Hi guys. If you've been hungry for more official stories set in the world of Etheria, then rejoice. Over the next month, I'll be releasing installments of the 5-part series "Battle Lines", a story that sheds light on the connections between Sortilege and Ivarium, V'Tar magics, and ancient artifacts.
Enjoy! -- Sabrath Kell
BATTLE LINES: Part 1
One second, Magus Avilus Bellarax stood in the shadow of the Academy of Sistarra, deep in the magic-governed nation of Sortilege. The next, he was breathing the salty morning air of the coastline of Ivarium and basking in its humid warmth. The distance between the two countries was easily a month away by conventional means of travel, even more considering the armies and Blood Wave forces that pocketed the region. Yet Bellarax had made the trip in a blink of an eye, thanks to portals that had remained largely unknown to all but those of considerably high scholarly standing.
He blinked, taking in his new surroundings, reestablishing his bearings. It had been a long time since he had been back to Ivarium, his motherland. He had been born in Compasso Antia, a town not far from the capital, and had lived there until he was ten. He had then been sent to Sortilege – a common Ivarium practice in which sons and daughters of influential Mages, senators and merchants were exchanged with the sons and daughters of other Mages, politicians and merchants in distant lands for future political advantage. Now, three decades later, he felt more a son of Sortilege than of Ivarium, though a certain nostalgia rushed through him as he stood once more in his motherland.
The Magus felt a unseen force brush across his shoulder, and he whirled to find its source. Unlike many of the Mages of Sortilege, he was more fond of the sword rather than the staff, and he smoothly drew the blade as his turned, his Sistarran robes flaring outward in a practiced motion.
"Do you plan to cut down an old classmate?" It was a woman's voice, thick with the accents of royal Ivarium and old Imperial Pellia. "I guess all the White Towers and elven women haven't eroded your reflexes completely yet. It is good to see you again Bellarax."
"And you, Domatra." Bellarax took a second to take stock the woman, a formidable Forcemaster in her own right, and an academic colleague for the past twelve years. She was short in stature, with a slighty red tint to the dark hair that fell in ringlets to her shoulders. She wore leather boots and gloves, and carried a gleaming silver scimitar on a back strap.
"Stop staring Bellarax," she smiled, a smile that almost warmed her icy blue eyes. "I asked you here for a reason, and if I know you at all, you're going to like it. Something unseen for millennia of has been found."
"So the summons said. What is it? Can I see it?" The excitement in his words was palpable.
"This way. It washed up on shore, not far from here yesterday. And Bellarax -- in the day since we got word of this, the Society has been beside itself with anticipation. Apparently, you and I have Akiro's own luck to be the ones here today."
Domatra led him down closer to the beachline, not far from the surf, to a jut of stone that broke through the sand and vegetation like a giant troll's rotted teeth. With a wave of her hand, a portion of the stone vanished, revealing a hole containing a large canvas sack. Domatra pulled out the sack, and opened it.
Inside was a stone tablet, elaborately carved with delicate runes, and edged with metals that glowed with alternating purple, silver and green auras. Around the stone tablet was an aged frame, barnacled and eaten away by time and the salt of the ocean, but still roughly serpentine in nature. In counterpoint, the runed tablet interior was pristine, as if it had been carved earlier that morning.
Bellarax took one look at the runes then turned to Domatra, his eyes wide. "Can it be?..."
"Drakkonian! Yes, by the Gods I believe it is. Sadly, my Drakkonian is limited. But you on the other hand, the reknowned scholar of the Age of Catastrophe..." Her eyes locked on his, her question clear without being spoken.
"Can I translate it?" Bellarax smiled, though his heart was about to beat out of his chest, down the beach, and into the coastal waters. He ran his fingers over the runes. "Yes, I believe… I can… and Domatra -- " a thrill went through his body, "I know this rune. It is V'Torrak -- the name the Drakkon archmages gave to their artifacts that could open portals directly to Voltari, drawing on the raw, unfiltered magic that they used to craft spells and objects that we can only dream about. According to what we've been able to sift out of the history of the era, most Drakkons had their own V'Torrak. Maybe this tablet will lead us to one that still exists.”
"Imagine what we could do with that," said Domatra. But Bellarax did not hear, his attention already fully focused on finding a translation.
...to be continued...
