Tome of Ancient Aeons

Harrowing Whispers of my Past

" Flame. Screaming. Pain. Colossal snaking pillars of smoke wavered in the wind, rising higher and higher like tentacles of a black, mythical beast which would soon devour the eastern horizon of Sydonia. A thunder shook the earth; sudden roar and crumble of rooftops being swallowed by the hellfire that engulfed just before the new dawn. Cries of men, women and children, intertwined with the cracking chaos of searing wood reached my ears.

Silent, I stood on a distant hill, slightly further to the west, just above the woodlands, and the green fields after them, which led me back to Ackenberry all my life. My hand was pressing against the bark of the old apple tree which I used to visit in my childhood, as if afraid that my poor legs would fail and I shall fall, shattered like glass by the unbearable aching of my heart. Tears filled my eyes, my gaze turned blurry. A long cry of pain bursted out of my mouth and I dropped to my knees. This... sorrow... pierced my soul harder than a blade. I found myself clenching my teeth and fists as I swayed back and forth, back and forth, consumed by rage and suffering like I have never felt before.

Ackenberry, my Ackenberry. The small fishing village of lovely, warm - hearted people on the coast of Weldmore Lake... it was gone. No Kalathorian soldiers ever came, nor the proud, mighty Balannarians who gave their oaths to the Gods to guard this realm. The people were left helpless, on their own, unprotected by Lord Vaindril of Kalathor who claimed that the lands of Sydonia were under his rule.

There were no soldiers in Ackenberry. We were peaceful people, maybe a bit too naive to believe that there was some good left in this world. How foolish of us! Although some of us took the liberty to grab weapons and stand against the incoming darkness, no military experience guided our hands and minds. Most of us were blacksmiths, farmers and fishermen who strongly believed in Kalathor, the city of our ancestors, the ones to come to our aid. Look where that led us.

Men were slaughtered on the streets, devoured and mangled by the hordes of the Underworld which appeared in the first sunlight. They passed through our city like a hurricane; deformed, four-legged corpses rushing like spiders towards every living being coming across their path. And no. No Balannarians showed up on our doorstep to prevent the death of all those innocent men, women and children that night.

There was one, yes, who came a few days ago pretending to be a protector of the living realm. A Balannarian, just like the old tales speak of them. Magic wielder, fast as lightning and strong like twenty men and yet, he abandoned us on the edge of doom, leaving my people to be gorged and butchered by unholy monstrosities. As I stared hopelessly in the unleashed hell upon my home, my eyes fell upon a black figure standing on a distant slope far to the south. I did not know who it was, but a feeling, as chilling as ice passed down my spine and I knew, he or she, was no friend of ours.

I had no family back in Ackenberry, to be honest. I never knew my father and my mom died during childbirth as people have told me. I was left on the muddy streets, scavenging for food and water, trying to survive day by day. I begged for golden coins to buy myself some blankets for the incoming winter days and I lived crawling in holes and sleeping in abandoned shacks. But, Ackenberry was all I ever knew. I grew up on these streets, the people were kind enough to give me money and it was there that I met a boy who taught me how to read. He would often find me on the streets and bring me books. I would read, immersing in some old legends and ancient tales of a different world, songs of great heroes and proud kingdoms. His name was Beryn and he felt like a brother to me. To think that I lost my dear friend to an unholy scourge tore my heart out of the chest. So I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I could feel the wind blowing on my face, drying the tears that had soaked my cheeks and lips. Sharp branches of trees clashed against me as I struggled down the slopes of the hill, going far to the west where I knew that in a few hours, the waters of the Abysmal Sea would greet my eyes. I do not know whether the Gods have saved me or it was a coincidental luck that day when I left Ackenberry to visit the old apple tree, but I knew I had to live on. I had to find a way to survive. And Ackenberry was no more. But, the rage was slowly consuming me. I could feel it boiling the blood in my veins, feeding that monstrous abyss which grew deep inside my stomach. The Balannarian! He abandoned us! I watched my home engulfed in flame and my folk being mutilated. And there was nothing I could do!