Iganon
An unedited and incomplete project, cast aside to the forgotten folders of the hard drive.
The Daily Friz
Prologue
There
is something not quite right in the air this morning. All the men freshly
waking to dew covered weapons placed about their tattered tents. This is the
morning of the last great battle, where all hope of victory is in the hands of
the gnomes and their monster. The
gnome’s great cargo anchored just off shore. Held in the largest ship ever commissioned
by his lordship, that thing awaits to be our savior from the very first trumpet
blast. There is something not quite right about all of this. I can feel it as
though the morning fog is offering us one last chance to forsake this battle
and our dealings with the creature.
“General,
the men are fed and armed.” Captain Nairb is an ok lad. His position forced
upon him too early by this war, but his youth masks his rather capable ability
to lead. “What word do you have of the elven troops, Nairb?” “None sir, but we
were told that they are with us in the trees around camp. No doubt they have
been up for hours already, waiting on us.” “Do I sense some admiration for those
forest beings Captain?” Nairb looked curiously through his hazel eyes at his
general, but then firmed with his resolve. “Aside from my own blade there is no
other than an elf’s arrow that I would want with me in battle, sir.” “My
apologies Nairb, I forgot about your family ties to the elves with your
half-brother Frizbeen. In any case I will alert the king of our troop’s
preparations.”
Making
his way through his resting men Nairb hears the chatter of his troops. Oddly
most seem cheerful with their expressions showing no hint of the coming battle.
The last drops of the morning stew has completed its rounds through the mouths
of once hungry men and the fog about them is lifting slowly as if to reveal
what would normally have been an exceptional day. “Captain any word yet?” “None
I am afraid, but all of you will have a chance to bloody your blades with enemy
innards today, be it goblin or dragon.” “What of the Tarrasque?” asked a
soldier from the gathering crowd around Nairb. “The gnomes and their monster
will be joining us today when the first dragon is in view.” Nairb said, while
prodding an empty bedroll with his boot. Across camp, a historian of sorts
begins explaining out loud his notes on the current battle and the past which
lead to this glorious day.
The
Great Goblin War started over ten years ago with the beheading of the heir to
the goblin humanoid’s throne, the goblin prince Grumric. Some say that this was
the act of human bandits, while others claim that Grumric made the misfortunate
mistake of challenging an elite human adventurer for his sword. Word of his death spread like wild fire
throughout the kingdom thanks to a bard who overlooked the beheading. Enraged
by the loss of their prince, the goblin tribes united under the rumored banner
of war. With the goblin tribes working together their forces out numbered the
human kingdoms in Iganon, leaving an ancient treaty to be invoked which
enlisted the aid of the elves.
Many
battles were fought. With each human-elf allied victory the goblins retreated
further into the defeat of the mountains. The dwarves of the sacred hills
making sure that the goblins would find no refuge at the doorsteps of their
caves, victory seemed at hand. In a desperate move the goblin elders sold
themselves and their tribes into slavery to gain the aid of Iganon’s most
powerful foes, the dragons, to guarantee them victory and revenge. The head of
the evil dragon council was the aged and powerful red dragon Kilumoph. With the
added might of these evil beasts human cities began to crumble and elven forest
were burned to cinders. Kilumoph, being pleased with the many kingdoms’ looted
treasures and his fattened belly, full of now dead brave men, ordered the
goblins in servitude to construct monuments of his glory where every concurred
city lie.
Across
vast oceans the war drums of Iganon were heard and the cry for aid by the
human-elf alliance did not fall on deaf ears. Deep within the grayish rock
covered mountains of Zander, a detached and ancient island floating freely from
any plotted grid or map, the gnomes began to hatch a plan. The small scale of
these being’s size effectively hid their awesome dark magical powers. For years
beyond counting they have lived on the moving island in silent worship of their
sleeping god, the Tarrasque. Fabled as to have been beaten by a group of higher
gods, the Tarrasque has slept quietly in the area of its defeat. The Tarrasque
is a monster twice the size of the largest dragon, the beast stands on hind
legs with its back guarded by a jagged shell. Horns atop its head face outward
towards the creature’s enemies. For years the gnomes built shrines of enormous
proportions around its mountainous body. Clinging to its flesh magical
enhancements and attaching the finest armored plates ever created by gnomish
hands. The tribes of Zander made sure that their monster-god would never fail
in battle again. For a thousand years they’ve waited for a chance to prove
their god in battle and reclaim its lost honor. That battle has finally come,
to the shores of Iganon.
“Everyone,
get in your formations! His majesty, King Havellent wishes an inspection arms
prior to battle!” Nairb nimbly jumped on top of an over turned water pale and
began shouting orders to his men. “Prepare left and right flanks, form off the
center. Pike men to the front and swordsmen following behind, you know the drill.
Squires, fetch my armor, hurry!” Within moments thousands of human men lined
the now sunny fields that gapped the shore from a set of mountains. Nairb standing proud and silent in front of his
men, shifted unnoticeably beneath his armor as his King began to make his
visual inspection of the mass ranks. King Havellent’s finely polish armor shown
like a beacon through to the very last man in the hind ranks, his voice boomed
with commands from his rough and aged throat. “That is my king”, thought Nairb
proudly. Havellent’s advisor road to
match with the king’s horse, just one company away from Nairb and his men they
halted. The two men conversed in hushed tones; finally the king broke away and shouted
with the lungs of man half his age, “Ready battle formations! Give them nothing
but fear from our blades!” The army of men roared so loudly that the ground
shook with their vigor. In the distance a monster afloat begins to stir from
its ancient slumber.
The
gnome elder, rich with his dark magic is the first to notice the Tarrasque
beginning to waken. Tied through a magical bond he and the beast are one. Every
wakening moment for the Tarrasque is controlled through the will of this one
experienced gnome. His thoughts merge with the monsters until the elder gnomes
wishes become the Tarrasque’s actions. Absolute concentration and focus is
guarded for this monster-god is a powerful weapon which cannot be left to be
wielded on its own. “The dragons have made their presence known to the battle,
your grace. It is time.” said a gnome messenger in a hushed voice while
lowering his hand to the stained purple cloak of his elder.
The
collision of metal swords and arrows sinking deep into wooden shields fill the
air. The goblin force’s second line thundering down the mountain to aid their
weakening first line get surprised by elven arrows erupting for the nearby
woods. Elven foot soldiers join in following dislodged boulders into to backs
of goblin troops. Looking from high on a peak, a goblin standing half the
height of a well sized man surveys the battlefield through his deformed grey
eyelids. “Where are Kilumoph and his hordes? Why are they not here yet? My
beloved people will have no servitude to them in death!” As if through some
magic a demonic voice penetrates deep into the goblin commander’s thoughts.
“Fromerric, you sniveling little worm, never doubt our resolve to the agreement
your people made. Look to the skies my foolish servant; your revenge is at hand
I assure you.” With a piercing pain the voice left his mind as Fromerric cast
his gaze skyward to reveal group of twenty, no thirty dragon silhouettes
soaring through the clouds. Fromerric placed a thick wooden helm on his stout
head and slide down the side of the mountain to join in what would be the glory
of this battle.
Counting
to himself, Nairb dodges a blow from a thrown spear. “Now I lost count. Darn
you filth!” Swinging his blade in annoyance he cut down the closest goblin with
a single cleave. “Send third platoon to the front, lead with arrows to the
goblin flanks!” “Yes, sir!” bellowed a young man running to the back of the
battle. Nairb thought quietly to himself as he dueled with one of the rare
skilled goblins he has encountered. “Where are all the dragons at and what of
the gnome’s Tarrasque? At this rate
victory will be ours without the aid of gnomish tricks.” Nairb’s thoughts began
to ease until he felt an immense eruption of heat from above him. “Dragons!”
“Take cover!” Jumping behind a pile of dead bodies, Nairb’s skin began to boil.
He closed his eyes as the screams of enflamed men dug deep in his heart.
Another wave of heat caught him as he began to stand from behind his gruesome
hiding place. His steel helm burning the flesh of his face, Nairb peeled his
helmet from his head. Pain of his melted and torn skin zapped his strength
temporarily. Swatting aside his remaining light colored hair, Nairb manages to
focus on a landing dragon. Nairb begins preparing to make a charge; then the
battlefield fell silent.
At
first the sky darkened and then a powerful rain fell from above. Fear captured
those brave enough to look where several large ships once were docked. The
darkness came from no cloud, nor did the seconds of heavy rain descend from the
heavens. The Tarrasque had awakened. Growing three times in size instantly the
monster sank the ships surrounding it, casting a wave of water high into the
sky over the battlefield. The dragon’s fire rinsed from the still living men.
The gnome elder, standing safely on land surrounded by the king’s own personal
guard, was now showing signs of fatigue. Towering over even the largest dragon
the Tarrasque waded closer in land. Some men cheered at the great monster’s
sight while others stared in horrified postures. The remaining goblin men
beginning to flee in retreat, all the while the dragons stood their ground.
Catching
a sight of a short heavily armored goblin making his way toward retreat, Nairb
broke from his gaze at the monster and pursued this goblin of obvious
importance. Up the side of the mountain with stone chipping away at his feet,
Nairb gained on the goblin. After finding some flat ground the goblin warrior
turned to meet his pursuer. “You think that this changes anything?” said
Fromerric with a fearsome growl. “Your monster will fall beneath the dragon
lord’s might!” Steadying his blade Nairb stepped quietly forward, his form
flawless, his posture deadly and unflinching. “I see you have tasted the
dragon’s fire already, you human swine. What is left of your people after today
will be nothing but cattle for our masters to sport.” Lunging forward unmoved
by the goblin’s words, Nairb thrust sharply at his prey. Connecting with a
single blow, he pierced the breastplate of Fromerric. Deep he drove his blade
into the deflating lung of the goblin, bubbles forming around his wound as he
breathed. Through blood gargled speech Fromerric cried, “Who are you, so that I
may await you in hell!?” Calmly withdrawing his blade, a reply could softly be
heard, “Nairb.”
Turning
from his high perch, Nairb surveyed the battle still raging below him. He saw
the Tarrasque on land now trampling whole areas of enemy goblins under its
feet. A medium sized dragon was held between the monster’s massive teeth, two
greater dragons lay dying about the beast’s tail. Most of the goblins began to
break their ranks and flee. Even all but one of the remaining dragons began to
recede into the clouds. Turning to his dying foe Nairb spoke. “Ha, and you
thought that this battle would be yours? Such foolish hope you have for your
fleeing people and winged masters.” now seated against a bolder Fromerric
pointed over the shoulder of Nairb with a slight grin. “Look at my master. The lone dragon, Kilumoph
needs no aid to vanquish your demon.”
The
battle had taken its toll on the aged gnome. Hands trembling with each new
magical gesture to control the Tarrasque, he sees this last dragon swooping
from above. A very old and ancient colossal red dragon which’s scales must be
plated with centuries of treasure from his bedding. “So Kilumoph, I finally
meet you.” Thought the elder as the Tarrasque grappled with the dragon. The red
dragon’s claws actually chipping through the magical wards and armor on the
monster’s hide. Each beast’s size is immense with the Tarrasque only at a
slight advantage. With one well placed tackle the Tarrasque pinned Kilumoph to
the ground by his wings. Desperately Kilumoph bit at the Tarrasque wildly. With
a final savage blow the monster tore into the base of the great red dragon’s
neck. Fire exploded from the body, filling the air with a thick sulfur and ash
smell. Kilumoph now dead at the feet of the gnome’s creature, the goblin men
that were still engaged withdrew in a sign of surrender.
Carrying
the decapitated head of the goblin leader down the mountain, Nairb then met
with the king who was in the middle of the battlefield. “Sire, I do not see my
general so, if you would excuse my rudeness but I believe this to be the head
of goblin lord, Fromerric. I dedicate my victory to you my king.” “Young Nairb,
I see the scared badges of battle have taken a toll on you today. I have
noticed your skill and cunning with admiration from afar. This offering that
you have brought before me only encourages my decision. I bestow the position
of general on you now, if you accept.” Kneeling Nairb spoke bravely, “I accept
this great honor and will…” Screaming from the king’s private guard announced,
“The Gnome Elder is dead!” Turning their view aside both king and Nairb saw the
Tarrasque feasting wilding on the corpse in front of it, the gnome elder laying
expired where he once weakly stood, a single jade arrow showing in his side.
“Nairb, gather everyman that can still stand and flee to the doc town of Lander
City at once; we cannot fend off this creature now and must regroup there. I
will send word of retreat to my other generals as well. Go now and save your
men and yourself!” Having his worse fear realized with the Tarrasque now free
from allied control, the king rushed off to the general’s tent leaving Nairb
alone with his orders.
Chapter
1
A
month since departing from the once great port town of Lander, the then booming
town can no longer be seen from across the still ocean’s body. Aboard the one
of the last sailable ships the precious cargo of war refuges lay about the
deck. Priests and those with any ability for medical applications tend to the
sick and injured, all starving from long emptied stomachs. Aside from the
scattered suffering bodies above deck the ocean was calm and the sun shown
brightly on cloudless skies. The curious appearance of the ship itself was
defined by grayish wood which gave a metallic clunk underfoot and odd red vines
going in and out of gaps of its wooden planks. Hope for the people aboard rests
in the ship’s commander’s ability to find an island said to move freely about
the waves. Under the refuges, another aboard was not so fawned of staying put
and in view of the ship’s crew.
In
the dark underbelly of the ship a tall man baring both human mass and elfish
features works hastily sorting through crates and other cargo, as if looking
for something. This peculiar individual’s appearance reveals itself through a
flickering oil lamp on top of a pile of dusty wooden boxes. His eyes reflect a
green-hazel glow when his long brown hair is swept from in front of his face.
Through slender lips he mutters to himself in frustrated whispers. “I know they
must have some stashed around here somewhere. The crew always walking around
without fading moral and relaxed expressions, I will find it.” Stumbling over
small crumbled bits of wood he falls backwards making a loud thud against some
stacked crates. “I hope no one heard that.” He said to himself. Still laying
where he landed the human-elf looks up in time to see a balancing crate wobble
and fall from its perch on top of his head. The crate connecting with his skull
and then bouncing to the ground in front of him breaks open. A bottle clearly labeled as wine rolls from
the injured cargo and rests by his foot. With his last few moments of
consciousness from the blow he smiles, “I knew it.”
Elsewhere
above deck a wounded human man awakes from a month long coma. Opening his eyes
the man sees an older kindly looking fellow kneeling over him praying quietly
in some sort of divine spell. Confusion shifts through his head as he looks
about the ship seeing the others, all strangers to him, being tended to. At first
the he shifts quietly getting a feel for his body, that seems so unfamiliar to
him. He notices a muscular build that must be of average height judging from
those around him. The skin on the back of his hands displays a taught, tan,
glow, “So I must be young.” he thought. Finally sitting up he feels pops and
creaking from his bones, the priest attending to him stops his prayer and asks,
“How are you feeling my friend. You’ve been out for some time. I hope you don’t
mind but we’ve been tending to you with some things that we found in your
pack.” Clearing his throat the healed man speaks, “No, I don’t mind.” His voice
sounding foreign to him, “Wait, you said I had some belongings with me, where
are they now?” Sliding over a well worn backpack made of various leathers the
priest turns away. “I must tend to the others now while Soulus is still
answering my prayers. Be well and blessed, poor soul.”
As
the man sat sifting through unfamiliar belongings a soft female voice speaks
directing her words to him. “You there warrior, how was your rest?” Looking up
revealed a youthful elven woman of small stature and frail build, her bodily
features otherwise hidden by a finely woven dark green cloak. “And who is this
that speaks to me, so that I may greet you properly my lady?” “Olivia. Olivia
the Wizard Hapsphere’s only surviving apprentice. Now who may I ask are you of
whom I have watched sleeping peacefully this past month?” “A month? I have been
asleep for that long?” he said confused. “Maybe even longer. You were carried
on board with a few of the other wounded men by priest of Soulus. No one really
could tell me anything about you, not that I inquired enough to be counted as
rude.” she said to him. “To be honest with you I do not remember anything, my
name, where I come from, and how I ended up here, I do not recall anything at
all.” Olivia forcing the issue, “Well what would you have yourself be called,
till we find out your parent’s preference?” Shaking freely from a cluster of
wrapped objects within his pack, two swords clank against the deck of the ship.
Finally with a feeling of belonging he gently touched the two weapons. “well I
guess you can call me, Blades.”
Should this abomination ever be completed?
Follow us on: Facebook.com/Frizbeen Twitter.com/Frizbeen Youtube.com/Frizbeen & Google+
Tags: Short Stories, Story, Unfinished, Forgotten, Incomplete, Frizbeen, The Daily Friz
Should this abomination ever be completed?
Follow us on: Facebook.com/Frizbeen Twitter.com/Frizbeen Youtube.com/Frizbeen & Google+
Tags: Short Stories, Story, Unfinished, Forgotten, Incomplete, Frizbeen, The Daily Friz
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