CHAPTER FOUR: In the Hands of Evil


     (Let’s not have our readers fly too far forward; at least, not without witnessing the fate of the besought Shenon for ourselves. However, we need not draft Ezmyr’s help; we can look onto the threads of the Realm’s timeline with relative ease, and we gander at what will become the past, again. But we begin to focus our view not on the sleepy village of Snowberry, swaddled neatly into sheets of snow at the foot of laconic mountain scenery, nor are we zooming in closer to a solitary cottage currently occupied by a lonely dwarf maiden tidying up the place . . . No – we begin a little farther up the main trail that leads to Redwing Peaks. Night has just nestled itself into a star laden sky, and a large moon dimly dresses the infant summits in silent beams. This moon is impassive if glanced at with little care, but keen intuition would suggest otherwise; there’s something eerie about its ominous presence. It’s like a giant eyeball that spotlights the stage below, awaiting the beginnings of some anticipated spectacle. The moon, and ourselves included, will not go wanting much longer, because the peaks are stirring from within, and a hive of buzzing bees is about to burst.

     Among the desolate, stone-littered terraces of the mountainside a noise like a rumbling clatter shakes the thorns of ice formed on overhangs. Amid the windy breezes, carried passed time sculpted cornices through the air, the sound of a resonating and to-the-point bang thunders out for no passerby to hear, only ourselves. Then one of the cliff walls collapses, or rather is extruded from place violently, and boulders shrink to misshapen shrapnel that flies in nearly every direction. Black smoke billows from where the burst occurred. Once the loudness settles to a rather dull roar, we hear raspy and tar-slaked throats coughing, then we see a multitude of figures begin to emerge from a newly formed hole, waving their hands in front of their faces as they trample the rocky debris underfoot without regard. . .)

     “They signal that they’ve made it through, me lord.” A scratchy voiced goblin, (much more hunchbacked and far too suspicious looking for your average goblin I might add), announced this to the only individual that didn’t appear physically monstrous or malformed, though whose heart was indeed both – that is, if he even had one.

The End

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