I headed north-west, up through the mountains and over into Burning Steppes. The land was harsh, arid, sulphur billowing from the lava streams which bubbled and threaded through the realm.
From the north-eastern Dreadmaul Rock and the northern Flame Crest down to the southern parts of the region, small pockets of liquid fire provided homes to vicious grells. They were imps; bright orange and red with long spindly limbs, pointed ears, and rows of sharp razor-like teeth.
If their bite wasn't bad enough, they blasted you with fireballs having absorbed the power of the elements from the lava streams. One avoided these little demons at all costs.
Further along, giant kodos, powerful, reptilian horned creatures used as mounts or beasts of burden, stood close together near an Orc settlement. They grunted and snorted as a young Orc neared to herd them together, readying them for whatever work lay ahead.
One kodo, with a mottled grey hide, turned on the Orc as he tried to slip reins and a harness over the beast's muzzle. Nearby onlookers came to the Orc's rescue, beating back the aggressive kodo with large prodding sticks.
The boy, it seemed, had escaped serious injury, but was nonetheless shaken. He was ordered by one of the others to go to the nearby hut while they saw to the beasts. The boy looked ashamed by his failure to carry out the task. He slunk into the hut, dejected.
Moving on, I saw many more Orcs, several which guarded young dragonkin whelps. The creatures were chained, panicked, screeching for their freedom. What horrors lay in store for them I knew not, but there would be a lucrative trade to be had from the sale of these little dragons.
Their shimmering scales of red, azure, gold and emerald made them easy targets for the greedy Orcs to find and snare.
I empathised completely with the dragonkin, knowing only too well the feeling of hopelessness, trapped within an environment from which you could not see deliverance. Yet, I had been fortunate in recent days, and perhaps the same good fortune would befall these youngsters. I certainly hoped so.
As I glided to the north, the imposing presence of Blackrock Mountain served as a focal point to the land. I knew this place; I knew some of its history. How? It mattered not, I just revelled that I found it all familiar.
The landmark, an old fortress, with its rabbit-run of tunnels, mines, chambers and halls, lured me towards its enormous iron doors. These gargantuan welded, bolted slabs of iron were manufactured by the Dark Iron Dwarves many, many years ago, following civil war and conflicts known as the War of Three Hammers.
That was as much as I could remember other than the fortress was also a dormant volcano, rich in minerals, hidden treasures and mystery. But I resisted the temptation to enter. Partly because I felt a need to continue north and knew somehow my curiosity would drive me deep into the bowels of the mountain.
I had a hunger for knowledge, which, on reflection, was very peculiar for a raven, but I accepted the fact I was a nosy bird. Nevertheless, the pull of the mountain failed to make me venture inside.
I had, however, a sudden need to rest, so I made a Blackrock Stop and settled upon a ledge above the doorway. For some inexplicable reason, I had been flooded with visions of the wet-eyed woman - again.
Each time I thought of her, my heart contracted. The images were steadily becoming clearer each time she graced my mind. Her voice even seemed to penetrate some distant, deep part of me which I could not distinguish. It remained outwith my reach, my understanding, my logic.
Stranger still, I looked forward to these interludes from my reality.
It is incredibly vexatious when a cincture of deep-rooted memories or thoughts engulf you, yet their ambiguity leaves you frustrated, unsettled and desperate to uncover the mystery.
I was left strangely aching; yearning to see her face, her eyes, her lips.
I shook myself; this was ridiculous! I had somewhere to be; though where exactly, I wasn't quite sure.
But, after vigorous preening, I soon felt ready to continue my journey.
YOU ARE READING
A Raven's Tale
FantasyBeneath broken stone and warped metal, a solitary raven panics as it senses imminent danger. It escapes certain death mere seconds before the structure finally crashes to the ground. On soaring above the devastation, the bird spies a wet-eyed woman...