JoP: The Ruin on The Border

Chapter 2

The worst happened fast.

Three days went by without anything other than the mountains humming. While three of them went to chop firewood and look for food, which was running low, two remained in the castle to look for any source of evil, corruption, or whatever else the cause may be. They were each armed with something made of silver. Dirthir and Braskan were the first on duty. They circled around the castle, around the empty courtyard and the stables, they looked in the halls and in the castle-towers, and in the dungeons and within the walls, but there was nothing.

"How about underneath the castle?" Dirthir asked. They had regrouped in the walls near the dungeons.

Braskan shook his head. "There is naught there that I can feel. Naught but the dark and the void."
Dirthir raised his shoulders and lowered them out of indecision. "Then I don't know what the cause may be. I hope the others have some more luck-" He looked from the ground to Braskan, and as he looked at his friend, he saw something standing behind him at the steps near the open door. There, in the darkness.

It surprised Dirthir and he put a hand on his silver-tipped arrows. Braskan did not seem to feel anything behind him, so he wondered why Dirthir was arming himself. "I just told you the dungeons are empty."
"Then why is there something behind you?" Dirthir gently pushed Braskan out of the way before he grabbed his bow. "You have three seconds to come out before I-"
Then he saw who it was, and Dirthir lowered his bow and stared at the figure beneath them.

Though covered in shroud, its head was flowing with long golden hair, with braids at its sides. A mask decorated with vines graced the left half of its face. Its cloak looked like a living forest was sewn into the cloth. And with one blue, cold eye it stared right at Dirthir.
"Faaru..." Was all Dirthir said. "Father?"

This was where his father hid all these years? He'd finally found him, in here of all places! Dirthir's father turned around and walked down the stairs, out of reach. Just as Dirthir rushed down the stairs past Braskan, the elf vanished into the dark. Dirthir might've kept running had Braskan not reached out and pulled him back to the floor of the surface.

"It was so real..." he muttered. "He was real... That was my father."
Braskan shook his head. "I felt nothing there. That was just a shadow in the darkness."

They ate well that night. Ayan had managed to snare some hares. They were about the only beasts brave (or foolish) enough to venture here. The group chattered lightly around the fire as they fed their horses and tried to unwind for the way. But not Dirthir. He stared at the shadows beyond the fire and saw the same visage he did earlier that day. That man, that tall elf with the mask. None other than his father. He saw, in the dancing shadows, the shape of his father and five other vague forms, with a lifted sword that rose high, and his eyes darted around the walls as he saw the sword strike deep into the heart of a gargantuan dragon. And just as he envisioned it roaring in pain, the sky and the mountains rumbled and cracked and moaned.

In pain. In agony.

Chills went down their spines despite their thick clothes, and the world went cold, cold, cold.

"Dirthir!" Ayan tapped his friend on the shoulder, and Dirthir jumped up. His body was tense, his head hurt. The light stung and it danced violently in front of his two-coloured eyes.

-"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" Ayan asked. And Dirthir could only respond with the most terrified of looks he could give. This place was making him see things there weren't. He missed his father. He missed him so much. But he couldn't be here and Dirthir knew he couldn't. But then what else could this be? Braskan began shaking his head next to him.
"He claimed to see a shadow going into the dungeons today."