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Darkholme

Darkholme

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When you hear the words "fantasy setting", the first things that pop into your mind are fairy tales, glorious forested areas populated by venerable elves and human kingdoms. You think of unicorns, and fairies, and mermaids. You think of a place that could have come straight from a little child's dreams. This is no dream. (Will also be published on RoyalRoad) This is a nightmare. This is a place where fairy tales go back to their horrible roots. A place where "happily ever after" doesn't exist. It is a place where elves get dismembered regularly and humans are the universal prey. Unicorns, fairies and mermaids do not exist, at least not as lighthearted as you'd expect them to be. It is a place where the darkest creatures from the depths of human lore reside. Vampires treat humans as livestock. Werewolves roam the forests, spreading their curse to unwary travellers. The undead, both corporeal and incorporeal, wander aimlessly at the outskirts of human settlements. The rivers are plagued by kelpies and man-eating merfolk, the seas covered in ghastly mist and its mountains home to bloodthirsty goblins. Chasms form spontaneously from the ground, disgorging hordes of demons into the world. This is a place of neverending darkness. A place where leaving your home during the day is a bad idea, and wandering around at night is a surefire way to get killed, or eaten, or possessed, or turned. This is Darkholme.

Chapter 1 Olga I - Breached Walls

The yearly trip to Yewvale was a hassle, Olga decided.

Magicians and enchanters from across the world pass through the Deadwood Forest, risking life and limb alike for the chance of getting a taste of what the Last Yew can offer. Even Olga has made the trip once a year, the temptation of unlocking the mystical secrets of Darkholme's tallest tree too much to resist.

Year after year, she treks through the dark forest, the rotting, twisted trunks of the cursed trees that earned the forest its name making disturbing shadows in every corner. The logical thing to do was to simply settle down, make a home and a workshop in Yewvale, probably in the Sixth Ring since the blasted elves have laid claim to the Rings closer to the Yew.

But Olga couldn't do it. Blackreef had resources that are too important to her work. Resources that are even more important than several bucketfuls of magical sap. Not that the bucketfuls she held in her hands were any less valuable. In fact, if Olga used up whatever she needed and got some leftovers, she'd probably rule the Black Market trade for a while.

As she walked past the gates of the Eleventh Ring, she started looking around for anything of note. Yewvale was the home of a wild variety of human and elven magicians, and even a simple glimpse could lead her research into directions she'd never even considered before.

Ignoring the obviously mundane selection of pedestrians, Olga took note of three people that were immediately put on her "interesting" list. The first one was a human. He seemed simple enough at first glance, average looking for a human with dull brown hair. His back was turned to her so she couldn't see his face, but the sword on his hip was emanating with magical energy. Olga could see various runes inscribed upon the flat of its blade but as she wasn't that interested in runes, she didn't really know nor care for what they meant.

The second person she found interesting was another human, female this time. She wasn't carrying an obvious weapon like the first, but Olga could tell that she was far from normal. She had a mystical aura that imbues a sense of revulsion and disgust in Olga's senses.

Probably one of those cursemages, she mused.

The third was different. For one thing she was an elf. Standing about a foot taller than Olga, a fact that made the diminutive human just a tad uncomfortable. She looked terrifying to be honest, a figure that screamed darkness to Olga's eyes. But her magical senses were telling her otherwise. This woman was not someone who would go on a murdering spree anytime soon. Still, the faint touch of the woman's magic wasn't something she found comfortable.

Bah, tree huggers.

Olga held very little respect for nature mages. When will they see that the secrets of magic can only be attained through endless research and pushing the boundaries of mysticism and science. Olga held back a snort as she neared the exit gate of Yewvale. She really wasn't looking forward to going through that accursed forest again, looking around every five steps in case some annoying hag decided that she would make a fine appetizer.

She was only a handful of meters from the exit when everything went to hell. The outer walls of Yewvale's Twelfth Ring, a massive stockade made of large hawthorn stakes, carved with elven and human runes alike exploded in a shower of splinters and timber.

Olga's buckets of precious sap spilled as the entire world shook and the diminutive witch swore as she lost her footing. She glanced up and froze. The walls were parted by a massive gap and within that gap was a hellhound. And it was a large one. It was about fifteen meters in height alone, each drop of saliva dripping from it's gaping maw as large as an average human.

Everything was still. The only sound that could be heard was the massive beast's low growling, a sound that echoed throughout the entirety of the Twelfth Ring. Olga figured that even the people in the Eleventh Ring could have heard it.

Hellhounds were wild and violent creatures that were supposed to be as large as an adult human. This one made no sense. As pandemonium erupted around her, Olga could only stare in shock as the massive beast devoured the Slayers that attempted to attack it.

Why was it so huge? So powerful?

And then it came to her, assaulting her nose with a feeling of death and despair. She sniffed, the scent of power causing her already irritated nose to involuntarily snort as her magical senses registered a power she only felt once in her life. A power she never wanted to feel again.

The power of a demon.

Demons were an accepted existence in the world of Darkholme. That didn't stop humans and elves from steering clear of one. Even the Slayer Guild knew better than to take one for granted as killing a demon often resulted in the deaths of hundreds of Slayers and Sweepers. But while it was well known that in the depths of the Deadwood Forest lay the home of a powerful demon, the source of the dreaded curse that made the trees in the forest rot from the inside out, it was also well known that the aforementioned demon didn't hold any interest in messing with Yewvale, one of Darkholme's five safest settlements, comparatively speaking of course.

The massive hellhound continued on with its rampage, ignoring the multitude of arrows and spells that went its way. As it moved further into the Twelfth Ring, Olga made her way around it, intent on avoiding a confrontation with what was obviously a demon's pawn.

As she crossed the breach in Yewvale's enchanted wooden wall, the cleansing properties of the hawthorn logs blocking the repulsive scent of demonic power from her magical sense, she was met with a rather unwelcome sight.

At least these ones are normal sized, she thought to herself, quite amused at the direction her thoughts went.

In front of her was a small horde of hellhounds; normal sized ones without the stench of demonic power overwhelming their own. Olga found a new hesitance in simply letting things go on. Leaving the massive hellhound was easy enough. She was sure that the sheer amount of people with either martial or magical prowess in Yewvale would ensure the city's survival. Sure there might be a couple hundred deaths, but this was Darkholme. Death is an everyday part of life if you live in a world where you are the lowest link in the food chain. But if this entire pack attacked while the monster inside the walls was still standing...

"I hate playing hero." she muttered to herself as the horde in front of her growled and snarled.

In a well-practiced move, she snapped up one of the vials from her belt and popped the cork open. As the hellhounds lunged, attempting to tear into her supple human flesh, the vial's contents erupted from within, a mass of silvery powder covering the area. Ignoring the strong scent of magic that her own actions brought up, Olga gestured in the general direction of the pack causing the powder to surge forth. As the hounds and the powdery mist collided, the entire cloud froze solid, a block of ice encasing the vast majority of the pack.

The last two stragglers warily circled the witch, saliva still dripping from he hungry mouths. Olga sighed. That vial of moonpowder cost her a pretty penny. Still, she wasn't without options.

"Hold, hold, pathways of old..."

Incantations were a branch of magic that Olga dabbled in. She didn't really prefer it over her other spells and using the modern human tongue as magical foci didn't really work well but words were let out easier than hand gestures or grand rituals and the hellhounds didn't have strong magical resistances in the first place.

The nervous crippling hex caught one of the remaining hounds, it's legs refusing to respond to it's limbic system. The other hound hesitated for a second which was enough time for Olga to gather her power.

"...let loose, power untold."

The hound's nervous system suddenly surged with electrical currents, overclocking it's metabolic functions and causing it's body to shut down soon after.

It was a complicated spell that often went unrewarded, as most spells that directly affected a living being can be dispelled with the slightest bit of magic resistance. Luckily, hellhounds didn't have an ounce of it.

The final beast was a bit more cautious after Olga's show of magic capability. Hellhounds were dangerous, not individually but because of their pack mentality. Just as Olga expected, the hound fled, galloping off into the shadows of the twisted, cursed trees of the forest.

Olga ignored the mass confusion behind her, survival instincts bred into every denizen of Darkholme urging her to leave the massive hellhound to the host of spellcasters that called Yewvale their home.

She plucked up a handful of splinters from the ground before starting the trek through the forest.

While not as valuable as a bucketful of sap from the Last Yew, shards of hawthorn, especially shards from Yewvale's outermost wall, would fetch a pretty penny.

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Latest Release: Chapter 1 Olga I - Breached Walls   10-29 09:07
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