The Shadow Over Fandelran; Part 15

Need to catch-up? Here's the link to the full collection.

---

Chapter 10

Part 1

“Gustov! Get my six!” Slashing out at the malformed tusked creature, Ifan let out a grunt of exertion.

     Shoving off his own attacker, Gustov moved to stand at Ifan’s back, readying his battle axe as the horde approached. The attackers stood head and shoulder above Ifan, but at eye-level to Gustov. Their faces were adorned with piercings and war paint, giving way to ornate curved tusks protruding from their maws. The trolls of Aberhaf had been allies to the Inarellians, up until the magic dried up.

     “Two more on me!” Angharad parried a twisting tree-branch being used as a club with her shield, before piercing the creature’s heart with her spear.

     “I’ve got it!” Two arrows flew out of a nearby tree, puncturing the skulls of Angharad’s unaware pursuers.

     “Thanks, Rhian!”

     Smiling to herself, Rhian glanced across the battlefield, her bow string taut, before being dragged out of her sanctuary by her ankle. Letting out a scream, Rhian struggled for the dagger in her boot as she was hung upside down.

     Bursting through a crowd of the attackers, Angharad drove her weapon through the hip of the troll holding Rhian. Letting out a pained howl, the troll released the red head, who collapsed in a heap on the ground, snapping her short bow in two.

     “Fuck!” Scrambling to her feet, Rhain pulled the daggers from her boots and stepped alongside Angharad, the two sizing up the group ahead of them.

     Lifting his hand to the sky, Ifan channelled holy energy into his fingertips, grasping the agglomerating white lightning in his free hand, pulling it down to his side as a small, chittering dagger of electricity. Another troll approached from his right, with a leather shield and a small, uprooted tree as a weapon. Parrying the incoming attack with his sword, Ifan thrust past the creature’s guard with the lightning dagger, piercing its stomach. The air filled with the smell of burning flesh as the troll squealed in agony, recoiling backwards. Sweeping his foot behind the stumbling troll, he brought it to the floor before driving his sword through its head. Ifan could see the troll had a monstrous growth on its neck, whose pulsating slowed as the creature withered under Ifan’s blade.

     Gustov dragged his axe through an approaching attacker, knocking it to the ground with a gaping wound. Reversing the momentum of the swing, Gustov let out a frenzied cry, felling the attacker’s back-up as it stepped over its ally’s corpse.

     “Their numbers are dwindling, keep it up everyone,” called Ifan to his allies.

     Angharad lead the charge against the group of three trolls, keeping them at a spear’s length will poking out at their exposed bodies. Taking advantage of the distraction Angharad was creating, Rhian flung her daggers at two of the three trolls, both striking true at the creatures’ necks. As they tumbled to the ground, Angharad rushed the last of them, knocking it to the ground with a shunt of her shield before driving her spear into its torso. Blood gurgled in its mouth as the death rattle released it from its pain.

     The group looked around them, panting heavily as they took in their victory. They’d been asked to investigate a series of thefts on the docks of Aberhaf, and to their surprise, discovered that their quest-givers had turned feral. Fey creatures across the country had been turning since the attack on the Well. First it was the denizens of Fandelran themselves. Elves that had lived there for centuries, fairies, and magical woodland creatures all began showing withdrawal from the lack of magic. But as the magic dried up across the continent, the old races had all begun turning. As Ifan’s eyes lost their glow, he began checking the bodies of their assailants. Reaching into the vest pocket of the tumour laden troll, he found a vial of viscous black liquid.

     “Another case of tainted Arcanum.” Ifan held up the vial to the group.

     “Shit, of course it was,” replied Angharad.

     “That’s the fourth case this month, right?” Rhian collected her bow’s fragments from the grassy floor, letting out a frustrated sigh.

     “At least. Where the hell are they all getting it from?” Ifan poured the bottle out onto the ground, and the grass twisted and mutated upon contact, growing thorns and odd, alien flowers.

     “Who knows? But this is another quest where we won’t get our payment.” Gustov scratched his beard, flicking off flecks of dried blood.

     “Yeah, seems so. Let’s search the bodies for any more clues and then we can head to Aberhaf town. Hopefully, the other locals haven’t succumbed like our friends here.”

     “Yessir.” Angharad strapped her spear and shield to her back before investigating the other troll corpses. She could see the affects of the arcanum; tusks that had grown additional blackened branches, hunchbacks, withered limbs, and unusual growths were among a few of the physical afflictions the assailants exhibited. Rhian eventually joined her, and Gustov kicked over a few corpses right-side up before giving them a half-hearted look.

     “Nothing special. Let’s go.” Gustov began walking towards the township, eliciting a shout from Ifan.

     “Get back here, Gustov! We’ll head out together when we’re done here.”

     “As I said, there is nothing special with these tainted. Nothing different to the ones we faced before.” Leaning up against a tree, Gustov watched as the others checked the pockets of the dead, before placing them all side by side in a row.

     “The townsfolk can tend to the dead; if they’re still with it. Look,” Ifan held up a handful of other small vials filled with black liquid, “almost all of them had it on them. Doesn’t bode well for the state of the others in town. We act as if they’re all hostile, until we confirm otherwise.”

     Following Gustov, the group made their way from the small docks of their quest giver past the few ramshackle farms on the way to Aberhaf. The town gates were pulled shut and the road into town was disturbingly empty for midday.

     “Do we knock or?” Rhian looked around at her guildmates, hoping that someone else would take the lead.

     “I suppose.” Ifan walked up to the gate and rasped on the hard wooden panels, “Hello? We’ve just come from the docks. We’re adventurers from Trefynnon. None of us are tainted, if you’re worried about that.”

     The group stood silent for a few moments, all glancing around and up and down the gate’s surface. Slowly, the gate creaked open towards them. Stepping back quickly, the adventurers assembled together in anticipation. Two troll guards stood opposite them, each equipped with pikes and chain mail. Their pale blue skin had lost most of its colour, but there were no signs of any obvious abnormalities.

     “The docks? What of Huarn, Gaal, and the other fishers?” the shortest of the guards spoke up, addressing Ifan, who stood at the head of the adventuring party.

     “They attacked us. They were all tainted.” Ifan held up one of the vials.

     “Keep that foulness away from our town!” The taller guard thrust forward with his pike.

     “Sorry!” Ifan poured the contents out on the floor, watching as the ground quickly discoloured.

     “Thank you. Please, come in – the town elder will be keen to hear of their fates.” The shorter ushered the group in, before signalling a third guard that was out of view to pull the gate to.

     As they stepped into the town, Ifan was the first to remark about how quiet it was.

     “Yes… Since the tainted came, the townsfolk have been instructed to stay in their homes,” responded the taller guard.

     “If the tainted come about after a magical race consumes tainted Arcanum, why ask everyone to isolate themselves?” asked Angharad.

     “While the town elder has restricted the use of all arcanum, we cannot be sure who has fallen victim to it. We have had to rely on strict quarantining.”

     Looking into shuttered windows, Gustov could see watching eyes following them from the nearby houses.

     “How is everyone holding up, not being able to take any arcanum?” Ifan watched as seagulls circled overhead; tens of them were waiting on top of the town’s thatched roofs, staring at the group as they walked through the empty town square.

     “The situation is dire. Several of us have begun losing our tusks, and our younglings aren’t developing properly.” Looking at his arm, the guard sighed, “Not to mention the bleaching of our skin. Those of us worst hit have been struggling with fatigue, and are being tended to by our shaman. Our hospital beds are full with the pale-faced infirm.”

     “I’m so sorry.” Rhian looked at the guardsmen, dejected. They smiled back weakly, failing to hide their worry.

     “We are here.” The shortest guard gestured to a large timber building, adorned with a large, ornate brass clock. It was topped with an iron weathervane depicting the troll god of the sea, accompanied by a flock of gulls sat guarding the town hall.

     “Please follow me. Dewi, you can head back to the town gate.” The taller shepherded the group forward, as the shorter bid his farewells to the group.

     “Dewi? An Inarellian name,” remarked Ifan.

     “Yes, my mother is human – from Trefynnon.”

     Ifan looked him up and down, slowly noticing the more human features – the eyes and smaller ears were dead giveaways, now that Dewi had highlighted it. “How is the lack of magic affecting you? I’ve heard it’s easier on human mixed races.”

     “It is.” Poking at his tusks, Dewi continued, “My tusks never grew much longer than this, and my skin has never been quite as blue as other trolls. Thankfully, I’ve not had to deal with the sickness that my brethren have been afflicted with. Yet. I’m sure my time will come, soon enough.”

     “Let’s hope that it’s all sorted by then.” Ifan smiled at Dewi.

     “For my kind’s sake, salvation could not come soon enough. Farewell.” Dewi offered a hand to Ifan, before turning back to the town square and making his way back to his duties.

     Ifan followed the others into the town hall a few paces behind. Looking around the reception, he marvelled at the variety of maritime artwork being hung up on the walls. After a few minutes of wandering through the building, they eventually reached a robust wooden door quelling the sound of spirited arguments from within.

     “Give me a moment,” said the guard. Knocking on the door, he exclaimed, “Sir. I’ve come with some adventurers from Trefynnon, they’ve been to the docks. They… dealt with the fishermen.”

     “Come in, come in.”

---

Image Source