The Anathema War

Chapter 1: The Last Gremlin

Gods across the sea, what has the world become?

I pick my way through the carnage. The taste of blood and iron lingers in the air along with the stench of smoke and burnt flesh. Moans of agony echo across the desecrated valley. Some are soothed as healers and priests tend to them, knitting wounds back together with herbs or restoration magic. The rest are soothed as Iro carries their souls to Axial across the sea. Several of the Watcher's ravens light onto bodies, inspecting the face for a moment before taking to the air once more.

The bodies are mixed. Goblins, gremlins, and humans, though I pass a few elves as well. Some are nezíreth, my own kind, their skin varied in shades of brown like tree bark, long, pointed ears peeking out from hair of darker brown or auburn. For a moment, my body lies among them. Auburn hair matted with blood. Green eyes staring sightlessly at the dark, cloudy sky. And I am merely my soul, wandering until I am at last freed from this existence.

Surprisingly, a laróseth lies nearby as well, his fair skin and golden hair begrimed by blood and dirt. However, I spot no detúnés among the dead. A pity.

A large fire burns a short ways away, the surrounding land pot-marked with scorched earth. Judging from the destruction, I can only assume a talented thermalurgist was present during the battle—most likely the laróseth I saw. This amount of power is far beyond my capacity. Smoke from the fire billows into the air, shrouding the land in further darkness, denying even the beauty of starlight to comfort the troubled souls beneath. Only úthalor, the bright silver moon, manages to cut through the gloom and lend a faint light to the world, transformed in such a short time from the lush green valley it had been not a few hours before. 

Before my first true taste of battle. For I now see that my past experiences were nothing more than boyhood tussles in comparison.

The attacks had increased in both frequency and severity. When detúnés assaulted Ciremúd, it took every available fighter to drive them back. Though not until they took away everything.

Civulír must have thought he was being merciful when he exiled me.

What would exile bring me? Should I take refuge in another settlement? Wander the wilderness? These questions and more plagued my mind as I traveled, taking down small bands of orcs I crossed. When I had come upon scores of men fighting against gremlins and goblins, I immediately dropped my pack and rushed into the clash, cutting through goblins and gremlins distracted by less-threatening prey, consumed by my drive against the enemy until they fell or fled.

Now here, in the aftermath, I see afresh the destruction brought by the vile races. All that has been lost because of them. The world must be cleansed of the apostate creations. But to resist such wickedness, sacrifices will have to be made. And if our enemies are to fight as snakes, we shall show them just how venomous our bite can be.

I look around at the large force of men assembled here. It is no accidental gathering. It must have been formed for a purpose. Perhaps that purpose coincides with my own.

I've heard the rumors, of course. They all say the same thing. Great armies of orcs, goblins, gremlins, and detúnés marching against the whole of Coretani. These I can believe. But there are other rumors as well. Whispers, really, that even the gods themselves fight in this conflict. The Creators fighting alongside us against the Apostates.

Outlandish claims that couldn't possibly be true. But if they are, what exactly have I found myself on the edge of? And how much more destruction will have to come to the world before wickedness is at last erased?

In my meandering, I find a goblin that still breathes. His dark orange skin is splotched with black ichor, his own blood, the same color as his greasy hair. Like nearly all the vile races, the goblin has pure black eyes. They bore into me, his crooked, yellowed teeth bared in a snarl, a weakened hand grasping for his weapon several feet away. I draw the sword at my side and plunge it into his neck, watching the life leave his eyes.