tired, and I promise to you that I will find the energy to have our usual friendly banter later upon this journey. Please, forgive me at this early hour. And I do hope that you know the danger that lies ahead.”

Beréowel, after some deliberating, boarded his horse, but not before saying to Adulsar,

“Friend, I understand, and so let us ride! The road lies only ahead!”

And so Adulsar set himself upon his horse, and with that, the trio and their escort set themselves out upon the lands that lay outside the city, their goal being to cross the Mountains by going through the Silver Gate, the only passage through the Mountains, and with this goal in mind they crossed the western half of the peninsula that Darondil lay upon, only to head north straight into the Ilet swamp. But barely had they entered the swamp that the night was upon them, and they set up camp upon the driest spot of land they could find, for these were murky waters; who knew what lay beneath the thick layer of algae atop it. They had come prepared, with what must have been fifteen different tents just for sleeping. It was in this camp that they lit a small fire and cooked the first of their rations. Runaan ate within the privacy of his own tent, but the fire which remained outside sparked small talk, for a fire can do many things, but this talk mainly occurred between the elves of the escort; Adulsar remained oddly silent. Finally, Beréowel spoke.

“This is not the Adulsar I know. What is wrong? You are too quiet.”

Adulsar remained silent for another few seconds before speaking.

“Beréowel, this mission troubles me greatly. I did not experience the Great War with my own eyes and strength, but the fear I saw in my grandfather Runaan’s eyes when he spoke of this showed me just how bad this could become. To be frank with you, Beréowel, I am at a loss of what to do when we reach our destination of Fornbost.”

Beréowel confusedly thought for a moment, and asked:

“And so… what exactly is this mission that we are on? What is its purpose?”

Adulsar quickly turned to stare at Beréowel.

“You don’t know?”

Beréowel suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin. He replied with an extremely uneasy:

“No…”
That was all it took to set a weary, scared elf off, and Adulsar angrily began berating Beréowel.

“Do you have any idea what you have gotten yourself into? I knew I should’ve told you to stay behind. This journey – it is not just to see the Northern Men, no, this is a journey to rally the forces of all the kingdoms of this world, Beréowel, for the Horned King has returned! Runaan has told me he feels this, and that the people of these towns outside of Darondil have seen smoke in the forest! Orcs are here, Beréowel! Orcs! I could be killed. You could be killed! War is coming! And it is coming for us all!”

Adulsar sat down tiredly, fatigued from this sudden outburst. But Beréowel had yet more to say.

“Adulsar, respectfully, how are we to believe the words of an ageing king who has, in all likelihood, not even used a sword in the past seventy years? I am not inclined to believe in such superstition. As for the smoke that the people claim to have seen– are we to believe them any more? For they would be the first to run from an army."

Adulsar was too tired to argue any more.

"Believe what you would like, Beréowel, but when war comes to our land, and it will, you would best be prepared."

Leaving on that note, he watched as Adulsar grabbed some food and left the fire to head back to his tent, leaving Beréowel to remain alone, sitting by the fire to ponder his decision to join Adulsar on this journey.

Adulsar awoke earlier than the rest of their band to watch the Aloth rise above the horizon in the north. As he sat in the dark, waiting for it to rise, he let himself be consumed by his thoughts, entering a trance-like state. But too soon after, his state was broken: a disturbance rippled through the land, knocking him out of the trance. The escort, along with Beréowel, emerged from their tents, feeling this just as Adulsar had. Beréowel walked sleepily over to Adulsar in the pre-morning dark, and inquired:

"Adulsar, what in the lords' name was that?"

And so Adulsar replied,"I haven't the faintest idea. I was sitting here, waiting for the rise of the Aloth, when something broke my state of mind."

But before Beréowel could answer, a yell was heard from one of the guards.

"Look, sire! Over there! Fire!"

All instantly looked towards the guard and then where he pointed to. There, an orange glow could be seen, dancing through the trees of the forest that resided not too far away. Adulsar quickly turned to Beréowel.

"Go, wake Runaan. We must make haste, for this cannot be a normal fire. I know of nothing which makes such a strange effect."

Beréowel nodded, and walked off with moderate speed towards Runaan's tent. Adulsar began walking around the rest of the camp, opening tent flaps and waking anyone else who was not yet awake.

"You. Up now."

"It is time to go. Pack your tent."

"Wake up. We must leave."

Within minutes, the party was fully packed, and with the Aloth now risen, they rode atop their horses in the direction of the fire. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the Aloth was high up in the sky, just before midday, and all that could be seen was smoke still rising above the wood. With that, they entered the forest, making sure to keep note of the direction of the fire they had seen. Before long, they smelled that familiar stench of the embers of a fire died down, and finally reached a huge clearing. The party reined in their horses and surveyed their surroundings. The fire and smoke they had seen was all but gone: all that was left was a small pile of cinder at the centre. But around it was far more interesting; a camp, evidently abandoned hastily. Wooden poles were left staked into the dry dirt with large swaths of fabric across them. Tools and weapons were strewn across the ground. Seeing these weapons, Runaan and Adulsar dismounted from their horses to inspect them.

"These are not weapons of any like that I have ever seen," remarked Adulsar. "Quite a strange design. Although, it would seem that there are human weapons on the ground as well – perhaps a battle took place here?"

Runaan continued his scrutiny of the sword he had picked up, then shook his head and dropped the sword on the ground as Beréowel jumped off his horse to join them.

"Perhaps – But these weapons, these are an Orc's weapons. I had thought the Horned King back, but this all but confirms my deepest fears."

Beréowel, trying (and failing) to pretend he was trying to assuage Runaan's fears when in fact he was just trying to save his case that the Horned King wasn't necessarily back, said:

"Well, what if this is just… a wandering band of… Orcs? That exists, right? …Right?"

"Beréowel, this is not the time to make jokes. Orcs haven't been seen since the Great War." Runaan spoke without paying much attention to what Beréowel even said. He remained busy investigating anything and everything. "We must be wary. It is clear they left in haste, and may return at any given moment. We cannot be overly cautious."

"You overestimate orcs," Beréowel boldly said. "They are barbarous and stupid. We can defeat them easily."

Runaan stopped in his tracks and turned to face Beréowel, and suddenly was right up close, and so he spoke angrily to Beréowel, yet not raising his voice:

"You know nothing of the carnage I have witnessed. To think you, a young elf, would know anything of what orcs can truly do, is preposterous. Continuing to be rash will not only have me angry, but get you kicked off of this mission at the next village. Do you understand me thoroughly?"

It was here that Adulsar, having watched the whole of the exchange, interrupted.

"Beréowel, this is the second time that something such as this has happened. I beg of you to not let there be a third. In other talk, if we are to make it to our two destinations, we should begin moving once more. These orcs are long gone, and there isn't a point to chasing them to their home without even an army. We shall continue west, for we are surely nearing the Silver Gate."

Runaan backed away from Beréowel and faced Adulsar to agree.

"Adulsar is right. We must leave."

As Adulsar and Runaan walked back towards the group of horses, before he could follow, Beréowel noticed something lying in the ground.

It was a small golden symbol, about thirteen centimetres long. It was shaped as a J, but with the loop on the bottom of it mirrored, and a second line midway between the loops and the top line. Beréowel, looking around to make sure no one saw him, pocketed the symbol as Adulsar shouted for him to mount up on his horse.

And so they rode, further through the woods and finally they reached the base of the Mountains. They stayed by the side of them through the forest until finally dusk came and they set up camp once more. Just as they did last time, they put up their tents and gathered by the fire to eat. However, Beréowel was absent. Then suddenly, without warning, a flash lit up the night just outside the camp, and they saw fire rise up into the sky as a cacophony of shouts filled Adulsar's ears. He covered them, and then seeing Beréowel stumble quickly towards him, he uncupped his ears to shout:

"Beréowel! What in the Lords' names?"

Beréowel stopped, out of breath.

"I don't know what happened! There was this object, it was golden, I found it in the orc camp–"

"You found it WHERE!?" Adulsar roared.

"In the orc camp, I took it to a small fire I made outside the camp and was going to melt it for metal, but when I put it near the fire, it – well, you can see what happened," Beréowel said.

But as he spoke, the clamour of a panicking campsite slowed as they all stared up in terrified awe at what rose above them: a symbol of fire, the same symbol that Beréowel had found; a J with mirrored loops, and a second line between the top and bottom. Runaan finally left his private dining tent to see what happened outside in all of this, and looked in horror at the flames above him, and whispered in apprehension.

"This is His mark. This is the mark of the Horned King."

But then, realising the dire situation, Runaan began shouting:

"Get away! Now!"

The entire camp scattered, and but a split second after they hid, a fireball erupted from the symbol, and much of the escort was caught in it. Moments later, the charred and destroyed corpses of their soldiers began spewing blood and cinder from every hole upon their body, only to completely disintegrate, leaving only puddles of murky and darkened blood where they once lay. The fireball disappeared, and the camp was silent.

"What a ghastly way to die," whispered Beréowel. "Dishonoured and mutilated even in death."

Adulsar replied in a harsh whisper.

"We must. Go. Now."

They seated themselves upon horseback, and set out west hugging the Mountains and finally reached the Silver Gate, built by dwarves and the only passage through the Mountains. It was here that they split apart. But before they parted, Adulsar quickly made his goodbye to Runaan.

"Farewell, grandfather, and may the journey that awaits you be swift and fair," Adulsar said not without a hint of a smile, for he know he was using an old saying for when one leaves one's home forever, and Runaan responded:

"Interesting choice of words, Adulsar. In that case, I must bid you goodbye in this way: May the destination treat you well, though the road may be hard and rocky."

This was an old saying for someone going home, and they both let out a good chuckle at each other's remarks before going their separate ways with their respective escorts. Runaan went directly west, heading to Kingsport, and Adulsar went north, to the capital city of the northern men: Krevarsk, situated on the coast of the great lake Tre'ath, believed by many local religions around the lake to be the place where the gods were created.

Adulsar came upon the gate to the city at noon: the walls were immense, at least twenty-five metres high, and the gate at the bottom must've then been at least ten. The escort stopped outside the gate, and his squire trumpeted, and Adulsar shouted up to the top of the wall:

"It is I, Adulsar, grandson of the king of Darondil, Runaan. I do request entrance to your city of Krevarsk." And the top of the wall responded:

"This is the city of Krevarsk. You have come to the place you desire. State your intentions, goods, and with whom you travel with."

"I have an urgent matter which must be spoken directly to your king, Garor Derschav. We carry only food, and weapons to defend ourselves if need be, however we are willing to surrender these weapons for the duration of our stay, in the way of goodwill towards your people. I have eleven members of my party; five men, and six elves, including myself."

One more response came down from the top of the wall.

"I do request a minute of your time that I may speak to another one atop this wall."

And with that, the tiny silhouette that Adulsar could see from the top of the wall disappeared, and they were left waiting. A few minutes passed, and just as the party was beginning to become impatient, the shadow atop the wall reappeared, stating:

"Permission granted to enter the city. You will be escorted to the king by members of our own choosing."

And with that, the gate began its ascent up into the wall. It was made of metal, and it creaked and squeaked as it was pulled up by massive ropes inside the wall which became visible as it was pulled higher and higher. In a show of respect, Adulsar signalled to his party to wait for the gate to be fully pulled up. Finally, it reached its apex, and sixteen guards assembled themselves in two parallel lines inside the keep, in front of a second gate. When Adulsar's party had finished entering, the gate behind them began to close, and the gate in front began to open, revealing the city within. The guards first confiscated all of the party's weapons, carrying them into a locked corridor, then returned and seated themselves upon their horses to form a circle around the party. They then gave Adulsar's horses a little shove, and entered the city.

As they rode up the street, it became clear that this city had seen better days. The streets were cluttered and filled with the homeless. Peddlers were set up in as many spaces as possible, selling wares of questionable value. The houses were slanted and rough, and all the citizens wore but tattered rags, and as they rode by, the people stared up at them with awe, but also fear, and curiosity.

"So this is Krevarsk," remarked Beréowel. "The crown jewel of the Northern Men. It sure doesn't look it."

Adulsar quickly shushed him.

"Beréowel! That is no way to speak about a city you need the help of. These are trying times. If someone is not our friend, then they are our foe. We cannot afford to lose anyone."

"Say what you like, Adulsar, but I'm not sure if we really want the help of someone who rules like this."

Continuing up the street, the road slanted upwards, as if the city were on a hill. The houses became steadily more well-kept. Rough stone turned to granite blocks, and wooden roofs turned to slate. Finally, a gate was reached, wrought of metal evidently from the finest forges of the city. It was set into the stone of a fortress, and it reached far up into the sky, likely a similar height to that of the walls. But before they were to enter, the guards, saying nothing, pulled the party off of their horses without any sort of heed for their safety, then taking their horses into what could be assumed to be the stables of the king, for the horses were kept under lock and key in only the cleanest conditions. The party was then once again shepherded towards the interior gate, and it was unlocked by one of the many guards. They proceeded into the castle, and the guards lined up against the sides of the hall now revealed inside the gate, facing inwards. One of the guards, now revealed to be the commander of the company, went to the centre, and saluted to Adulsar, and said:

"You now enter the keep of the High King Garor Derschav of the Northern Men. You are free to do as you please, but do know that any and all aggression will be dealt with accordingly. You are in our city, and will abide by our rules."

And with that, the guards marched back out into the city, leaving Adulsar alone with his escort in the hall of the king. Adulsar told Beréowel and the escort to stay behind.

"Please remain here. I will try my best to get King Derschav on our side. He is not known for being the most… cooperative."

"Noted," said Beréowel, and turned to talk with the rest of the escort as Adulsar marched forward down the great hall towards the throne of King Garor Derschav.

The hall was composed of mainly marble: a marble floor, with many different colored tiles; marble columns which reached all the way up to a marble ceiling with extremely intricate carvings on it of the great battles that the great mythical hero Galdar had led to victory. On the columns were banners, banners of the many, many peoples that the Derschavs had conquered over many years. They now hung here, as trophies of a violent past. In between the columns were stained glass windows with more panes of Galdar and his triumphs. Finally, Adulsar reached the throne and knelt before the king in silence.

"Who kneels before me?"

The king was not like the beggars in the streets: he was lavishly dressed in cloaks of silk, and only 36 years old. His face had but a small beard, and his crown was not of silver, but of black obsidian with the eye of a dragon atop it. Behind him hung three swords: a silver estoc, with words etched into it: Grisinel; a scimitar of an unknown metal, for it shined like gold, but gold would have been far too soft, and words were also etched into this one, but in an unknown tongue; and a massive zweihander of damascus steel, with a name forged into it, and it was Aonithfel. As the king Garor spoke, his words echoed across the walls that the swords hung on, and Adulsar responded.

"I am Adulsar Aratark, grandson of Runaan Aratark of Darondil. I have come seeking an audience for a grave matter. I do request that you may lend your ear."

"I accept your request," said Garor. "Speak your mind, Adulsar Aratark, grandson of Runaan Aratark."

"I have journeyed from Darondil seeking your city," Adulsar began. "Our company left Darondil but a few days ago. On that day, my grandfather told me something which stirred fear into my heart, for he believed that the Horned King was back, and so we began our journey here. But beware of skepticism, for on that journey we saw many a thing; a strange fire burning in the trees, an abandoned camp filled with Orcish weaponry, and, most importantly, the mark of the Horned King. The mark was made of fire, and burned our camp and our men. I will not recount how it came before us, for that is irrelevant, but I speak true. There is no doubt in my mind that he has returned."

And so Garor responded:

"I am… distressed to say the least. This news is troubling. However, I was not alive during the time of the war, so I cannot make a judgement call on this."

"That is why I come to you today," Adulsar said. "Runaan, king of Darondil, has sent me today to summon you to a meeting of great importance in the dwarven city of Fornbost. It is there than Runaan, Turan-il-Erde, King of Elves, Esgarian, King of Dwarves, I, and with any luck, you. We are to form a council to decide on that ourselves. Please, good king, I beg of you. Join us."

Garor rose from his throne. "I will join you. When the Horned King comes to our lands, we would be best to have each other's backs. I will summon my men and we will make the journey to Fornbost. Together."
 

ender

VT

17 years old

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