Chalky dirt cracked under the hooves of horses and the wheels of laden carriages. The creaking of axles and the quiet whinny of the packhorses broke the otherwise eerie silence of the wilderness, and for leagues in any direction, the sentries could see nothing but ancient trees and rugged, rocky cliffs. The carriages and wagons formed a caravan, full of enough food, armor, and weapons to sustain a small fighting force with a single purpose; to escort a single royal carriage across the sprawling kingdom of Perelen.
The carriage lay at the center of this convoy, surrounded by armored warriors on horseback and flanked by spearmen, with a dozen sentries looking out in every direction for any sign of danger. In all, two squads of the Perelen royal guard stood watch, knowing that the wilderness of the kingdom was overrun by bandits, barbarians and (worst of all) savage tribes of beastmen who spurned the king’s laws and lived in defiance of civilization.
Within the royal carriage, the young Prince Elim Ran-Perelen sat while occasionally peering out of the frosted glass of his cart and grimacing at the dull landscape. He had begged the king not to send him on such a wearisome task, to no avail, and after that he had demanded that he at least travel by ship to avoid having to travel through the lawless inland wilds of the kingdom. That request was also denied, with the king citing rough seas and increased piracy along the trade routes.
And so, Prince Elim made west overland, his annoyance simmering for the entirety of the long voyage, which he had been helpfully informed would take three entire weeks of travel. Now, midway into the trip, Prince Elim reread the folio of documents detailing his duties for the tenth time, if only to stave off his boredom.
‘Set out from the Royal Capital of Chasynne in order to represent the royal family at the midsummer festival in the trade city of Tulis. Remain in Tulis to survey the fortresses and citadels in the surrounding lands, as well as provide patronage to local craftsmen and artists’, Elim read, rolling his eyes at the obnoxious calligraphy that the court scribe preferred. ‘As fourth in line to the throne, it may someday be your duty to represent the crown in matters of-‘
“Blah, blah, blah… ‘Go as far away from the rest of us as possible and try not to screw things up’, that’s all you’re telling me. Isn’t that right, father?” Elim muttered, stuffing the parchment away with the others. “Gods, I wish I had thought to bring a few more books to keep myself sane. Or at least to demand that Nikalis accompany me…”
Nikalis was the prince’s oldest companion, a minor nobleman’s youngest son who happened to be one of the only members of the court Elim’s age, and as such the two men became rather friendly during their childhood and into their youth. Regrettably, the other man was too busy undertaking his trials to attain knighthood, so he had to stay behind in Chasynne while Elim traveled to the other end of the kingdom.
Prince Elim kicked his feet up onto the seat across from him in the plush royal carriage, having no servants to talk to. His page, an eager young man about the prince’s age, had (in his own words) excused himself to “deal with necessary matters elsewhere along the caravan”, which Elim assumed meant he was sick of the prince’s presence and found an excuse to socialize with somebody else for a few precious moments. The prince knew he wasn’t the most pleasant person to deal with, especially when he got into one of his moods, but he expected those whose duty it was to attend to him to do their jobs.
The prince heard a sudden whinny of a horse and a shout from one of the sentries, breaking his train of thought. “I asked for things to be kept quiet!” he hissed, getting to his feet and moving over toward one of the carriage’s windows. He slid the window open and peeked outside, ready to give the loudmouthed soldier a talking-to, but as soon as his head was out the window he heard something sail past his ear and a thud as an arrow embedded itself in the wall of the carriage behind him.
Elim clapped a hand to his cheek, feeling a sudden sharp pain and the burn of hot blood running down the side of his face from where the arrow had grazed him. In just a few short seconds, the caravan had erupted into chaotic fighting; unseen archers rained arrows down upon the soldiers guarding the prince’s carriage, while heavily-armored warriors burst from the trees to savagely dispatch their foes. With the element of surprise and the advantage of numbers, the ambush quickly reduced the royal escort from a few dozen to barely ten. One of the veteran guardsmen spotted Prince Elim and signaled for him to take cover, but mere seconds later he let out a cry of pain as an arrow embedded itself into his side, bringing him to his knees.
Elim ducked his head back inside the carriage and shut the window, desperately trying to come up with a means of escape now that his escort was being whittled down. “I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by enemies, and I’ve only got ten-,“ he began to mutter to himself, then he heard a loud scream from outside the carriage. “…Make that nine escorts. I’ll be killed for sure if I stay in the carriage, so I should-”
Suddenly, Elim heard a roar of flames and felt the air growing warm only seconds before some enormous force exploded right next to his carriage, shattering glass and wood alike before launching the destroyed vehicle high into the air and sailing into the trees. Elim was tossed out of the broken carriage and thrown into the dark forest, where he landed with a dull thump and felt a sharp ache spread across his side. “Broken rib, and probably even more than that if I had the time to check,” he thought, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he spat out a bit of blood onto the ground. He turned back to the road, where a few final guardsmen were futilely attempting to fight off their attackers, and at the center of the battle Elim spotted a tall, robed figure staring at him. The figure raised his hand and pointed it toward him, and his palm began to glow with flames that illuminated his gaunt, pale face.
“A sorcerer… Gods, these are no ordinary bandits, are they?” Elim thought, now understanding that he and his escort never had a chance; whoever this mercenary troop was, they had been waiting for him. The tree next to Elim exploded in flames as the sorcerer blasted off a second fireball, sending splinters digging into Elim’s side and making him cry out in pain. Clutching his broken and battered side tightly and feeling blood still flowing down his cheek, Prince Elim struggled to his feet and began to flee deeper into the woods to escape from his attackers, and from behind him he heard a furious voice commanding his men to pursue him.
Thorns and branches ripped and tore at the prince’s fine clothes as he ran as fast as his injured body could carry him, hearing arrows impacting the trees around him as his pursuers fired off a valley to try to slow him down. Elim ran until he could no longer draw a breath, his injuries slowing him down more and more with each passing minute. In the dark woods, he could see a glowing light dimly flickering in the distance, and against his better judgement the prince stumbled toward it. “It’s either friend or enemy, but at least it’s something,” he reasoned, growing too exhausted to flee any further. He eventually came out into a clearing, able to see the evening sky high above him past the tall trees, and at the center of the clearing stood a strange monument, a black stone obelisk engraved with indecipherable runes with a glowing crystal at its peak.
“Lovely…” Elim spat, his vision growing hazy from blood loss. “I come looking for help, and all I find is some savage monument… I’m as good as dead, aren’t I?”
He limped closer to the obelisk, and its crystal began to pulse slowly as he approached it, bathing him in warmth that seemed to make the ache in his body begin to dull and fade. In a daze, he collapsed at the base of the stone monument, and from behind him he could heard the breaking of branches and quiet laughter as a pair of men approached him with their swords drawn.
“Led us on a real chase, didn’t he? They told us he’d be easy pickings, just some spoiled brat,” one of the mercenaries sneered. “I guess even a brat can move when his life’s on the line…”
“Quit blabbering and finish him off,” the other man replied coldly, glancing at the stone obelisk nearby. “I don’t want to stick around here any longer than we need to. These places creep me out, and those savages can get protective about their old magic rocks…”
The first man chuckled and strode toward Elim, placing the tip of his sword against the prince’s shoulder. With a sadistic grin on his face, he slowly pushed the blade deep into Elim’s shoulder, giving it a slight twist that made the injured nobleman scream in agony.
Suddenly, there was a rustling in the nearby tall grass and the snapping of branches, making the two mercenaries look up from their torture with worry on their faces.
“You idiot! I told you to make it quick! His screaming’s gonna attract the attention of anyone within a league of here!” the second mercenary hissed, clutching his sword and spinning to face whoever or whatever it was that was drawing nearer…