Frosk…
His second match was quickly approaching, only minutes away from starting. This time, he decided he wouldn’t wear the armor that Marcus had designed for him.
It was too powerful and made his fights too easy.
To Frosk, there was no glory or honor to gain in completely overpowering your enemy without allowing them to show their will to resist, regardless of what shape their ideals take.
A true clash of wills is concluded when one side proves they are more capable of defending their ideals with their own strength.
With this fight, he would prefer to prove his strength of will with his own flesh, not metal.
Today, his opponent would be Dorrin Lazuli, the brother of Lorra Lazuli, the former champion of New Alfheim, killed by Frosk himself.
He knew that like King Rohen Onyks, who was married to Lorra, still resented Frosk for her death and continues to grieve over her even now. He had to wonder if fate had put him and Dorrin in the contest specifically for the purpose of settling their differences.
The more he thought about it, the more he started to reminisce about how he first became the champion of Forrosa. If not for Lorra, he never would have learned their elven shadow magic and gained the strength to support his kingdom in their greatest times of need.
She was his mentor and also a great friend…
154 years ago…
As a young man of twenty five years old, he felt out of place in the kingdom of Forrosa.
Not only was he a commoner, he also had no aspirations, no special goals, and no outstanding achievements to attribute to his name.
He thought about joining the Forrosan Knights, but in training, he learned that he had no gift for magic. His skills with the sword were sub par at best, and his mind wasn’t know for its strategic strength.
Due to the expectations of greatness that came with being a Forrosan, he felt out of place there. As if he knew that he would not be able to excel in life if he remained.
Going abroad would be his salvation, his way of learning more about himself so that he could be better.
He packed up his things for a long trip through the wilderness, said his goodbyes to his friends and family, and took off.
He knew that the first few months of living in the woods was going to be rough, but he didn’t expect bears and Draugr to come after him so frequently.
In the Forrosan forests, many times did he wake up to the sound of bears shredding through his supplies only to take off running when he flexed the aura of his soul at them.
But the worst part was the frequency of Draugr.
As the fallen kingdom of Verglas was so close to Alken, the Lich King’s in his ruined castle caused Draugr to form in the thousands. However, every now and then, bunches of them would break away from the horde and go after living people to spread more of their death root.
He knew some healing magic and the basic Fire Spray spell, Ignis Imbre to ward them off and burn their death root infested bodies to ashes. Yet, like moths to a flame, the more he used it, the more they were drawn to him.
They could smell the life energy coming from him, so he decided that the best idea would be to keep his distance. He would use the spell as a last resort only if there was no way to out maneuver them.
But then one day came where they didn’t find him, then another day, then another. Until almost an entire week had passed, he didn’t see a single Draugr in sight.
For a moment, he felt that maybe the lands he was camping in were protected, warding against the undead. So he relaxed and decided to sleep a few extra hours to gain his strength back.
However, when he awoke, he found himself surrounded by hundreds of Draugr in all directions. Even in the dead of night, he could still see the pale moonlight casting shadows on their undead bodies.
“Oh god…,” he muttered as he quickly got to his feet and pulled out his sorry excuse for a sword.
It was nothing too impressive, just a simple sword made of bone steel, with ground up Draugr bones as the base. He had it made in case he needed to cut through a few dozen of them at once, but not entire hordes of them.
As he poured his spiritual energy into the sword, the air began to his as steam rolled off of the flat of the blade. His blade would burn the death root infested corpses and reduce them to ashes.
As they continued their march towards him, he charged at them before they could get the chance to box him in.
He jumped into the air, holding his sword high above his head, and focused as much of his spiritual energy into it before cleaving through a Draugr’s skull. The sword burned the death root and bones to ash before blowing away what was left. As the edge met the dirt, he released all the energy he focused into his sword as the Fire Spray spell.
“Ignis Imbre!” he shouted and dozens of Draugr all around him were reduced to charred husks.
Before he could pull his sword out of the dirt, a sharp and agonizing pain went through his left shoulder as he was struck by an arrow.
He looked down at the arrow head and sharply sucked in his breath in horror at the death root spreading from its shaft into his body.
He turned around to face the direction from which the arrow came from and spotted a Draugr archer perched in a tree above.
Every time he faced them, no matter how easily a few of them went down, he had to remind himself of one crucial fact.
Draugr are not simply mindless punching bags, the death root infesting them made use of the experience and muscle memory that the once living humans had before they died.
Tens of thousands of Forrosan soldiers have died over the millennia fighting against the undead armies of Verglas, and many still have been added to its ranks.
As decrepit as their bodies have become, as worn out as their armor and weapons have been reduced to, these Draugr were still warriors.
Even so, Frosk had been living in these woods for over a year, fighting and killing these Draugr this entire time.
He would not back down or yield to them.
As unremarkable as he saw himself to be, he was still a proud man of Forrosa, and he would fight to the bitter end, if only to make a better man out of himself.
Once the sun had finally risen to start the morning off, he was leaning against a large tree, covered cuts and burn marks from the many times he had to ward off the death root.
He was breathing heavily and bleeding all over his body. He had spent so long fighting the Draugr that the night had turned to day.
If not for the fact that his flames weren’t powerful enough to burn all of them to ash in an instant, then he would have been rid of them sooner. All he could do was blow their body apart and try to escape. If he tried to take his time incinerating them, then he would be overwhelmed as the others quickly reformed.
No other Draugr in the world reformed as quickly as the ones from Verglas did. Empowered by the Fell Lich King, the Arcanence that flowed through their bodies was much stronger and faster.
In truth, he had fought that same horde of hundreds of Draugr for hours until exhaustion finally got the best of him and he collapsed.
Succumbing to his wounds, aching bones, and blood loss, he could do nothing but wait for death as they closed in on him.
As he stared down his death, he wondered why he even really bothered to come out here.
Certainly he wouldn’t come here just to die. There were better, more painless ways of committing suicide, not that he had it in mind.
Maybe...maybe all he wanted was to become stronger…
Yeah…, at least that way he could make something of himself. If he became strong enough, then perhaps he could even become the champion of Forrosa.
Thinking about it made him laugh, but then he winced as it agitated his wounds.
He struggled to raise his head as he looked at the Draugr closing in.
With the last ounce of strength he had left, he tried to move his hand to the handle of his sword but it merely grazed the leather wrapping of it. His fingers were too weak to properly grasp it.
Just as he was almost about to take hold of it, a voice behind him said, “That is enough. You’ve fought long and hard. Allow me to take care of the rest.”
He strained his neck to look to his right in time to spot a Dark Elven woman pull out a curved sword from her sheathe and walk past him.
She had frosty white hair wrapped up in braids that dangled over her shoulders and above her chest. Her skin was a shade darker than his own skin, with darker marks around her eyes that traced down either sides of her nose until they stopped right above her lips. Her eyes were a vibrant shade of red that it almost seemed to glow. Her armor was made with black dyed silk with black iron bracers on her arms and legs, and a detailed breastplate. Leather pauldrons engraved with words in their ancient elfish language adorned her shoulders with a dark blue cloak attached to it. It was such a vibrant and beautiful color of blue that, much to his own surprise, he recognized it.
In the few times he paid attention to lessons of history in school, he was fascinated by the Dark Elves and their houses. Their houses were typically identified by the names of precious stones, the colors of which were woven into their cloaks.
This Dark Elf woman belonged to the Lazuli house of New Alfheim.
“La-Lazuli…,” he managed to choke out, which caused her to look back at him suddenly.
“So you recognize my colors do you?” she asked with a chuckle and a smile on her face as she brandished her sword in front of the hordes of Draugr without fear.
“Then prepare to be amazed by my dazzling display of power!”
She spun around to face them once again and swept her hand through the air. As she did, a sudden darkness swept over the forest and shrouded all of the Draugr in shadows.
Then, in a flash, it was over.
His mind failed to comprehend how she managed to defeat them in a fraction of a second, but one moment she makes them disappear, and the next they shatter like glass before being set aflame with fire so blue that it looked unnatural.
When the shadows vanished, she reappeared before him with her arms outstretched as she said gleefully, “Now rejoice! You have been rescued by the very Lorra Lazuli! Haha!”
Her laughter was so infectious that even being in agonizing pain couldn’t stop him from letting out a chuckle of his own at her bravado before he passed out from the blood loss.
When he finally came to, he was resting in a cave with bandages and healing ointment applied all across his body.
His body was still aching, but he was alive.
He turned his head and found Lorra stroking a fire with a stick as she roasted a boar over a spit.
She seemed to have noticed he had woken up as she turned around to face him and looked at him apologetically.
“Forgive me, I’ve never been very good at healing magic, so I had to make do with what you have on you right now,” she said.
“That...is fine. I know some...healing magic. Thank you,” he said as he raised his hand and prepared to work on his magic but quick as a snake, she grabbed his hand and shook her head no.
“You shouldn’t. You are far too weak right now to use magic to heal yourself. Just wait and rest until you’ve gotten back to full strength,” she said before gently pulling away.
She went back to her fire before taking a look at the boar on the spit and brought out a simple hunting knife.
As she began carving pieces of meat off and serving them on a wooden plate, she started to ask him some questions.
“I must wonder...what is a Forrosan man doing all the way out in these woods so far away from your kingdom? You’d have to be mad to want to camp out in the Dusk Woods of Verglas,” she said as she popped a piece of meat in her mouth and hummed to herself.
“I guess I...just wanted to get stronger. I didn’t really have a plan when I came to the woods, but I was disappointed in myself in Alken. I thought that if I came here, I might become a better fighter or reflect on myself, or something.”
She laughed as she said, “Well, given the fight you put up against that horde, with that feeble sorcery, I’d say you are already quite the survivor. Though, you won’t survive long on just that. Maybe you should travel to the Southern Union of Kingdoms. I’ve heard that their universities have an enormous selection of classes devoted to learning sorcery. You may have some luck there.”
He shook his head, but winced in pain as he said, “No...Alken already has its classes in magic, but I’ve never done all that well at it. I only managed to learn the most basic of spells. I know some basic body mending and flame spells, but that’s it. I’m just...not that well suited for it,” he said.
“Then what of swordsmanship? Have you tried improving your skill with the sword itself?”
“I don’t have much talent for that either,” he admitted.
“Well...you better figure out something quick because I would strongly advise against staying in these woods for much longer, lest something bad happen to you.”
He nodded in understanding as he said, “Yeah, I guess so. I think I might have pushed myself a bit too hard in my ‘journey of self discovery’.”
She stared at him intensely as she shook her head and replied, “No. That is not what I meant. Push yourself as hard as you feel you need to, but stay away from any more Draugr. When I finished that horde off and dragged you to safety to be healed, I found that your body has been hit with so many beatings from the Draugr that Death Root started to infest your body. Thankfully you’ve done a good job of cauterizing the areas before they could fester even further, but that much Arcanence could potentially turn you into a wraith, or worse, a Lich. You need to wait until your soul has overtaken the Arcanence coalescing around it before trying something foolish like that again.”
“Oh...I see,” muttered as he realized just how close to death he really was if not for her.
“The good news though is that because you’ve fought so many Draugr and have so much Arcanence around your soul, once its overtaken and merges with it, your soul will surely become far stronger.”
“Do you mean Death Magic?” he asked with curiosity.
She shook her said and said, “Not necessarily. Death Magic implies using Arcanence as an alternative, but deadlier source of spiritual energy for magic. This is closer to the practice of allowing Death Root to fester in the body by entering a temporary state of death before burning it away and letting the soul absorb the Arcanence as part of it. If done properly, its the easiest way to increase the output of one’s soul with moderate risk. Done improperly, and you could end up dead with the most foolish mistake costing you your own life, and possibly the lives of everyone around you.”
Then she looked up at the ceiling of the cave, as if pondering something as she asked, “I have to wonder, just how long have you been in these woods fighting these Draugr?”
“Over a year,” he said, as if it were a normal thing to say.
She turned her head slowly to look at him, with eyes wide with shock, horror, and absurd fascination all at the same time.
“A whole...year? All that time, and yet you still have not turned? That’s incredible.”
“To be honest, I’ve never fought that many before,” he admitted.
“Yet you’ve received wounds from Draugr similar to the ones you got from fighting them earlier, yes?”
“Of course. I won’t pretend that I’ve lived in these woods completely unscathed until now. I’ve had to fight against dozens of them repeatedly.”
“That explains a lot then…,” she said as she leaned over to look at his wounds, and as if sensing something, she nodded as if it were a good sign.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing, it just seems that your soul has already started consuming the Arcanence and making it a part of you.
With those few words, she stood up and said, “Well, I should probably take my leave. I’ll leave this boar with you so you have some supplies, but you should probably leave these woods and-”
“No, wait! Hold on!” he said as he quickly sat up straight and winced in pain.
She put up her hands as if trying to calm him down as she said, “There is no need to worry! I assure you! I put up some warding around the cave entrance that will keep you safe long enough to heal and-”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I just...even if my soul gets more powerful, I won’t feel like I’ve actually gotten any stronger until I learned something really impactful.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion as he continued on, “I saw how you wielded two types of magic. Those blue flames and that shadow magic. I also know that all Dark Elves use that shadow magic. Its taught to you as part of your culture right?”
“I think I...see where you are going with this…”, she said but did not try to talk over him or stop him from finishing his plea for strength.
He struggled to his feet before getting down on one knee, putting his right fist over his heart and leaning forward until his arm touched his leg. It was the Forrosan way of bowing to someone to show the utmost respect.
“Please teach me your magic,” he asked.
She went silent, hesitating to answer him.
He did not dare look up as he waited for her answer.
When she did speak again, she did so with a nervous tone as she said, “If your hoping to reach the same level as me, then it could take you years, or decades to get there. Elves have entire centuries to practice their shadow magic along with mastering their innate form of magic. Its already a very complex form of magic on its own. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Does that mean you have no qualms about teaching me?” he asked.
“There are no laws against it, but most people find the concepts too difficult to grasp. I can’t recall the time that any human has ever mastered elven shadow magic.”
He then raised his head, look her in the eyes and said, “Then please teach me.”