Hah, well said, Rachel. I truly have something to offer this time, and while I remain uncertain about the spelling mistakes that I might have missed, it's a good Arcadian tale. And this time, I did put some effort in writing it.
Oi, Odette, The Fairy Queen, how're ya doin' !?
And good to see ya. I've missed ya.. a bit. ;)
Anyway, this is it. The work of many days.
After considering a few entitles, since I'm quite focused on some youtube stuff etc; I've come to a conclusion that: 'Eyes of the Bloodred Mist' will do.
'Eyes of the Bloodred Mist is an artifact, which consists of two eyes that once belonged to Mógrah, The Guardian of Death himself. This is a short story, describing what happened, when Mógrah removed his own eyes.'
When he had lost his eyes, a great mist approached from the south. He ventured there, breathing that mist inside him, filling his lungs with it, since he knew that the mist held unkown powers. He had never seen such wicked and evil mist. Then he called out for a dragon he had once captured, one who now served him loyally, and gave it a task.
That dragon was to take him to top of Mount Arran, greatest mountain that exists in Arcadian, so he could release it's destructive force once more by setting it's heart ablaze. He wanted it to erupt again, so he could breath all of that mist out of his lungs, to strengthen the magma with it's ghostly abilities. Then he would cast his eyes into the fire, trying to turn them into stony artifacts. And the dragon did his master's bidding, and soon, they took flight, and after two hours of flying, they finally arrived to Ishmazen, The Land of Snow and Frozen Tears. And then Mógrah ordered the dragon to unleash all of it's power and will, and turn it into a great breath of fire.
The dragon obeyed..
And soon, a horrifying ball of fire smashed against the stony walls of Arran, and so it happened, just as Mógrah had expected it to happen. The ground started to shake, and he heard clearly, as the lava started to rise in depths of Arran.
And as Arran was about to erupt and unleash it's molten fury, Mógrah laughed and remembered the old days, when it had erupted for the first time. The sky would split in half, the smoke would replace all of the clouds, and countless of deaths would follow by this disaster of nature, caused by none other than Mógrah himself.
And then the burning lava hit the sky, and sent it's tens of thousands of burning fireballs flying across the sky, smashing into lands, forests, oceans and even other mountains.
And there he stood, casting his eyes into the lava, as it kept falling down on him, and as he muttered his own words of power, suddenly, fire covered his once precious eyes, and then he casted a spell that did far more damage than the lava itself. The very ground started to tremble, almost splitting in half, and he watched, as the mist darkened the eyes and as the fire gave them it's own red and fearsome color. Then he took those eyes and casted them into a lake, far in the distance. And by touching those waters, his eyes cooled, turning into stone. Then he went there, and retrieved them from the bottom of that lake. Those stones now possessed a bloodred and misty color.
Stones that now possessed a power to unleash the wrath of any extinct volcano's in The World of Arcadian.
'Here's some poetry and story, telling about a man, who decided to obey Mógrah unknowingly. He lost his sanity and helped the dark one to fulfill one of his chaotic plans.'
'We all are adventurer's in some way. Some of us seek for long forgotten treasures and for relics of the past, while some of us seek for something that no books or songs tell about. Something that is both evil and powerful. Yes, it is known.. Some of us seek for power.. But what.. Do we do, once we get hold of the power we seek for? That.. Is not known.'
Eyes of the Bloodred Mist (Instruments of Fire and Chaos)
Evening fell, cold and harsh winds started to blow, freezing the air and the ground..
I knew very well that I would have to bow down before it's destructive force, just like a master's hound..
And then the spirit of the wind told me that I would have to find a pair of mystical eyes..
Eyes that can find and bind those that serve the night, eyes that are eternal and eyes that can free..
A painter who has a forbidden ability to paint and therefore change the color of the skies..
The shadows arrived, the moon smiled, but the existence of a path I sought, was denied..
Someone kept laughing in the darkness, as my heart kept fighting against the coldness..
I knew it to be a lost battle, oh the sadness..
After wandering planlessly from forest to another, I finally found an underground passage..
I felt that if I'd go down there, I'd be lost forever.. And I thought that should I have any last wishes, or use these walls to carve a secret message..
Nothingness ruled inside my sleeping mind..
Snow had already erased all of my footsteps that I had so carefully left behind..
Somehow.. I knew that the spirit was not the one, who it was supposed to be..
Then why.. Did I even accept this quest.. If I knew that I'd be lost for eternity.. Never to be free..
'He knew that he had to go there, and as he stepped inside the cave, darkness created an impenetrable wall, blocking the entrance. Now, there was no chance to turn back. He had to go on, and venture deeper into the depths. It was cold, but not even nearly as cold as it had been outside, but dark, yes, it was so dark. He could see nothing, but then.. As he kept stumbling in the darkness, his fingers reached out to something.. A stony switch.. And as he pulled it, suddenly, candless were lit all around him, just like that. And in front of him now stood a figure that he knew all too well. It could not be true..
It was Mógrah. Wearing his black and silky robes, such dark clothes.. Then he revealed his pale hands, holding one stone in each palm. He did not speak a single word, he just stood there, holding those red stones that glowed with eternal power.
'Why.. Do you hesitate.. I offer you.. My eyes.. eyes.. eyes..' - Said the whispers inside the man's head. He knew that those whispers belonged to him. He did not lose his sanity though. He knew.. He knew..
No words were spoken, but then Mógrah watched as the man's eyes started to gleam with certain light. He smiled, knowing that this poor and wretched mortal would carelessly take the eyes, while he should've just turned around and ran. None had blocked his path, none of his footsteps had been erased. It wasn't even dark in there.
The man had lost a battle, but not a battle against the coldness. He had lost his sanity.. Forever.
And then he took the stones off Mógrah's hands, and as the man touched them, Mógrah took a few steps back, pointed up with his fingers, and then a horrifying sight opened before the eyes of the man. With the light of those candless, he could see that they were standing in the center of an extinct volcano.
And as the stones in the man's cold and shaking hands started to glow with red ever so brightly, he looked Mógrah into the eyes, saying.. 'No.. No.. I.. Don't want these stones!'
But it was all too late, Mógrah spoke the words of power, and as he hit his right hand to the ground, he spoke for the first time, saying only one single word: 'Fool..'
Then the eyes of bloodred mist revealed it's true power, and by burning the man's hands and setting them on fire, he dropped the eyes to ground, and then the ground began to tremble, lava started to emerge from under it, and as it touched the man, his weak body didn't last long. The heat was overwhelming, but Mógrah just stood there, unharmed, enjoying of the man's fading cries of torment and anguish.
Death could never take his life..
He simply watched as the lava rose to unseen heights, soon to fulfill all of his tasks and needs. Then he just left, ascending back to safety, which should've belonged to the man he had just burned.
'Spirit of the wind..'
It was a second volcano to erupt within a year, and I had only two questions that remained without an answer..
Why he had chosen someone else to use the stones.. That is not known..
But he had used that poor soul to destroy a part of the world.. That is known..
'If he lights all of those volcanic torches, then this world shall be lost forever.'
Written by: Otto 'Oerath Windsoul' Timonen
PS. It may be a hard story to grasp, but it's purely Arcadian material. Also, this is a little foretaste. I'm definitely going to use this style in writing of my novella.