In the Footsteps of Gods...

The tall, dark haired warrior knelt at the obsidian altar, his head bowed over the small fire. His face was obscured by a bronze helm, the deep shadows cast over his eyes and mouth, the only parts of his face visible in the flickering firelight, showed no trace of the visage behind the masque. He inhaled the pungent wisps of smoke that were given off by the unidentifiable mixture of herbs that the priest had ignited moments before. In the background a trio of initiates recited a dull litany, a mutual prayer to Darkness. The priest stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, fingers outstretched, murmuring ancient words in guttural Darktongue. The ceremony faded into the mists of Time...

He climbed, spear and shield set upon his back, fingers searching for handholds in the sharp, flint rockface. Several times his footing gave way, but he didn't once look down. Only the clatter of falling stone cascading down the face of the Shadow Plateau marked his passing.

The Plateau, obscured to vision by an unnatural and deep miasma, stretched before his mind's eye as he drew frantic breath, exhausted after the long climb. He pulled his helm from his head by the dark plume, and wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his forearm. His senses were both dulled and heightened by the obscuring mist that rolled across the ancient surface of the shattered home of the Only Old One, born of the Son of Night. The sky above, by contrast, was red-gold, stretching across from horizon to horizon. He marvelled inwardly at the strange passage of time, muted by exertion and now borne into sharp focus by the colours of the evening and the chill of the air against his sweat-soaked body.

Across the scarred land he strode into the gathering dusk, following in the footsteps of his God. He felt the grain of the dust beneath his feet and wondered briefly what other beings had touched this same soil as he now did and what span of time stood between them. As the Son of Xentha had walked the surface world meeting those, human and troll alike, that had been deserted by Yelm when He fled to the underworld, so did the tall warrior. Where there was strife and fear, Argan Argar bought unity and peace. Where man fought troll and the Earth contested with the Darkness, Argan Argar brought hope and order. The tall warrior brought the spear, and showed the warring phantoms of the Otherside that if unity was not accepted willingly then it would be forced upon them with the blade. Memory and the shadows cast by memory spread out across the cosmos remoulding and joining threads sewn in aeons past...

The Earth rebelled against him, denying his very presence, but instead of being enveloped and consumed the warrior of Darkness turned his spear downward and pinned the Earth at his feet, forcing Her supplication to his will. He stood upon the mist-clad land , the blade of his spear twisting in the rocky Earth and through the force of his wrath and the strength of his body he compelled the Goddess to submit. The world reshaped itself and footprints left in the time before Time were forever erased...

The Storm followed, stirring up vicious winds which brought razor sharp shards of shattered rock flying at him with the fury of the Air. His armour was scoured from his body and his flesh was torn but he endured, quelling the Storm’s fury with his sword, protected from its malice behind his mighty shield. As he walked on across the blighted land, spirits of Darkness gathered to him, surrounding him and offering him their gifts in thanks for their deliverance.

Onward marched the tall warrior - now naked but for his helm, greaves and shield; his face and body smeared with dark ash. He continued striding to the distant, ruined steps of the ancient palace that was once the centre of the Kingdom of Night, emulating the deeds of his God and those who followed the God after Time began. To him it seemed as if the world of the real and the world of myth had merged into one ecstatic consciousness.

The Dragon followed, descending from the heavens like the last fall of a dead God writing his path across the stars. In a frenzy of jagged tooth, keen-edged claw and ragged leathery wing the Dragon fell upon him. Bellowing its outrage at the warrior's arrogant presumption the beast attacked, for the world is born of the Cosmic Dragon, and the Gods must not presume upon them without thought of retribution. The warrior's thoughts strayed briefly back to the world and to the Dragonkill, lost to the onslaught of history. How do mortal men face the draconic monsters of the Cosmos when the Dragons are indifferent to even the Gods?

The Dragon lay at his feet, blood running freely from the wounds inflicted by his spear. He contemplated the black, viscous liquid that ran from the bronze blade down the wooden haft and over his hand, reflecting the starlight as if in a mirror of fog. The spear, weapon of Argan Argar himself, simple and elegant, had been the key to his victory over the Dragon. He held it now, an extension of his soul and knew that he was bound to it for as long as he lived. He continued across the ancient plateau, leaving the carcass of the wyrm far behind.

And, at last, at the ruins of the Obsidian Palace, the final Guardian stood before him, barring his way, offering threats and the freedom of cowardice. “Go now”, he was told “and enter not this place. It is forbidden to you.”

The battle was mighty, and the plateau itself shook in the wrath of their conflict. The Guardian and the Heroquester fought a mighty duel in terrible circles, the might of the giant of stone matched against the guile and speed of the tall warrior’s spear. The warrior’s grace and swiftness finally prevailed, his spear and the movement of his body as one, and the land was littered with the stone remains of the giant Guardian. Taking the path up the steps which he had made his own through force of arms and will, the mighty warrior claimed the doorway to the Kingdom of Night.

Thus did Cleombrotus of Raibanth return to the world of flesh, bearing gifts of Darkness torn from the Storms, the Dragons and the Earth herself; eyes of flashing onyx blinked open and surveyed a world born again...