Age of Cataclysm: Book 2-Chapter 1
Imported from SF2 with no description.
I haven't forgotten this story. Here's the first chapter of Book 2, and my break from the narrative is over. Expect more frequent updates to this although they would not be as often as Forging Bonds while I work on both stories. I have a goal on both Patreon and SubscribeStar that will motivate me to release more content on a regular basis if you wish for me to do so. Links are at the bottom of the chapter.
Many thanks to those that voted, favorited, and commented so far.
At long last, Kaera arrives at her home, a place filled with joyful and sorrowful memories. Her next mission is to exterminate a monster terrorizing it and redeem herself in clandestine. However, a secret romance between her and her partner could unravel more than she can fix. Will she be able to accomplish her goal, or will she falter and do more harm than good?
Knowing his heritage, Tylon, along with a cheerful Halfling named Grifo and a Certh with a haunting past named Heilim, aka Vallo, explore a region in Adoran called the Fertilelands to gain experience at the request of his deceased begetter, King Theandren. They know the task is a massive undertaking as they observe the being the opposite to its name, and calls for revolution are mounting. Keeping his royal bloodline a secret for fear of placing a target on his back, he, Heilim, and Grifo seek to assist the region, all while a group of Cerths hunts them down.
After deciding on his career path, Barion joins Radclyff and Jemeir on their travel to settlement near the Crisean border to join a guild called the Wolfpack while they reunite with a couple of Gatekeeper members in their quest to stop the Soulmonger's return. He'll discover more about himself and his Fenri father along the way, stuff that can potentially strain the relationship between him and Radclyff. A scaly individual joins them, but is there more than meets the eye than it lets on?
The Dragon Throne is in a precarious situation. The country risks fracturing into smaller nations as its neighbor in the north behaves erratically under a new queen. Several prominent families meet to discuss current events while secretly planning on claiming the grand prize. Meanwhile, in a far away land, an infamous entity yearns and strives to claim what's rightfully his someday.
The Darkened Seven draws nearer, perverting more in its approach, and an organization begins to prepare for its imminent approach.
I won't bore you with details about the story's contents. You can read everything in Chapter 1 of Book 1. In summary, welcome to the Age of Cataclysm series, a story that's a conglomeration of Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones/ A Song of Ice and Fire, Wheel of Time, and Berserk. The entire story contains sex, incest, and dark scenes, so I suggest reading something else if they don't appeal to you. Without further ado, here's the first chapter of the second novel.
Chapter length: 2,303 words
Chapter 1
(Septham 21st, Year 672 of the 4th Age)
(Naycaster)
Six days after dealing with the Klovalks and their lycanthrope masters, Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon are deep into Adoran's southern provinces in a colloquially known as the Mudlands to follow the late King Theandren's instruction, and they know the reason behind the name upon entering it. They find themselves washing their clothes more frequently from the mud clinging to them because of above the kingdom's average rainfall and the prevalence of flooding from multiple rivers, including the Kirileen River. Approximately as frequent as the muddy terrain is the farms they notice while traveling. The land's formal name is the Fertilelands because of the rain and floods providing rich soil to host the highest concentration of fecund farmlands in Adoran if they're not in the present and dealing with the Darkened Seven.
Instead, the trio beholds a poverty in the produces. In the city of Naycaster, they notice slender citizens and food rationing instead of the argosy of victuals as they meander around. The lines elongate as far as their eyes can observe, with the king's soldiers handing out the rations to famished civilians under a livid crowd's roars, chants, and epithets. They direct their wrath at the people in line, calling them abettors to the monarch.
The livestock isn't fairing any better than the residents. At least half of them are cadaverous, with a smaller portion being corpses on the verge of disposal. Together, they outnumber healthy animals by a substantial margin.
Propaganda posters litter the metropolis, depicting the king as a buffoon and a tyrant through pictures. Equally in full force is propaganda for the Brotherhood of Liberty with calls for people to join the fellowship. Mixed within are demands for revolution or succession and for the barons to denounce King Dyral.
Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon access one of the extraordinary restaurants still open for business for a brief bite to eat, though mainly to listen to gossip, when they notice an individual leaving a building. They figure that people would flock here, but they wonder if it's closed because it's vacant inside. A female, Dragonkin with green scales stares at them as she cleanses the counter while they saunter in. They figure out that she's female when she greets them and hands them the menu.
“Greetings. My name is Ipustith, and I'll be taking care of you. The highlighted selections are the options you can choose. All of our drink assortments are available for consumption. Can I start you with that?"
Tylon opts for ale while Grifo and Heilim respectively order a Chelline Avalanche and an Old School. Investigating the menu, they realize that the only options to select are from a limited array of appetizers. They agree to order two platters of garlic-stuffed olives, believing that they will live in the wilderness in the future to consume an adequate meal.
While the trio waits for the order, Grifo and Tylon recall the similarities between Naycaster and Siartin. Heilim also does, but he narrows his focus on how vehement the people are in their actions, and it alarms him._ These people don't understand what they're asking for._ Ipustith returns with the appetizers; green olives are stuffed with a bantam chunk of garlic and cheese.
“Anything else I can help with?" Ipustith inquires.
“I have a question," Tylon answers. “Why is there no one here besides us?"
“It's because we're technically closed."
“What?"
“Baroness Grishild ordered all restaurants, taverns, inns, basically all eating establishments, to redirect resources to assist in feeding the population due to food shortages. She wants us to create meals that can stretch far, and is giving the owners subsidies to pay them though at this point around here, gold is worth less than copper to regular citizens."
“Then why is this place open? Why aren't people coming here? Isn't this illegal?"
“The owner felt that people deserve a more refined dish instead of slop, so he came up with options that reflect that. This place and others like it are secretly open not because it's illegal, but to conserve precious resources. By the way, I would appreciate to not spread word about this place beyond trusted individuals."
“How did the food shortages begin?" Heilim asks.
“It all began when that ominous, second moon showed its disgusting appearance for the first time five years ago, signaling the arrival of the Darkened Seven. Adoran always had its provinces give Edgepoint their food proportional to the amount they produce so areas with less fertile land can keep more food than areas such as the Mudlands. Well, five years ago, King Dyral upped the portions of each province in an effort to store as much food before the Darkened Seven arrived, and he increased the capital's intake on the Mudland's provinces. We didn't mind that our taxes were higher until he made changes in what we produced. Now, the yields across the Fertilelands are at the lowest ever without a single decrease in our taxes, so we can barely feed ourselves, and the cattle, sheep, and other livestock are as good as good as dead. Rumor has it that he's considering on raising the taxes specifically on the Mudlands and sending the royal army down here to collect it because he believes we aren't paying our fair share. He may raid our stockpile also. Then what do we do if he does? The barons and baronesses already accepted that some of the people are going to starve with the current supply."
“Has Baroness Grishild considered hunting to increase supply?" Tyon proposes.
“We've seen abundant wildlife while traveling here," Grifo adds.
“She did, but we're mostly farmers," Ipustith replies. “She's trying to attract more hunters as we speak." She stares at Helim and Tylon more closely after mentioning hunters, scrutinizing their characteristics closely. “You two must be Cerths, or one Certh and one with half of the traits. I heard they are excellent at hunting animals."
“They are, and we have ample experience," Heilim responds.
“You should consider hunting around here. The baroness may increase the price on wild game if the demand didn't do it already."
“We'll take your suggestion into consideration," Grifo responds. The only items the group members pay for are their potables at a steep discount since Baroness Grishild subsidizes the eating establishments.
Tylon elects the group to assist the settlement and earn some extra cash by hunting in the nearby woods, something he wishes the Cerths at the Northern Wall can do in the future. His mind wanders at what they're doing right now, what Betudaca is doing currently. He shakes the thought of them sending a posse after them since he, Grifo, and Heilim don't notice any signs of another Farlander tracking them. They're probably thinking, 'Good riddance' that I'm not there anymore. Even Ateano.
There are a plethora of signs that small game is around in the woods, so Heilim and Tylon prepare traps such as snares and drop a hefty rock on them while they search for larger prey. They detect the presence of turkeys not long into their search, so they start to stealthily move through the foliage in the direction with the most signs. A sharp snap on dehydrated twigs warns the turkeys ahead, coercing them to take flight and bolt from the location. Unprepared for the sudden appearance and them flying away, Tylon's shot goes wide, and the abyss swallows it, never to return. After Heilim and Tylon cover themselves and Grifo in mud, they wait patiently while Grifo mimics a turkey's call to lure the rafter back. Tylon loads another projectile in his crossbow.
The flock begins to return one at a time, providing Tylon with an opportunity to expiate himself for the last time. It can not be a more perfect shot, directly at the head when he fires the bolt and a gobbler flies for a few seconds before crashing down, dead.
As they are returning to where they set the traps, Heilim and Tylon descry recent buck activity by the markings on a tree. From their size, they determine that the male deer is large. They and Grifo investigate further, locating one disturbed verdure after another. Their trophy lies ahead, drinking water from a river. Heilim and Tylon pause and stare at the majestic creature, admiring his size, color, and a massive ten-point rack on his head from a distance.
A fly buzzes around Grifo's nose, and he swats it away. It returns again, and he repeats the exact motion likewise. His irritation steadily augments when it comes back and he swats at it repeatedly. Ultimately, and disastrously for the hunters, he sneezes loudly, and the deer prepares to take off.
Tylon's shot hits the buck in a non-lethal section of his body as he flees. Not allowing it to suffer and ruin the meat's flavor, Heilim transforms into his werewolf form and pursues it, decreasing the gap between him and the animal until capture. He quickly and humanely, dispatches the deer by snapping his frangible neck.
Concluding that it's enough of the fructuous hunt, Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon return to civilization with the properly dressed buck and turkey in their possession. They decide to keep the three squirrels as their dinner for tonight. A group of butchers associated with the baroness greatly appreciate the fresh meat, esteeming the departed deer's aspects and paying them handsomely with a hundred gold altogether.
Since they figure the people are choleric at their predicament, the trio seeks shelter in the wilderness instead, recalling the incident in Siartin. After washing the mud off themselves, and their clothes and being in a fresh set, Heilim prepares squirrel with wild berries and other plants on the side while thinking about Tylon's marksmanship. He's accurate when the target stands still or is enormous, but he needs to learn how to lead targets because a certain amount will move erratically when they know they are in the crosshairs. How would I go about it?
“I've been thinking about something," Tylon utters, breaking Heilim's inner monologue.
“What's it about?" Grifo inquires.
“I want to help the Fertileland's residences deal with the lack of food."
“I have a sneaking suspicion as to why," Heilim responds.
“King Theandren, my father I never knew, gave me a command to travel Adoran and connect with the citizen's, absorbing their concerns during it. This will be a perfect opportunity to obey his command, and gain valuable experience in how to run a kingdom."
“Do you have a plan in mind?"
“I don't have a solid plan. I do know that we can't hunt everyday till the Darkened Seven passes because that's too much of a workload all of us to handle. I'm contemplating at taking tomorrow and the next day investigating to come up with a plan. Maybe seek audience with Baroness Grishild, and work with her. If we can successfully help, it will most likely be a great boon towards my claim on the Dragon Throne, and teach me how to be a leader."
Sounds like a reasonable course of action," Grifo speaks, and Heilim concurs.
“I noticed that you're lacking in your capabilities with a ranged weapon," Heilim enunciates.
“What do you mean?" Tylon questions. “Was it when I shot the buck and turkey when they were in motion?"
“Correct. In the battlefield or in the wild, you will encounter targets that will realize that you're shooting them, and they'll do everything they can to make your shot difficult. They may not even realize, but they may not stand still long enough for you line up your shot. You're accurate when it comes to frozen targets, but not erratic ones. I intend on training you on how to lead and predict their movements somehow. Maybe manufacture mock targets in the woods while we're helping the city."
“I recognize that I need to hone in that particular skill."
The squirrels taste delicious from the preparation and roasting on the open fire with a wild berry glaze, gamey in a good way with a fruity taste from the sticky substance. Grifo, Heilim, and Tylon ingest the rodents with their bare hands with the salad on a makeshift plate. Once they finish their dinner, they prepare their sleeping arrangements without placing a roof over their heads since tonight is one of the sporadic nights without rain, and the air is comfortable.
The second shift arrives, and Tylon wakes up Heilim before going to bed. During his transition, Heilim contemplates on a recurring dream from the past few nights. In it, he's back in his house, witnessing the intruder exiting and his wife's and offspring's dead bodies. The Cerths start to turn their backs on him, forcing him into exile upon discovering the crime. The scene that plays most often is the murders, a sick joke Adoriiadgnas plays in his view.
Heilim detects an object falling over, concluding that it's Grifo's bag with a book sticking out. Since it's in a precarious spot near the muddy ground, he walks over to it to place it inside for protection. The cover bewitches him. It contains nothing, excluding an array of characters forming a six-letter word in the middle, which he can't translate. The outer edges and spine have a vine, and the material for the cover is out of blackened-grey metal. As he attempts to turn the page, it refuses to open.
Grifo wakes up, becomes aware of what's happening, and snatches the book quickly from Heilim, placing back in his bag. For once in his life, Heilim witnesses him having a look of pure terror in his eyes, pleading with him not to pursue the issue further. The last image he records in his memory before switching shifts.
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