Deep within the tomb, the walls and ceiling leaked water, and strong odors filled the tunnels. Tornasq, the general of Dreniak's army, stood, upset and grieving over his lord's recent death. He turned his fiery eyes down toward the corpse of his fallen leader, and a small trail of teardrops ran down his leathery cheeks. He softly, and sorrowfully said, "I shall do my best to resurrect thee, my lord." He turned around, and stepped through the massive golden door protecting the altar.
Tornasq started toward the large, decorated conference room. He took small steps, making little noise. As he walked he could hear noises throughout the earthen tunnels, and he began to feel tense. He remembered that his leader was no longer here to guide him toward what to do. As he neared the conference room, the glimmer of a shining silver door could be seen not far ahead.
Tornasq opened the great door and a bright light enveloped the hallway near the door, and he stepped in. As he entered, a very well ornamented table of deep, brownish-red wood sat in the middle of the room. Around it was numerous large oaken chairs, and at the top of the table sat a majestic golden thrown, with a soft, plush seat. Tornasq walked to the throne, and sat down. Realizing his role, he shouted out to his solamnic knights, "To those of the kingdom of Dreniak, recently our lord has fallen. If you wish to bring him life once more, report to the conference room immediately."
In a seemingly un-ending flow, the demonic knights walked into the room. As the horrid men arrived, they each took a seat around the table. "My knights, it is a great pleasure to see you united once more," said Tornasq. "Our kingdom was started by Dreniak, and we must do our best to see that it is his actions, and not his death, that shall break it up." The demons hailed their praise in approval of Tornasq's decision.
"Silence!" shouted Tornasq. "Even my magical powers are not strong enough to bring Dreniak back from the dead. For this, I must seek the assistance of our ArchBishop, Harmaeil. This shall be a solo mission for myself." He sighed. "You, my knights, make your way to the altar, immediately, I shall join you shortly."
As the men walked out the great silver door, Tornasq snuck into a secret passage beneath the large table. As he crept slowly into the small, cramped clay tunnel, he ran into a large upward slope in the passage. Dripping with cool, muddy water, climbing the tunnel seemed impossible. In a great attempt, Tornasq nearly reached the top, but lost his grip in the flowing waters, and fell back down to the bottom. He quickly grabbed his grappling hook from his belt, and hurling it upward, caught a large rock at the top. He tightened his grip to the rope, and climbed quickly to the top of the tunnel, and out into a dark hallway in the tomb.
Looking around, Tornasq found himself looking forward to an enormous clay wall. He began to search for the chambers of the high priest Harmaeil. Remembering back, he recalled being told that Harmaeil's chambers were hidden somewhere within the walls of the tomb. Walking further into the endless catacombs of the tomb, Tornasq hoped of finding Harmaeil and resurrecting his leader. Looking throughout the tomb for obvious signs of the chambers, the walls seemed untouched. Looking into a small cavern off of the trail, Tornasq saw something suspicious.
He walked into the cavern and everything grew dark. Feeling along the walls of the cavern, he noticed and enormous boulder against the wall. He grabbed an edge of the rock, and pulled at it, trying to move it, but it wouldn't budge. Tornasq felt all over the slab, and felt some small characters chiseled into the rock itself. He walked out of the cavern and snatched a torch off of the wall.
Entering the cavern once more, he held his torch toward the text, revealing it. Water dripped from the ceiling, running down Tornasq's forehead, and into his eyes, distorting his vision. He blinked his eyes, and read the text:
To whom this may concern:
I, Harmaeil, ask that you telepath me,
If you wish to visit my chambers.
Tornasq focussed his concentration, and began a telepathic communication with Harmaeil. He telepathed him, "Harmaeil, Sir, If you have not yet heard, our king, Dreniak, has recently fallen in a gruesome battle to the death. I must ask of your assistance, Sir."
Harmaeil replied to him, "Very well, please enter."
With these words, the large boulder began to dissipate, and a secret pathway to the chambers was revealed. Tornasq entered the small pathway, and found himself quickly standing before Harmaeil. The room was small, and very well lit. Small shelves of potions and rolled-up scrolls were mounted all over the walls, and a small, lightly padded bed sat in the corner.
"Welcome, Tornasq, you are here just in time to celebrate," said Harmaeil, smiling.
"Celebrate for what?" replied Tornasq.
"I have recently finished scribing a very powerful scroll, a scroll of resurrection!" said Harmaeil.
"Well then," said Tornasq, grinning, "Your timing is perfect, we can use it to resurrect Dreniak."
"I shall not hear of it," snarled Harmaeil, "His evil soul is not worth using my scroll on. I shall sooner see him burn in hell, than be brought back to put us through it."
"Well, if you won't allow me to use the scroll on him, then you shall burn in hell beside him," said Tornasq, boldly.
Seeing the challenge, Harmaeil ran over to grab his warhammer, and Tornasq drew his dagger from his belt. As Harmaeil bent over to grab his warhammer, Tornasq ran to him. With a quick thrust, Tornasq stabbed Harmaeil through the back. Harmaeil dropped his weapon, and gasped for air as blood began to fill his lungs. As he died slowly, he said palely, "Tornasq, use your best judgement…don't waste my magic…" and he was then silent, dead.
A strong smell of warm blood filled the room, making Tornasq sick to his stomach. He quickly grabbed Harmaeil's scroll and left the chambers. Arriving back in the tunnels, he sat down, gasping for fresh, clean air. As he caught his breathe he began to think of what Harmaeil had said, and what his life was like when Dreniak had lived.
"What have I done?" he questioned himself. "I can't believe what I'm doing. I must have been out of my mind. Dreniak wasn't a hero, he was a thief! Harmaeil was right about him, I shouldn't waste this scroll on him, I WON'T waste this scroll on him!"
Tornasq grabbed the scroll in his hand, and stood up slowly. His head filling with the horrible memories of Dreniak's rein. Tornasq screamed as horror filled his veins. Realizing what he had felt like being abused by Dreniak, anger filled his soul. He raised the scroll into the air as he tore it to pieces, watching the fragments fall to the ground.
Tornasq now knew he would no longer be welcome in the tomb, and started his long journey to the exit. He walked for what seemed like hours through the earthen maze. Slowly the tomb began to take its toll on Tornasq as fatigue filled his muscles, tiring him. The air was heavy, and the ground was now thick with mud, making moving difficult. Tornasq, too weak to continue, collapsed in the mud.
Hours passed as Tornasq finally arose from the ground, covered in mud. He peered around the area, surveying his surroundings. Not far away, he was a bright light that seemed like heaven to him, and he walked toward it. As he arrived in the brightened area of light, he looked up at the exit, the sun's beauty in his eyes.
He snatched his grappling hook and threw it up, catching a large piece of the ancient seal to the temple. Climbing up, and onto the ground, Tornasq smiled as the sun's bright light bathed his cold body. He then stood up, and decided what his destiny was. He chanted the magical words, "Drixnil Ort Flam Hur Grav," and held his hands out. A storm of demonic flames flew forth from his hands, engulfing the tomb, and everything inside.
Feeling weak from the enchantment, he could barely stand. He said to himself, "I must finish now!" He quickly chanted the phrase, "Vas Ylem Ort Hur." A bright, magical shield expanded from his body, and enshrouded the entrance to the tomb. His life energy drained by the spell, he collapsed to the ground. The remains of life in his body slowly drained out as he breathed hard, before death. He had sacrificed his acceptance, and life to save the freedom of Medievia, and know one had known it, nor will they ever…
The End
Writer's Notes: To those who read this story. The characters, as of the making of the original story, were all original. The addition of the player "Dreniak" was by my brother in real life. He wanted a name, so I gave him one. Other than that, I can only say thank you for reading my story.