SoO3 - War of Talons - Chapter 8

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde
Chapter 8 - No Mountain High Enough

The foothills and lower regions of the Bitterwind Mountains were deceptively pleasant. The Evershyde Forest held an outpost, which was a calm, serene riposte in stark contrast to other locales of Orlandia as the brutal storm that was Emperor Corvidious' rage swept across the land. Mere days had passed since meeting with the Seer, yet the war and its combatants moved swiftly. The theft of the Staff of the Hermit, not to mention Aurelion's encounter with Validus, had angered the Demonlord more than the small victories enjoyed by the Anarchs in the outlying towns. The Sacred Ten were being gathered, and the ire of the Yaoguai was roused as the saytr had planned, but so many souls, both brave and innocent, were paying the price. The satyr had passed caravans of refugees and rode through the scorched remains of Quarthmar and Pillsher, humble towns once full of proud people. Nothing was left, except the smoldering shells of buildings and the stench of death. As he sat in his temporary quarters in the outpost, Aurelion wondered how many more would suffer until Khaz'Radan was summoned, and if that could be done before the Demonlord wiped out all life that refused to kneel before him. He also wondered if he even had an impact upon Validus when he spoke to the young prince. The prince may be beyond influence, the Emperor's shadows rooted deeply within Validus' mind. The satyr hoped that the prince still held onto a sliver of humanity, that he might be able to break free of the Demon's hold on him. Aurelion picked up the Tankard of the Warlord, which had been eagerly donated by its owner, a Tavernkeeper from Quarthmar. When he learned that the relic may mean an end to the Emperor, the man surrendered it gladly. The satyr looked over the intricate vessel as he pondered. The markings on his arm became warm, and the familiar voice of the phoenix spoke to him, "Keep your faith, Satyr. The atrocities you see, the suffering you have witnessed, such things were inevitable. Your hope for Orlandia is the naked flame of a candle in the storm. Protect that one light in this dark and violent moment. Should it be extinguished, then the Demonlord truly wins. Burn brightly, Aurelion Kellkallen. Light the way and kindle the flames that can bring the dawn to this darkened realm!"
Aurelion blinked as a knock at the door startled him slightly. The reassuring voice drew silent, and the satyr arose, taking a breath before opening the door. Captain Vert greeted him, and proceeded to introduce a dwarf that stood next to him. Her name was Bluum, and she was to be the satyr's guide through the mountains to the Dwarven town of Hindwalde, where the tomb of the Master Blacksmith and his legendary hammer were located.

Aurelion adjusted the heavy cloak of pelts that hugged him as the harsh climate of the higher elevation lashed at him with abrasive gusts. The dwarf led him up the mountain road to an obscure pass. Here the terrain was more dangerous. It became apparent to the satyr that this trail was not cut into the stone like the roads on which they had started, and deliberately so. In the past two centuries, the Dwarves, as a people, had become quite reclusive. They made their homes deep within the mountains, and the passages on the surface, like this one, remained difficult to traverse. Outsiders, and especially potential invaders, would be discouraged by the terrain and climate. Bluum managed the rocks and crags with the aptitude of someone indigenous to the environment as Aurelion carefully and awkwardly did his best to keep up. The pair traveled diligently up the path, too focused on climbing to speak to one another, for the better part of a day. Bluum and Aurelion eventually came upon a more beaten path as they entered a chasm that had once cut its way through one of the higher mountains. A brief walk into this new passage came to an abrupt end, and revealed the entrance to Hindwalde, an obvious change in the roughness of the rocks that surrounded the two travelers. A high, fortress-like wall was cut from the stone here, with immense vaulted doors of iron. Cross-shaped murder holes ran across the face of the wall in a simple, efficient pattern. Aurelion noticed cruel points jutting out from the holes, no doubt from bolts knocked in ready crossbows at the hands of watchful marksmen. Bluum approached the large door and Aurelion followed cautiously, looking up to see the steel points that remained aimed at him. A slat opened in the door and a pair of eyes studied the satyr and his guide. The noise of metal shifting against metal broke the tense silence, and the doors parted. Aurelion followed Bluum past the entrance and saw the continuation of the chasm, except that every inch of this place was chiseled and carved masterfully into complex, clean lines and shapes. Steps ran in various directions to various doorways which ran along the walls, several teirs high before the beautiful carvings faded into the natural roughness of the higher chasm walls. The main street of this town was busy with dwarves engaged in various activities, though many of them would stop to stare at the satyr, especially when he loosened the cloak that covered him. He could feel their eyes on him, looking at his horns, the trinkets in his braids. One trader was so forward as take hold of Aurelion's right arm and inspect the markings of the phoenix's blessing. The satyr raised an eyebrow but obliged him, letting the dwarf turn his arm to study the runes that were among the swirls and spirals. Bluum admonished the trader in Dwarven dialect and pulled the satyr away, leading him purposefully through the street.

Aurelion and his guide entered a doorway framed with relief sculptures of skulls and angels into a simple antechamber lit by torches set in wall sconces. A male dwarf stood before them. His long reddish-grey beard was combed and braided more finely than most of the other townsfolk, and a reverent sash embroidered with Dwarven script was draped over his shoulders. The little man nodded his head and spoke softly, "Greetings, Lord Aurelion. D'vorrah the Seer sent word that you would come, and that you seek the Runed Hammer. We haven't much time". He took a torch from the wall and walked toward a dark entrance, the flickering light revealing steps that descended into utter blackness. The satyr followed, carefully watching his footing on the chiseled steps that wound into a sinking spiral. Bluum remained at the antechamber, watching them slowly disappear into the stairway as it made a turn. Their descent took several minutes. Aurelion listened to himself and the dwarf breathing, the sound echoing unsettlingly through the tunnel. The flickering fire of the torch was the only illumination. The walls seemed to be getting closer to the satyr, who placed a hand against the smooth surface and dragged it along, just to reassure his mind that the passage itself presented no threat. The two finally came to a landing on level ground, and they found themselves before a rather solid-looking wooden door. The dwarf closed his eyes and whispered a spell. The wooden door opened, and the dwarf and the satyr made their way into a round chamber. A multitude of candles circled the room on rows of step-like shelves on the walls, and the wicks calmly ignited themselves through a warm and comforting magick that swirled around the small room. At the center of this chamber laid an impressive sarcophagus of marbleized stone, a relief of the legendary blacksmith carved on its lid. It was an incredible likeness of the hero which rested inside this stone vessel, depicting the man in his best years,as though he were sleeping peacefully. The Runed Hammer lay upon his chest, stone hands grasping it tightly, the sculpture itself apparently designed to hold the relic in place. The dwarf stopped at a distance from the sarcophagus and spoke, "I have been the keeper of this tomb since my childhood, Aurelion. My task has been to protect it until an ancient calls for it, and sends an avatar to take the hammer from the hands of the hero."
"How do you know I am the avatar?," the Satyr inquired. THe dwarf simply pointed to the sarcophagus. Aurelion paused for a moment with a puzzled look, then stepped closer to the stone coffin. He then noticed pictograms upon the surface along its sides, and one particular image raised the hairs on the back the satyr's neck. An arm stretched upward in the glyph, reaching for a representation of the hammer. The arm was covered in spirals and runes, markings which were identical to those inscribed on Aurelions arm. He looked at his own limb again then turned back to the dwarf, who nodded and spoke, "Those who carved this tomb and laid the hero Gundhern Fairsterm to rest were made aware that this day would come. You were chosen by the fates long before your birth to be the seeker of the Sacred Ten, and only you can remove the Runed Hammer of the Master Blacksmith from this tomb."
Aurelion remained still, dumbfounded as the gravity of recent events, as well as his place within them, impacted upon his psyche.

An odd wind blew into the chamber from the stairwell, and the saytr broke free of his own overwhelming thoughts. The dwarf looked to the entrance, then back to Aurelion. "This was also foretold. The shadowfowl are here. Follow me and I shall take you to a tunnel where you can escape-"
"No," the satyr said, stepping forth and quickly removing the hammer, "Not this time. I will not run away while this town suffers!". Aurelion dashed up the stairs, the dwarf calling to him, pleading him to come back. His cries and his torchlight faded as the satyr climbed the winding steps, feeling the walls as he kept a desperate pace upward. Aurelion could no longer deny his destiny, or afford himself any further doubt, but he would not simply follow a path supposedly laid by the ancients while countless others died. He was soon in the antechamber, then into the street, looking around to see the townspeople in panic as shadows chased them. His arm ingnited with the phoenix blessing, and his rage seemed to pass the flames into the Runed Hammer, and he ran toward a group of shadowfoul that had cornered a particular citizen. He swung with a furious yell, the head of the hammer impacting on one of the creatures. The thing shrieked as it exploded, the others in the group reeling as flames spead upon their twisted bodies. Aurelion helped the frightened victim to his feet and guided him to a doorway, shoving the dwarf in as other creatures charged. The satyr met them with another loud battlecry, wielding the blazing hammer and knocking them down. He fought his way through the street, smiting any vile thing too slow to dodge his fury, which was that of an Orcish berzerker as his blows crushed and ignited his foes. "Fool!," the voice of the phoenix shouted in his mind, "This town is lost. Do not risk the relic or yourself against these creatures. Get out of there!". The satyr ignored the warning and made his way to a wider spot in the street, close to the main entrance. There, hovering above the terror and bloodshed of the marauding fowl, was the General. She once commanded Orlandia's armies, loyal to Horus, but now she served the Demonlord, and his power of corruption was evident as she cackled at the satyr, her eyes framed in the same shadow as the creatures around her, immense black wings beating the air. "The void calls out to you, Satyr," she hissed, "It shall devour you and your people. This shall be the age of Shadows!". Aurelion tightened his grip on the Runed Hammer as he looked up her, his eyes wet with the tears of loss, his teeth clenched almost to the point of shattering. His body trembled with an energy that those around him could almost see, and those who could, backed away cautiously. The satyr let loose with a roar no lion could utter, no demon could challenge as he swung the hammer in a drastic arc, slamming it into the ground before him. Blinding light and terrible thunder erupted from the center of the street. The town of Hindwalde shook as the rage of a satyr and the fire of a phoenix called forth a cataclysmic firestorm.

All was smoke and chaos for the first few minutes. The town grew silent after the impact, the front wall had cracked in a few places, and some of the harsh winds that gave the region its name pushed through in frigid gusts. Aurleion stood in the center of the street, the road beneath him appearing scorched. He found himself surrounded by bodies, some Dwarven, some shadowfowl. The General was nowhere in sight. Aurelion went about the street, and began to overlook the fallen. He turned a particular dwarf over, fearing the worst. To the satyr's relief, the little woman groaned as she looked around, dazed and bruised, but otherwise alive. Other dwarves began to stir, standing to brush themselves off and help others. He wasn't sure how, but Aurelion had managed to purge the town of the shadowfowl. The nasty creatures that remained were brittle stone remains, which crumbled to the touch, bits of them falling away in the wind like ash. Some of the townsfolk began to cheer, shouting praise at Aurelion for destroying the invaders. The satyr smiled humbly and waved to them before making his way to the entrance. The townsfolk watched him as he started his trek down the mountain, driven by the thought of other people that were still in danger.