The fable of griffon boo.., p.1
The Fable of Griffon: Book 01 - Herald's Call, page 1
Heralds Call
The Fables of Griffon
The book opened slowly with a creak of aging leather as it was placed upon the old man's lap. He leaned forward, his lens placed over the fading page as he pulled aside stray strands of his long white beard from his view. It seemed almost like a wisp of cloud or mist, given a silvery magnificence by the glow of the candles light. Slowly and with a slight wheeze he gave a solemn and sagely look to those gathered around before him.
"A long time ago..."
'This is the tale of Inwarden. This is the world in mourning. This is a land from which even the gods have turned their sight, and a world which stands alone among shadows.
Once this was a place of kings and great lords. Mortalkin of the races of earth; men, elves and the orc among them, lived and died upon bountiful plains, amidst the grandest mountains and the deep and longing forests. As magic bent to our will, we mortals took it upon ourselves to reshape our world, guided under the wisest of mages and the wings of the dragons.
But as with all jewels, our world was looked upon by jealous and cruel eyes. Mortals bickered among themselves and we allowed ourselves to fall into shadow. Our world, beloved by gods and mortals alike, fell into war and ruin so great that the Hells gate creaked open, and demon and angel fought for our very souls, with mortalkin trapped between them. Nothing stood before them and the trumpets of doom sounded.
The jewel of the heavens had darkened with the ambitions of mortals, goaded on by the very monsters their sins had spawned in the netherworlds. By the shadow of their greed, by their winds of envy and wrath, by the icy touch of their cruelty, the world was plunged into the hells of its own making.
The great war had begun. The Dragons and Mages that had for so long guided the realms now fought desperately to safeguard their own but the end of times was upon them and they knew that only death would be their destiny.
It was then the turning point was reached. The desperation of men, and their will to survive, spawned a new darkness upon the world. Created from hopelessness and driven by vengeance and loss, it spread like a plague and stayed the hands of even the heavens and hells that fought upon the land. Whilst what mortals remained gathered for their very salvation, the three great forces of the apocalypse came together for one final battle; heaven, hell and earth.
Seizing their one chance for survival the greatest of mages sacrificed themselves to bring about the sealing; a spell so powerful that only the Creator itself could have put a stop to it. Yet He knew what fate awaited their mortal children if they intervened, and with heavy hearts, the angels bowed to the wishes of their creations. In one great act, the world was shut and sealed. Neither heaven nor hell, nor angel nor demon, nor devil nor god could ever again trespass onto the realm of mortals.
And so it was to remain for a thousand years. The mortalkin again flourished, but the dread shadow their desperation had spawned was merely dormant. Resting in hibernation in the wastelands of the West; watched by the weary eyes of the Empire of Flame and the city of Sorcerors.
Then, as before, our fate was doom, for the ambition of mortal kin can never be sated. Like a fell weed, it grows thin and winding, wrapping itself about us until our souls are caught in its grip. Once again the world plunged into war. The great war of Succession raged, splitting kingdoms and lands as the great powers of the world struggled for its domination.
As before it was men who saved the world from its final destruction. Iborane, he of the plains, gave his life to bring peace after a century of suffering and war. His choice, his sacrifice stayed again the hand of death, and remade the world once more.
In the cataclysm, the great powers of the world vanished or crumbled and fell into the shadows. New realms arose from their ashes, and once again the world seemed to thrive, the future beckoning and bright.
But in the hearts of mortals, are ever the seeds of their destruction.
A thousand years later
Chapter one: The call of the wild.
Ostler walked hurriedly through the corridors of the great keep, his shoes rubbing painfully against his feet with each step. He passed a chambermaid, carrying a load of laundry from the quarters of the courtiers.
"Have you seen prince Griffon?" He asked her, his dark skinned form towering over her like a giant. He was strongly built and heavily muscled, a monk of one the Paladin orders that lay secluded in the mountain range to the South. He didn't look down to her at first, straining to look past her and further down the corridor.
"Not today sir." She said meekly, intimidated in the bodyguard's shadow. Ostler frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before nodding in thanks to the woman and continuing on his way. "In the name of all that is holy, where has he gotten to?" He grumbled irritably as he peered into every corner, checked every room. His brow furrowed. He had been entrusted to the prince for only a few months now, and already it had been his most difficult challenge. This had been his first real assignment since he had joined the Paladin order of Juxin and the weight of its responsibility bore heavily upon him. The kingdom of Tyran was famed for its Paladins, many of which operated within neighbouring countries, rooting out cancerous cults and monsters that had remained in the aftermath of the wars of ages past. It had been those legends and the songs of the bards that had encouraged him so in his youth, filling his head with nonsense of distant lands and glorious heroes. Ostler had been overjoyed when he had been accepted to join Juxin, famous even among its peers for the loyalty and heroism of its members. His family had a long history within the Orders, his father and brother having been counted among their number. When his father had died the Juxin had taken him in and he had no intention of letting them down.
He wandered through the keep and into the adjoining courtyard. It was quiet at this time of day, and he followed the pleasant gardenside palisade running along the bottom of the wall, lined with patterned red stone pillars. Most of the castle's occupants were busying themselves with their duties inside the keep or the outer buildings as the warm sunlight streamed through the clouds above.
The castle stood about half a mile from the town and many of the castle's occupants lived there, travelling to and from as needed. With early evening slowly breaking many had started to go home, the gentle clamour of their comings and goings echoing upon the cobbles.
Ostler walked close to the inner gatehouse and looked around the stables quickly. He turned his nose up at the smell of the horses inside. Something about the creatures had always made him nervous, the sort of feeling that he could never chance taking his eyes off them when they stood nearby. They seemed to realise that he disliked them, and made sure the feeling was mutual and justified. It seemed since his first encounter with horses he'd always found something new to hate about the creatures.
He lent against the post that marked the entrance to the stables and crossed his arms as he tried to think, pondering on the prince's likely movements.
"Having troubles?" The thin voice penetrated the evening bustle like a knife. A late middle aged man wearing a flowing red robe and carrying a staff of the Holy order approached from the right. His face carried a wizened brow to it that made him seem far older, but a peppery beard and fearsome spark to his eyes marked him as a man of fewer seasons.
"What do you want Lazarus?" Ostler asked. "Not stalking the Archbishop today?"
Lazarus ignored him. "I see the young prince is not with you. You've not lost him again have you? His father would be most upset with the Juxin Order if it turned out they'd sent him a bodyguard so lacking."
Ostler resisted the temptation to snap a retort at the bishop. Lazarus was one of the advisors to the Archbishop himself and keeper of the castle's records. As such he wielded significant influence in the court of King Teroh. That said, despite his high and noble rank, in Ostler's view he was little more than serpent in the clergyman's garb. An ambitious and insidious man, Lazarus' lickspittle actions around his peers gave Ostler the view he carried only sufficient nobility of spirit to achieve his next position of power. Most people in the court seemed to respect him, which only aggravated Ostler further.
"I've not lost him. It's simply a matter of waiting. His grace is... indisposed." The answer formed awkwardly and he immediately regretted saying it, but it was the first excuse that could jump to mind at the time.
Lazarus had made no secret of his mutual dislike of Ostler, a fact he had made clear almost immediately upon Ostler's arrival in the castle. The bishop seemed to accept his reasoning with a mocking expression and began to wander past slowly.
"Indisposed? Perhaps what he is waiting for is better protectors." He said under his breath as he left, only just loud enough for Ostler to make it out. "Your brother would have been a far better choice. A great pity."
Ostler clenched his fists at the mention of his sibling, gritting his teeth in frustration at his inability to strike out at his tormentor. As a bishop, Lazarus carried the holy signet, a symbol of his position. It was forbidden to strike a wielder of the Holy orders no matter what the cause, a fact Lazarus abused regularly. Not saying a word, Ostler turned and walked away, doing his best to try and calm down as he went.
Methodically he wandered around the cobblestone courtyard, finding the uneven path to be a little slippery after the spring showers that had pelted the fields and castle earlier in the day. He decided against calling out for Griffon's name, in case someone else heard and thought that he'd lost the pri nce for good.
He came to the castle gates, deftly stepping aside a group of returning Paladins. They seemed battered as though they had barely had time to rest, their armour rent and torn and blood staining their shirts. One nursed a broken arm, aided along by his companion.
"Hail Paladins!" Ostler declared as they past. "What news?"
The wounded man continued along, aided by his friend whilst the third stopped and returned the greeting. "Little good. The wolves of Colwood Forest have been driven out, but we have received news from our neighbours that the king will not be welcomed by." He answered. "Do you know where we can find him?"
"Last I'd heard King Teroh was still in the castle keep, most likely in or around the throne room. I believe there is an audience later today. He may be making preparations there for it." Ostler shrugged. "What has happened?"
"More raids out of Nallaimor along their border. We have uncovered evidence of something greater..." The wounded paladin began to answer before being cut off by one of his comrades.
"I'm afraid it is a matter of urgency. We must find the king." The man told him courteously.
The Paladin gave his thanks before continuing on towards the large keep alongside his comrades. Ostler watched them go. Part of him envied their freedom. The Paladins's duties carried them across the world. Ostler had even heard tales of Paladins going to the deserts of Domorr in search of their quarry. Rumour had it sometimes even as far as the Dark plain itself.
He clicked the bones in his hand in frustration, clenching his fists as he looked around for the prince, his mind drawing back to the matter at hand. He wandered outside of the main gate, passing over the bridge that led across the deep moat that protected three sides of the castle and stopping just past the stone bridge that led from the main gate.
He looked out before him across an expanse of green grassland, interspersed with trees and bushes, rolling low hills that stretched before him like a sea of green. The blue sky and warm sunlight made it a truly magnificent view. The foot of the spined mountains could just be seen far to the North, strangely magnified on the horizon by the evening light. His gaze turned toward the weaving river that swept gently past the nearby town and through the farmlands. Along its banks was a small copse of trees. The sunlight played through its branches making them seem warm and welcoming, a gentle indication of the coming season. He turned suddenly, something catching his attention to the far distant West. It was difficult to make out, a bright orange spark lit upon the horizon the horizon.
"A warning beacon." He muttered under his breath. He rubbed his chin again thoughtfully, looking back at the castle's beacon tower to see what response it gave. The wait strained against his thoughts. This was not the first time in recent days the beacons had been lit, and the reports seemed to have been coming far more regularly than he liked.The Paladin's words repeated themselves silently on his lips.
The beacon tower of the castle finally lit, the flames licking up around the small pyre in a yellow green as the alchemists powders were added. A signal indicating the report had been received, but that no further action should be taken on it. Ostler sighed, half wondering why the archaic system was still in place when so many of the reported troubles garnered the same response.
"Nallaimor again?" He wondered aloud. He frowned at the thought of their Western neighbor. It had long envied Tyran for its prosperity and the fertility of its farmlands. A harsh and unforgiving nation ruled over by a harsh and unforgiving dynasty. Its people were cold and grim, growing what they could from the poor and rocky grey soil of their homeland that lent its moniker 'the Ashen plain'. The hard life and the threat of orcs and barbarians from the North had made them a tough and disciplined people; a people who were more than prepared to raid the richer lands to the East for plunder. He certainly would not have been surprised, but the lit beacon was surprisingly far to the North to warrant an attack from their ancient rival.
He focused, trying not to think about it and bringing himself back to finding Griffon before someone realised the prince was missing. Ostler looked across the fields before him, from the edge of the town back to the copse of trees at the river side. A sudden distant flash of a white clad figure moved among them, catching his eye.
"So there you are." He smiled slightly, finally having found his quarry.
#
The young prince Griffon smiled at Marie whilst she tried to climb the tree below him. "Let me help." He said, trying not to laugh, knowing how much it would have hurt her pride.
"I'm fine thank you Griffon." She said stubbornly. "This had better be worth it." She pulled herself up onto the branch where he sat and moved along the thick branch to sit beside him, brushing his hand. He felt himself going a little red at her touch. The girl was his age, her slender frame belying its strength, and her red hair like the flames of her father's forge.
"Trust me." He said, trying to distract her from his momentary blush. Inwardly he cursed himself. At sixteen he should be able to deal with these things. Shyness among women had led him through a difficult time at trying to play the courting games many of his friends seemed so adept at.
Marie had been his friend for almost as long as he could remember. She was the daughter of the castle's foremost blacksmith. He'd long held a torch for her, and been unable to hide it, much to the amusement of his other friends. On those few occasions he had tried to express to her his feelings, he had, had to hide them away again under pressure from his family or the disapproving eyes of his mentors. His father had hired several courtiers to teach him of courtly life and rulership over the years. When he had asked them for their advice, they had either dismissed his thoughts as childish nonsense or told him to consider her nothing more than a conquest to prove his manhood. The thought of treating her or any other in such a callous way made his choler rise in anger. Marie stood up and smiled, breaking him from his train of thought as she balanced perfectly on the branch, her red hair flowing down from her head like a crown of autumn leaves.
She deserved far better.
"Still higher?" She asked patiently with a sigh, looking upward into the canopy of the tree before shooting Griffon a smile. He almost felt himself melting away under her expression.
"A little more. Need to catch your breath?" Griffon asked teasingly, grabbing hold of the next branch up. His own white tunic was already hopelessly filthy, and had long lost the sheen that would be expected of proper princely conduct. His mentor Lazarus had often chided him of such things officially, but his scowls were often said with a nudge and a wink, and Griffon felt that secretly the priest approved of his activities, even if the other lords in the castle felt otherwise.
Almost half imagining the bishop emptily chiding him as he waited for her Griffon absent mindedly fingered the small red amulet he wore about his neck, a gift from Lazarus for his twelfth birthday. He found it comforting, a lucky charm that he'd never quite outgrown. On it was emblazoned a carving of an eye on the front and a simple circular rune, barely visible on the back at the centre. Around the rune were apparently carved the words well beyond Griffon's personal ability to understand. 'The unseeing guide you to the path' was what Lazarus had told him it had meant, though Griffon had his doubts.
"Hah!" Marie clambered faster up the tree, swiftly passing him as she called her challenge.
Griffon smiled and climbed after her. "Highest point of the trunk." He told her, calling up as she raced ahead. "Hey!" She laughed back at him as he struggled to keep up.
They quickly climbed past the last of the branches, coming at last to a point where the trunk of the tree had been shattered by lightning to form a kind of living chamber, where the bark of the tree had expanded outward like a battlement, leaving an open expanse at its peak. There was no canopy above them, making it more to a pulpit, and from there could be seen the plains and forests of Tyran, for miles around in every direction. The sunlight played down on them as they looked around, its waning rays warm as the sun fell slowly toward the horizon.
"It's wonderful." Marie said quietly. "I've seen the plains around our town and the villages nearby many times. From here it looks like a dream."
