Please enjoy chapter one of The Eternal's Triumph
Four moons before Jerami.
They came in the dark of night, a squadron of rangers with a mission burning in their hearts. The moon, a luminous guardian, blazed high above the scorching Aridanian desert city, its silvery light danced upon the white sandstone buildings, imbuing them with a celestial shimmer that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. Moving like phantoms through the deserted streets, each step was executed with precision, their footfalls swallowed by the encompassing stillness and the sand. The rustling of the wind guided their path, the parched scent of the desert lingered in the air. Their destination loomed before them, the slave master’s quarters beckoning with an air of malevolence. They slipped inside, gliding through the empty halls like shadows. The rangers, ever vigilant, scanned each corner, their eyes darting, searching for any lurking threat that may shatter their stealth. At last, they reached their prize - the slave master’s study. A grand chamber unfolded before their eyes, adorned with opulence and authority. A magnificent wooden desk, aged with time, stood as the centrepiece of the room, an altar to power and control. Tomes, guardians of countless stories and lives, lined the walls, their spines mocking them with untold cruelties.
“Take everything,” commanded the captain, her voice a mere murmur, barely breaking the profound silence. Her senses sharpened, ears attuned to the subtlest of sounds, for danger could lurk in the darkest corners.
The rangers, incited by purpose, began their meticulous work. Each tome was carefully plucked from its resting place, the fragile memories of taken lives cradled carefully in their hands. Sacks grew heavy as the weight of countless stories pressed upon their shoulders. With each book removed, they unravelled the tightly woven tapestry of oppression, one page at a time. Time slipped through their fingers like the Endless sands. A single bell tolled, its resonant chime slicing through the night. Undeterred, the rangers pressed on. They searched every nook and cranny, every hidden alcove, until nothing remained untouched by their relentless pursuit of justice. The final book found its place within its sack and a sense of accomplishment mingled with the anticipation of their triumphant return. The captain’s gaze swept across the empty room, now stripped of its secrets and oppressive weight. The stories contained within these tomes were more than ink on parchment; they were echoes of lives long suppressed, waiting to be set free.
The captain’s gaze shifted towards the mage. A single nod passed between them. “Take us home.”
With a swift flick of his wrist, the mage summoned forth a burst of arcane energy, giving birth to a mesmerising portal of shimmering blue. Like a gateway to salvation, it materialised before their eyes, its luminosity beckoning the rangers. One by one, the rangers stepped forward, their bodies adorned with the spoils of their righteous endeavour. Sacks, heavy with the weight of liberated tomes, were held aloft over their left shoulders, while bows and quivers swung gracefully over their right. Their short swords, faithful companions, swayed in rhythm with their steps. The captain stood at the threshold, a poignant moment suspended in time, she cast her gaze one last time upon the monument of oppression. A flicker of satisfaction danced in her eyes. She retrieved a vial of zayoot and with a steady hand, uncorked it, cast the oil into the very heart of the room and lit it. The zayoot flame, hungry and unyielding, embraced its newfound home, its hungry tendrils dancing and swirling with fervour. The room erupted into a spectacle of fiery chaos, as if the flames themselves were determined to consume not just the physical structure, but the very essence of oppression and cruelty that had plagued these walls. The flames reflected in the captain’s eyes, a triumphant grin curved her lips. In that fleeting moment, she witnessed the destruction of the symbol of tyranny, watching it turn to ashes and embers. Her purpose fulfilled, she stepped forward, through the portal, leaving behind the inferno that devoured the remnants of a dark chapter in history.
The room, once a bastion of suffering, succumbed to the relentless fury of the zayoot flame. The quarters burned, a pyre of justice that reduced the oppressive walls to charred ruins. The relentless fire devoured all in its path, leaving nothing but smoke and smouldering debris. It served as a sombre reminder to those who harboured dreams of enslavement and oppression, a whispered promise that their days were numbered, their ambitions rendered futile by the winds of change.
***
Nyanna grinned as the captain emerged through the portal. With a subtle command, the portal sealed shut, leaving behind nothing but a small black dot, suspended momentarily in the air, before vanishing into the void. The captain, her elfin features framed by long, flowing, brown hair, carried an air of grace and strength. Her piercing grey eyes reflected the flickering zayoot light that bathed the throne room. The captain knelt before her queen, her eyes lowered in deference.
“Captain Greenleaf, you need not bow to me,” Nyanna’s words carried a gentle warmth, a recognition of the captain’s accomplishments. “You have achieved greatness today.”
Remaining in her humble position, knees bent and head lowered, the captain spoke with unwavering loyalty. “My queen, it was your command, and I did as you bid me. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Nyanna took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her hand extended. The captain, recognizing her queen’s silent request, reached out, her fingers intertwining with Nyanna’s. With the queen’s aid, she rose from her kneeling position, standing tall and meeting Nyanna’s gaze.
Nyanna regarded her captain, her emerald eyes shimmered with a spark of hidden plans. “Kenia, I expect more from you. Tonight, was merely the opening act. But for now, go and find solace with your beloved. In the morn, I shall call upon you.”
A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Kenia’s lips. “Thank you, my queen. I’m forever ready to serve you.”
Kenia’s graceful curve of her body marked her farewell. She pivoted on her heels, her movements swift and she made her way towards the end of the grand throne room. The guards, adorned in resplendent armour, stood like sentinels before the solid oak double doors, etched with intricate engravings depicting Arcturus’s valiant sacrifice during the climactic battle against the Dark Lord. Passing through the doors, Kenia embarked on a journey through the palace’s labyrinthine corridors. Her steps, a symphony that danced around her. Finally, she arrived at her quarters, a sanctuary amidst the bustling realm. The room embraced her, shrouded in darkness, a canvas awaiting the touch of light. Kenia wasted no time, shedding her armour and slipping into the comforting embrace of her bed. In the veil of darkness, a figure stirred, the familiar presence of her lover bringing a grin to Kenia’s lips.
“Ya be back? It be so late,” the figure spoke, their voice a tender murmur.
“Yes, but my queen is elated. Changes are on the horizon for us. She knows about you.”
“Really? The queen knows about me.” Curiosity rippled through the figure’s words. The body shifted, lifting the shutters of the zayoot lantern that stood beside the bed. Soft light spilled forth, bathing the room in a warm and gentle glow. Bera’s eyes traced the contours of Kenia’s slender form, appreciating the beauty before her. “Thank ya so much. I hope ya can find everyone.” Bera whispered, leaning closer to her lover.
Kenia’s grin widened, drawing Bera into her embrace, their bodies intertwining. “We will begin our search in the morn. But for now, it’s our time,” she purred.
They pressed their lips together, a passionate kiss that kindled the flames of their shared affection. Bera’s hands caressed Kenia’s supple body, their touch both tender and fervent, as they surrendered to the intoxicating intimacy that enveloped them. Together, beneath the shelter of the covers, they embarked on a night of passionate connection, their bodies merging in a dance of desires.
***
Stepping away from the grandeur of the throne room, Nyanna swung open the heavy doors of the study. Inside, rangers diligently combed through the tomes, their quills dancing across vellum parchment, meticulously logging names and buyers, striving to bring order to the chaotic records. It was a painstakingly slow process, yet one that carried profound importance. The information they uncovered would serve as the foundation for their pursuit of justice. Nyanna observed the tireless efforts of her comrades and a resolute fire burned within her. She had made a vow to Marcus, a promise to free Lily from the clutches of slavery and dismantle the intricate web woven by the slave master’s network. Slavery would not endure under her watch. The memory of her confrontation with the Krestanian king, Ryad, flashed through her mind. She had demanded an end to slavery in Krest, but he had brazenly dismissed her, even threatening her in the process. Her hands longed to bring justice upon him, to eradicate the corruption that festered within his realm. Yet, the Binding and the Laws constrained her actions. She needed undeniable proof to expose his treachery, and she was determined to obtain it.
Lily glanced up from her work, her eyes alight with purpose. “We have gathered so much information here. So many lives.”
“We will find them all, I promise you,” Nyanna reassured her.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Lily rushed towards Nyanna, enveloping her in a heartfelt embrace. “Thank you for everything you have done for me,” she whispered.
Their embrace dissipated and Lily’s attention shifted towards a tall and strapping elf, whose eyes sparkled like precious emeralds. Her heart fluttered.
Nyanna chuckled, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “Ah, young love. It seems you have caught a liking for Arinthal. Go and speak to him, Lily.”
A blush tinged Lily’s cheeks, her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t. It’s most improper. I-I don’t know what to do or say.”
With a gentle smile, Nyanna offered her guidance. “Just be yourself, Lily. Let your heart guide you. The rest will unfold naturally.”
Nyanna’s voice cut through the room, reaching Arinthal’s elven ears. “Arinthal, come here. Lily requires your assistance.”
Lily’s skin flushed a bright pink, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement dancing within her. “You horrible woman,” she playfully whispered to Nyanna, a mischievous grin adorned her face.
Nyanna laughed, her melodic voice filling the study. “I shall leave you two alone.” With one last glance, towards Lily and Arinthal, she turned and walked away, her steps carrying her towards her first and the love she was also in need of, this moon.
***
The sun peeked over the horizon, its golden rays casting a warm glow upon the waking palace, life stirred within its opulent halls. The servants moved with purpose, their diligent footsteps reverberating through the corridors as they attended to their duties. Nyanna combed through tomes, crosschecking references within the study.
Lily beamed a radiant smile. Nyanna, intrigued by Lily’s euphoria, was unable to contain her usual reserve and found herself speaking.
“So. . . What happened? Did you breed?”
Excitement danced in Lily’s eyes. “No, we didn’t breed, but it was wonderful. He’s taking me for a picnic when he has leave in three moons.”
Nyanna chuckled, her laughter laced with genuine happiness. “Good. I am truly happy for you, especially after all that. . .” Her voice trailed off.
A shadow of melancholy crossed Lily’s face as the memories of her time in the markets and her painful encounter with Rikar resurfaced. A solitary tear escaped, but Lily swiftly brushed it away, determined to focus on the present.
Nyanna, overwhelmed with remorse for her inadvertent blunder, pulled Lily into a tender embrace. “Oh, my child, I am sorry. I am so clumsy with my words. Please forgive me.” She held Lily close. “They will all pay for what they have done.”
Looking up through red eyes, Lily nodded. “That’s fine. I just want to forget it. Let’s carry on with this.”
Lily, Nyanna, and their companions delved back into their laborious task, meticulously logging and vetting every detail within the tomes. Bells slipped away as they worked tirelessly. And, before they knew it, the mid-morn sun cast its glow upon them. Finally, before them lay the fruit of their labours. Their first destination and an extensive list of names. It wasn’t Krest, but a brothel much closer to home - within Sylvandale itself.
Nyanna’s features hardened, her eyes ablaze with anger. The audacity of such a vile establishment operating within her very walls, within her beloved city, inflamed her ire.
“The fucking nerve,” she screamed, her voice resounding through the study. Her face flushed, and her hands clenched into fists. “Call Captain Greenleaf!”
The handmaidens scurried off, their feet quickening as they followed Nyanna’s urgent command. In a matter of moments, Kenia, the loyal and skilled captain, appeared before her queen.
Nyanna wasted no time, her voice carrying a weight of authority and vengeance. “Kenia, we have a target. The Long Horse brothel, nestled within our very own walls. According to these records, the majority of the women working there were brought into slavery. I want you to shut that place down, and should any guard dare to stand in your way, show no quarter. Free the women and bring them here. Additionally, I want Daruk Hacier brought to me alive. He will answer for his crimes.”
Kenia nodded as she accepted the parchment of names from Nyanna’s outstretched hand. She turned on her heels, marched purposefully out of the study and headed towards the barracks to summon her forces.
The palace walls reverberated with the echoes of Nyanna’s declaration, as justice, fuelled by a potent blend of righteous fury, surged forward, ready to strike at the very heart of darkness.
***
The scene erupted into chaos as the rangers burst through the doors. Kenia swiftly took down a guard, her short sword slashing through the air with blinding speed and a spray of crimson splattered across her face. The head bounced and skittled across the carpet leaving a trail of blood in its wake before coming to a stop in front of a whore, grinding on the lap of her customer. The whore, seeing the violence and the glazed eyes staring up at her, let out a piercing scream. The patrons and whores of the brothel froze in their depraved acts. The once-thriving atmosphere of music and moans of ecstasy abruptly died, ended by the intrusion of the troops.
The rangers moved in pairs with precision, dispersing through the brothel’s chambers, forcefully pulling the whores off their aroused patrons. More guards attempted to intervene, only to meet a swift demise by the slash of a short sword or from the deadly arrows that pierced their heads and hearts.
Kenia, undeterred by the chaos, marched towards the back doors, leading her troops upstairs to the private rooms and offices that harboured the brothel’s secrets. One by one, the solid oak doors yielded to her relentless kicks, revealing shocked and protesting patrons, many of whom held positions of importance within Sylvandale’s government. Their protests fell on deaf ears as they were summarily ignored and subdued, their authority shattered as they were forcibly separated from their hired companions.
Finally, they reached the last door. Kenia’s powerful kick shattered the sturdy barrier, granting her access to the room where Daruk Hacier awaited.
“You’re coming with me, on order of Queen Nyanna, Grand Mage.”
Daruk Hacier’s eyes glowed red. His arrogant sneer faltered as Kenia delivered her command with unwavering authority. “You will not take me.” he sneered.
In an instant, a blade materialised in his hand from beneath the table, which he hurtled towards his neck. Kenia’s reflexes were honed to perfection. She cast her sword towards Daruk and it sliced through the air, severing Daruk’s hand just before it could cut deep into his carotid.
He screamed in excruciating agony. The dismembered hand fell to the carpeted floor with the knife, and Daruk clutched at his bloody stump as blood pumped through his fingers pooling on the table and the carpeted floor.
Kenia, a righteous wrath gleaming in her eyes, closed the distance between them, snatching her sword from the solid oak cresting rail where it had embedded itself just above Daruk’s right shoulder.
Kenia pointed the blade towards his throat, its menacing presence leaving no room for escape. The elven steel sang a deadly tune, its message clear to the fallen brothel king.
“There’s no escape for you,” she declared, “you’re going to pay a high toll for this.” A swift strike from the hilt of her sword rendered Daruk unconscious, his world plunged into darkness.
Kenia beckoned two rangers to attend to their fallen captive. “Check him carefully. Remove his clothing and take him to the wagons.” she snarled.
They meticulously searched his pockets, retrieving his pouch of gold and any other possessions of value. Stripped of his dignity, Daruk’s prone form was carefully carried out of the room, down the spiralling stairs to the forest floor, and toward the awaiting wagons.
The atmosphere in the brothel became charged with urgency as the elven rangers worked swiftly to separate the vulnerable whores from the perpetrators. With a sense of purpose, they guided the trembling women away from the chaos, their gentle touch offering solace and a glimmer of hope in the midst of the depravity they had endured.
The whores, their spirits worn and bodies marked by the scars of exploitation, found themselves in the embrace of compassion as they were led towards the waiting wagons. Their eyes, once filled with fear and resignation, now flickered with newfound hope. A collective sigh of relief floated from their lips, mingling with the soft murmurs of gratitude as they realised they were being granted a chance at freedom and a life beyond their previous torment. The wagon, adorned with the Redwood leaf emblem of the palace, represented a sanctuary where their mental and physical wounds would be tended to, where their voices would be heard, and where justice would finally find its way into their lives. It was a refuge that promised safety, protection, and the beginning of a path towards healing.
Meanwhile, the rangers led the remaining perpetrators away to face the consequences of their actions. These individuals, the guards, patrons, and staff who had perpetuated and participated in the vile trade of human lives, were thrust towards the dungeons, a place of shadows and despair, its embrace unforgiving. There, behind cold, iron bars, they would face the grim reality of their crimes and be subjected to an unrelenting interrogation, their twisted secrets, extracted through methods that would make even the darkest of souls shudder. No ounce of mercy was extended, The rangers were to unveil the truth, to expose the network of corruption and dismantle the foundations upon which the slave master’s empire had thrived.
***
The moonlight cascaded through the grand windows of the throne room. King Selvyn, regal in his throne, and Queen Nyanna, a beacon of strength and beauty at his side, listened intently as they were briefed on the dire situation surrounding the slave trade and the brothel.
Aolis, one of the king’s advisors, spoke. His face creased and his voice trembled. “My king, we cannot hold Councillor’s Jassin and Elaith. They are too powerful.”
“Calm down, Aolis,” the king said. He then looked up at his first, love in his eyes. “What do you say, M’lady?”
Nyanna looked Aolis in the eye and spoke, her expression stoic. “I say we find out exactly what those two councillors know before we do anything. They may be innocent patrons, but they may know more, and I intend to find out.”
Nyanna leaned down to her beloved, their love evident in their shared gaze. A kiss, gentle and filled with understanding, passed between them, reaffirming their unbreakable bond.
King Selvyn beamed at her words and turned to Aolis, his voice commanding and unwavering. “My queen has spoken.”
Aolis became flustered. “B-b-but—”
“NO!” Selvyn bellowed. “You do not question my queen. Do as I command.”
The atmosphere in the room grew tense, and Aolis, composed but shaken, swiftly obeyed, his loyalty to his king compelling him to comply. Aolis bowed deeply and turned, walking up the green carpet and out the double oak doors. Arcturus’s carving eyed Aolis as he closed the door, sealing the room.
A sudden disturbance caught their attention. A brilliant blue disc materialised before them, sending shockwaves through the air.
King Selvyn’s eyes widened in disbelief, his questioning gaze falling upon Nyanna, seeking reassurance in her presence. “How is this possible? The charms?”
Nyanna grinned. “Do not fear, my love. If the portal means us harm, I will protect you as always.” She placed her arm around Selvyn’s shoulder.
Selvyn, both amused and intrigued by Nyanna’s words, engaged in playful banter, teasing her. “And, what payment do you require for this protection? If I recollect, the last payment was to stand before Analia!”
Nyanna purred in his ear. “My love, that was six hundred and two summers past. This time I require not nearly as much. Just a visit to my chambers.” her eyes widened as she raised her eyebrows.
The portal solidified, revealing a figure drenched in tears and anguish. Nyanna strode down the steps to the marble floor. The woman sobbed uncontrollably.
“Frayne? What are you doing here? What has happened?”
Desperation was etched on her face. “Wreska, he’s betrayed us. Shadow’s Roost is under attack by orcs. M-m-my daughter’s life is in danger. Elara and the Ravenslayer, all are under attack. Wreska will not do anything, he tried to kill Eskraiel.”
Nyanna enveloped Frayne in her arms, providing solace and a shelter from the storm of emotions. Selvyn joined them, his comforting touch offering strength and support in the face of adversity.
Frayne’s words tumbled out in fragments. “T-t-the Pact, it’s over. Eskraiel sent me here to deliver this message to you. Right now, he’s organising everyone loyal to him, he’s going to march on Shadow’s Roost.”
Nyanna looked at Selvyn. A shared understanding passed between them. Their hopes seemed fragile. “What can we do?”
Selvyn’s face dropped. “Hope, my darling queen, all we can do is hope. I cannot muster our forces in such a short time. All we can do is hope Elara and the Ravenslayer are successful. They have the stones. I pray to Ereba that this is enough.”
In the moonlit throne room, the fate of their loved ones and the realm itself hung in the balance. And hope, a fragile ember, burned within their hearts.