The Flame of Time
Brothers will fight
and kill each other,
will defile kinship.
It is harsh in the world,
an axe age, a sword age
shields are riven
a wind age, a wolf age
before the world goes headlong.
No man will have
mercy on another.
“What?! How?” Leomourn screamed back. Right as the dwarf was about to respond, a force knocked him to one knee as well as the rest aboard his ship. The force came from another tear in the sky.
A crude yellowish bowsprit emerged from the hole in the sky, followed by the rest of the hideous ship. It was a ghastly imitation of a ship. The sails were more akin to rotten flesh draped across a mast after being pulled out of it’s watery grave. The hull was weak and was riddled with countless holes and compromises. The figurehead was a massless form that constantly changing and writhing. It held no true form for more than the moment one would think they saw an image in the edge of their sight, but when they turned to focus upon it it was gone. It was often thought to look like a writhing shape of a body underneath a cloth or sheet screaming silently in pain. The ship emerged painfully slowly through the tear in time, almost as if it were moving from or at a different time flow, or simply slow enough to gather an accurate survey of the location.
“It’s made out of toenails!” Leomourn said puzzled but matter-of-factly. Before anyone present could question the absurd exclamation a few events transpired that invalidated all preconceived notions of absurdity.
First, a black oily rain fell from the sky. The rain immediately was absorbed into whatever it landed upon, like a drop of water upon a desert ground, being drunk lavishly by a parched surface. The son was being blotted out as what looked like the teeth and maul of some large beast swallowed the sun, blackening the land in a thick deep blanket of darkness. A Time Fixer pointed far off on the eastern horizon and was seen a sole giant marching upon Skyheim, but from the south the whole horizon was lined with the advancing army of fire giants led by a fire giant with a flaming sword that shone brighter than the sun itself.
As all were in awe and confused a swift and silent spear cut the air with an artful arch. Thrown from the deck of the ghastly ship from behind the open tear, the attacker obscured from view. All eyes were upon the path of the spear as it crested and fell with the force of a shooting star. All eyes followed.
Leomourn’s trained and experienced eyes were quick enough to conclude the intended target of the projectile long before anyone else, but could do nothing in time to aid the situation. Instead Leomourn watched his uncle as Tyric slowly realized that his heart was the intended target, he watched as he saw the King of Men wear a face of confusion later to be switched for a mask of horror and terror. The spear was true and penetrated the small area in the Kings armour around his neck and cut deeply into the man, straight to the heart. The great King Tyric fell to his knees, Haradon and Lunaria dropping to their knees as well clutching the doomed King. Their hands desperately trying to hold back the blood that was bathing the king in a crimson pall. A golden symbol started to float above the Kings limp head.
‘’That concludes the third Aett. Now, a few more?’’ A voice said confidently. A sharply dressed man stepped forward onto the deck and placed his hands on the rails of the disgusting ship. He leaned and smiled triumphantly.
‘’Malich?!’’ Darella asked, confused.