Tales of Cobardon

Epilogue

Nameless

They had arrived at Rulerstead and had begun Trevan's coronation. Only one thing in the ritual remained: taking the blessing of The Orb before being anointed as king. The Orb was secure within many of vaults and embedded deep into the unrelenting walls of the mine that had existed before castle Rulerstead was built upon it.

Trevan stood outside of the first wall, slightly tensed. Ritual commanded another person to occupy the to-be king. Fortunately, tradition claimed the word person rather than human. He took a step towards Trevan and was about to say something when Trevan side-glanced him and winced while muttering, "Ohh, the creature." He was about to correct the king but then thought against it.

"My lord, it would be my greatest honour if you chose me to accompany you The Orb." he mouthed out his demand. Trevan looked around to see if someone else had contradicting wishes. None did. Trevan nodded in his direction. They don't understand the honour, he thought with some disgust, the short-lived humans. Even the wisest among them could only match my race's teenagers. Alas, my race is here no more. Bitter memories of his blood relatives jogged up the memory lane. He lashed them out, readying himself for the majestic moment that was to come.

With a grunt, the first double-doored gate opened to reveal another within it. They both crossed the first threshold. As they neared the second doors, it flung open similarly to reveal another gate. Each door was a lustrous bronze with metallic straps of gold running across its perimeter. The walls connecting each vault openings were a natural dull red. It was the colour of the ore that used to be mined. The ore had been extremely valuable due to certain currently unknown properties. They were never likely to know because the art of extracting the ore was lost.

One portal after another swung open. They had just crossed the tenth one and the eleventh stood in front of them. As the neared these gates, they didn't fly open. It was no surprise, this was the final gate and had no gears. These had to be flung open by the king/queen themselves. It was thought to act as a final test before the crown attained the blessings of The Orb, though every ruler in history had been able to accomplish this and thus the idea was dismissed as a rumour.

Trevan clenched his jaws as he put his weight against the doors. They weren't moving. Creak! The doors grated against the rocky ground as Trevan managed to open them. They both stepped in.

Who was that? Trevan's face was smeared with confusion but then elation flooded the face. Nameless tries to figure out who the threadbare, shaggy, grizzled man slumping near The Orb was. Trevan lurched toward the figure, shouting, "Nukaton! You have returned!"

Ohh, he pondered while slightly chastised to not recognise the figure immediately. Nukaton muttered weakly, "My majesty." Trevan interrupted, "How do you know I have been crowned king." Nukaton's pride was slightly injured as he reprimanded, "I may be within eleven doors but I have ears everywhere. I am the King of History, at the least. Anyway, my quest for knowledge ended here. I have learnt very crucial things, yet one demands urgency."

Though there were only three people in the chamber, the silence still seemed astonishing. "Trevan, my student, you have to hurry! It is the year 8,000's eve and they have returned!"

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Lucradis

Magical fog shrouded everything, he couldn't even see himself! His feet remained rooted to the forecastle deck; his palm clenched against the slender, hard bowsprit jutting out from near his feet. They were to arrive at the foreign continent named 'Cobardon'. That decision was sealed. Draughts, rebellions, poor rains and civil wars had driven most people to graves. At the very second genocide was about to occur, the God of Darkness had appeared and guaranteed them glory and riches if they crossed towards east on the year's eve.

Oskcopa's presence had suddenly vanished but that information had not been passed onto the masses. Sailing east had been their last straw of hope. He had to do this. 777 ships had started the journey. He didn't know how many would survive it. The hull rasped underneath.

He heard footsteps ramble in the living quarters, knives slicing through the air, gore spewing into the wooden floorboards. Another mutiny, he thought grimly. They were no shock because he had become accustomed to them. It was true that an empty mind was a brewery for malicious thoughts.

He unsheathed his sword and marched towards the berth; nothing was going to stop him this time! Whoever reigned Cobardon's lands would be in grave trouble and would soon also be in a grave! There was no escaping! Only doom - doom for his people or of Cobardon's!