Demons of Comalan

Although most magic is carefully governed by the Gods, there are some types of magic that are perpetuated beyond their control. The most sinister of these disciplines is the use of dark magic. It can be used to corrupt the many creatures of Comalan, and especially people, in hideous ways. Here is a working list of the various demons that one might encounter in Comalan.


Fever Morph

Fever morphs are former mortals who have been radically transformed by a sorcerer. They do not have a standard appearance as their looks are determined by the caster who created them. What is known of them is that they conjured from images of horror and their aura can incite fear in even the bravest adversaries. Their bodies emit a distinctive dark-colored glow, which is the only way to identify one.

Bladot

The Bladot were once peaceful bipedal creatures that inhabit the land between worlds who used their sharp teeth to chew on the tough wood that makes up their natural environment. Seeing their unnerving appearance, users of dark magic subjugated their species by enhancing their aggression and attaching blades to their arms. After centuries of control, their innocence has been completely bred out.

Succubus

Succubi are former men and women whose lust is pushed beyond normal human reasoning. While wanton sexual desire is considered to be the first step toward becoming a succubus, it is well known that a true succubus can only be created due to prolonged exposure to dark magic. Warlocks tend to gravitate towards promiscuous people for this very reason and will use their magic to push them to think even more about sex. This is mostly for the purpose of creating compliant slaves, but a succubus who was practiced in magic as a mortal ends up developing unique powers suited to their new life.

Incubus

Incubi are formed from succubi who have lived for an extended period of time without a master. Through living independently, they regain their ability to think for themselves. While a succubus with a natural propensity for submitting to a sexual partner will never change, more dominant succubi will transform yet again into this new form. Their bodies are more muscular than that of a succubus and the physical differences between males and females are more pronounced.

Imp

Imps are former Kerunites whose eyes have been taken by warlocks. Traces of magic remain to form new, darker eyes, and their hair falls out, to be replaced by unnerving horns. Curiously, when a succubus gets pregnant, her spawn will always take this form.

Blood Thrall

Blood thralls are former mortals whose blood has been completely drained by a Blood Mage. They live with a desperate desire for blood that can only be briefly satisfied by drinking the blood of others. While feral blood thralls are extremely dangerous, some remain subservient to their creator in exchange for tastes of their own blood.

Shadowguard

These demonic warriors are former maulans whose physical features were optimized by dark magic. Their horns and bodily spikes are typically replaced with an extra layer of thick bone, which provides a natural armor that’s harder than steel These bones spiral across most of the creature’s skin, but completely encase its tail, head, and once-vulnerable neck. What makes them most terrifying is that, unlike a pure maulan, they can possess enough intelligence to control complex magics.

Wrathar

Like succubi and fever morphs, wrathar were once ordinary people who were corrupted by dark magic. But while succubi are formed of lust and fever morphs are formed from fear, the wrathar are bred in wrath, as their name implies. Their transformation begins with those who regularly spectate in bloodsports, forming a bloodlust that eventually grows into an unavoidable desire to participate. When someone under such a spell draws blood for the first time, their muscles began to grow beyond their mortal limit and they will lose all of their hair.. They will eventually lose any sense of pain or empathy before the final change occurs: once a wrathar commits to their new lifestyle of murder, its teeth sharpen into shark-like fangs.

Direwolf

True examples of direwolves are rare, as they result from the magical corruption of geoli, who are in themselves a rare sight. These canine demons stand at over eight feet tall, the largest of any wolf species. They appear to have eschewed the once-beautiful sheen of white fur and will often grow horns, depending on the extent of their corruption. Two of their front fangs grow into knife-like tusks, which they use to absorb the vital youth of their victims, even as they attempt to devour them. Thus, even if you survive a direwolf attack, you will find yourself aging rapidly. Teenage human victims of direwolf bites can die of old age in less than a month.

Chimera

The word chimera refers to any creature that was created from two animals fused together through dark magic. The warlock who wishes to create a chimera will first sacrifice one animal and saturate its remains with dark magic before stitching it to the second animal. Then, over a period of time ranging from an hour to a week, the dead animal's biology will be slowly integrated into the host as it decomposes.

Goblin

A goblin is a wretched creature that was once mortal before it was warped by its greed. In this transformed state, it is nearly blind and has stubby fingers that weaken its grip. With a natural inclination to pick up anything that brushes their fingers as grope around, they have been used by their warlock masters as suicide bombers. Those who find freedom wander the fringes of society, robbing travelers under threat of dismemberment between their razor-like teeth. This is a hardy race of demon which can be killed only through decapitation.

Death Touch Chapter 3

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Mia

This was unacceptable.

Mia had long been used to her talents being ignored, so it had felt like a long-awaited blessing to be given an honest-to-goodness mission. She was only sixteen, so by all accounts, it was still much too soon for her to be doing what she was, but she wasn’t one to get in her own way. She had only been preparing for this day since she had first strung together a coherent sentence.

Mia was going to kill someone tonight.

She had been aching for the chance without realizing it for nearly her entire life. Her adoptive mother had explained that she had experienced a gruesome tragedy when she was too young to remember.

Either that, or she had blocked it out. Regardless, she was led to understand that the shadow of death had forever infected her. So she had always been eager to engage in the craft of Dinorah Winstrom and her Scarlet Starling clan.

After all, it seemed so natural to her. That the unjust slayings of her birth family should have pushed her onto the doorstep of a deadly avenger was only too perfect in her mind. She may never feel the pleasure of putting a bullet or blade into the flesh of the people responsible for the loss of her birth family, but she would damn well be there for the next girl to suffer such a fate.

But this mission flew in the face of everything she had known about the Scarlet Starlings, whose credo was to hide in plain sight in order to punish the wicked who lurked freely in public. Try as she might, she could not find anything wicked about her target. Johnny Clark shared the same surname as Queen Penelope, but even his potentially royal blood could not explain why this bumbling drunk needed to die.

He did not seem to owe anyone any money. He was open and generous with his wealth, which would have been dangerous should anyone in particular covet it. He seemed to spend more than most people would on his favorite brand of glacial plum wine, but he did so with a jovial air which suggested that all was right with the world. This wasn’t to be true in his case for much longer, but why?

Perhaps he just has a nasty enemy, Mia thought as she stalked him through the twilight streets of Beldor in the guise of a student visiting from the nearby Hem Academy. Whatever the reason, he was still going to die. In her mind, failing Dinorah was the worst thing she could imagine. It was likely that the guild had a perfectly good reason for wanting this target dead and knowing whatever it was would not stop her from proving her worth to the Starlings.

Therefore, with a sense of unease, she followed the drunk through the city’s central park, watching with growing adrenaline as he flicked a tiny flask at another alcoholic-- this one seemingly homeless. The other man raised a shaking hand to wave at the prey. “Thanks Johnny!”

There it was. He was enabling the self-destructive habits of other people. He had to go. Mia sighed in spite of herself, unsatisfied with any answer that she had come up with to her question. As far as she could tell, Johnny Clark had been a cheerful, generous man. Sure, he had just earlier destroyed a perfectly good sky rug with a boisterous explosion of wine-filled discharge, but then he had simply wiped his mouth and shoved a fistful of gold at the owner before carrying on in his drunken stupor.

This had to be some cruel trick of her stepmother’s. The Starlings had never so much as blinked at batterers unless their victims could pay to have them sent to The Forge, but here was a relatively innocent man taking his last wobbling stroll. Whether it be some game or test of loyalty, Mia resolved to follow her orders and stopped in a public restroom to do an inventory. Keeping an eye on the distant and aimless wandering of her prey, she emptied the contents of her backpack, both a useful prop for her disguise and a convenient container for her supplies.

She started by shoving aside her prop textbooks and arranged her murderous tools on the counter in front of her. She began to curse herself for her obvious lack of discretion, but calmed down as she reasoned that no one was around to disturb her. She started by uncoiling a length of thick wire that she had practiced using as a garrote. She shook her head and decided to save that one. It was likely that her first target would have little trouble overpowering her if she used it carelessly.

She also carried a small black handgun, the same model that the Royal Army used for a sidearm. She recalled how she had been required to steal it from a soldier during her training with a smile.

Unfortunately, her second weapon was a loud one. She had heard that the Galeans to the southwest used a spell that could silence their weapons in their rare times of war, but sadly there was no overlap between  the cultures who desired a quiet gun and one with stopping power, so this was a weapon to be used only when discretion was no longer possible.

Next was her knife, a curved dagger with a fine edge on the outer side of the blade and saw-like teeth on the inside. Now here was a solid candidate for the weapon with which she would draw blood for the first time. The only limit to this weapon’s utility was her imagination, which had already lovingly conjured scores of different ways to maim her prey. The only problem was that she had a sacred bond with this knife; a promise to use it only for her most passionate projects. Without any clear reason to see this man dead, Mia didn’t think she wanted to savor her first quite that much.

This left only a small vial of a syrupy violet fluid. Poison, what else? This was the kindest way to do it, she supposed. As heavily as the man had been drinking, it would be easy too. This venom of sylph thorn would be nearly impossible to detect and the symptoms it caused would be hard to distinguish from the alcohol poisoning Johnny seemed so determined to attain. She scoffed grimly to herself. What an insulting mission, she thought. The way he’s going, I might not have to do anything.

But do something, she must. So, with her venomous vial in hand, she left the restroom and wandered back into the park. This time, she made no effort to blend in to her surroundings. The sun had since vanished over the horizon and most had already gone home for the night. The conditions were nearly perfect, but she would still need to be smart about her approach. She found her prey loitering on a bench close to the winding road which led back to First Street. Conveniently enough, First Street would lead her through the city’s north gate toward Hem Academy. She needn’t go that way, but it would be useful for her cover.

As she strolled casually along the solitary road, Johnny whistled to Mia, beckoning her with an air of drunken insistence. Of course he’s a lech. I can’t very have this be too difficult. Mia built her best innocent gesture in response, so very contrary to her nature. Her thin eyebrows rose and her eyes widened slightly. She supposed that perhaps she was playing up the naiveté of her character a little too much as she approached, but Johnny seemed beyond caring.

“How’re you doin’ tonight, missh?” he slurred as politely as one can.

“I’m doing well,” Mia said warily. She completed the look with a sour expression as the stale alcohol smell assaulted her senses. It was a fine addition to the act to be sure, but completely involuntary, which somehow made it better.

In any case, the target had failed to notice the look. “I haven’t seen you around here before, but you look ravishing in those school robes. You wouldn’t happen to be an upperclassman would you?”

Mia stifled a chuckle as she responded, “No, sorry.”

“It should be a crime for young things like you to be so pretty,” Johnny rambled. “If you were a little older, I could show you some things. A prince like me naturally has a lot to show a woman.”

The young huntress swallowed her disgust and replied, “But a prince should be entitled to do whatever he likes, shouldn’t he?”

Johnny roared with laughter as he replied, “Sure, but try telling my sister that! Only thing that trumps a prince is the queen, right?”

Mia smirked and inched closer. “The queen is very far away from here.”

“Good point, that! How ‘bout a drink, then? I’ve got the last bottle of Glacial wine here until the plums are back in season. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a tashte!”

Now, now. Behave yourself. “I’m afraid I shouldn’t. I’m due back at the Academy.”

Johnny shook his head with a hint of frustration. “Don’t be cheeky or I’ll have to insist. You said yourself that a prince should be able to do whatever he wants.”

Well, he’s about as trapped as he’s going to get. Seeing no need to resist much longer, she sighed. “I suppose I could get away with one drink, but then I really must get back to school before they lock the tower.”

Johnny gave an appreciative whoop as he wasted no time popping the cork on the bottle. “That’s the ticket! What’s your name, darling?”

Mia took a seat on the bench and replied, “My name is Amelia Desmond.”

The prey’s eyes widened appreciatively. “Ah! A Desmond! I guess we should all be expecting great things of you!”

Mia knew that her false name would get a favorable reaction from the prey. Through her studies, she knew that the Desmonds were a clan native to the mountains at the far north of Resta’s territory. In her trade, the name Desmond was an easy ticket to positive attention, owing to their reputation for great deeds, but would also deflect any questions since that reputation was earned solely by the isolated few who ever left their native lands. No one even seemed to know how many there were.

“I don’t know about that,” Mia uttered humbly. “I think most people overestimate my family. I have an aunt who’s no more than a simple reporter after all.”

Everyone knew that there was a Desmond working at the Restan Star, but Johnny wouldn’t live long enough to discover she’d been lying about the relation. This is taking too long. Mia had never had the patience for long conversations, even knowing that they were often useful. Still, things were going smoothly. One would think a prince would know better than to be so careless; he drank his wine straight from the bottle before offering Mia a taste. She tried to take a small sip, but Johnny tipped the bottle back, causing her to swallow more than she had intended. Damn him!

“There you go, love! How’s it taste?”

Awful. “It’s exquisite! It reminds me of the Winter Festival.” In summer, no less. What a waste of money.

As quickly as she could, she poured the entire contents of her vial into the wine, unseen by the royal. As he took the bottle and downed another deep gulp, Mia smiled. It should only take a few seconds. But, as Mia counted the seconds with bated breath, Johnny began to frown. He threw his wine to the ground with a grunt and the bottle shattered, leaking the dark blue draft over the cobblestone.

“I hate to waste good wine, but you’re daft if you think you’re the first to try to poison me with sylph thorn,” he growled, all traces of his drunken slur seemingly vanished. “Who are you?”

How could Mia be so stupid? Of course he’d be immune to sylph thorn venom! It made sense when she considered the bloody history of Resta’s throne. Since the last Maloran king abdicated his rule to the Blackstones a century ago, everyone who had ever worn Resta’s crown had been targeted at some point. A royal would need to be prepared for an assassination attempt. She had thought that her choice of poison would be perfect for an alcoholic, but it was too perfect.

“No matter,” Johnny growled as he stood up and quickly pushed Mia to the ground. Standing over her, he pressed his worn boots to her chest. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your short, short life. Guards!”

Seemingly out of nowhere, two men garbed in thick, mail armor appeared. They bore cherry wood badges and were armed with gleaming steel long swords. The guards slowly advanced upon Mia as Johnny looked down on her in disgust.

“My sister and I may not love each other as most siblings do, but even she would be a fool to let me wander around without protection. And if there’s one thing an assassin fears, it’s a spellwarrior!” Johnny declared with a triumphant glare. He pointed toward Mia and barked, “Arrest her!”

Dinorah was not going to be happy.

Next Chapter

The Curse of Shaville

Far to the western edge of Resta, close to the forests of Tanis, there was once a village that was saturated with a quaint, unassuming feel.  Here, the idyllic backdrops of woodlands to the west and the Restan prairie to the east combined with a friendly community to conceal a host of dark secrets.

Travelers to Shaville would first notice something unusual in the behavior of its constable, Bolreck Green. As imposing as this man is, he always seems to be terrified. He couldn't speak the full truth of the village's danger, but his first words to any visitors were always "Go back to where you came from. There is nothing here that's worth staying for."

Of course, it was easy to ignore the constable's warnings when the rest of the villagers seem so happy. The locals will advise the traveler not to take them seriously. "He's just having a laugh since he always has so little to do" some would say, while others claimed, more harshly, "He is just trying to scare people because he's losing control over his own life." Whatever the story, travelers always recovered quickly from the constable's dire warnings and put them out of mind.

After this encounter, travelers would get a taste of what some call Shaville's true charm. The lustful villagers, the almost-constantly flowing beer taps, and the raucous entertainment venues gave Shaville a reputation for being the most fun destination in the entire kingdom. But all of these things that made Shaville such a desirable place are also the bait and trigger for its sinister trap: once you are there, you never want to leave.

By the end of their first week there, the more adventurous visitors begin to notice some changes in their body. Those who partook in the sexual appetites of the villagers would feel their skin getting softer, their lust and their lust growing to insatiable levels, while those who basked in the savagery of the fight pit would feel their bodies growing harder and their hatred deepening. For some people, this is a firm sign that something is wrong with Shaville, but it seemed impossible to put these fears into words--almost as if something unseen was actively preventing them from speaking of it.

Those who are smart enough to flee the village when they noticed these changes would often free themselves from their mental corruption through prayer and therapy eventually, though the physical changes seemed to be permanent. Those who remained, however, would only have another week of rapidly progressing changes until the true nature of Shaville became revealed to them.

Shaville's leaders--witches and warlocks all-- controlled this explosion of corruption for the purpose of turning mortals into demon slaves. Those who experienced their dark magic through wanton lust would become succubi, while those who tasted blood in the fight pits would become wrathar. As demons, these former villagers and travelers would go on to serve their masters in secret or be traded to other practitioners of dark magic for favors.

The truth of Shaville was a well-kept secret for many decades, but thankfully, word of the town's evil reached the outside world near the end of the Second Age. It started with the spellwarriors that the constable summoned to help him restore order to the increasing chaos that dominated the lives of the villagers. They were accompanied by a templar acquaintance named Asha, who was repulsed by everything that lied on the surface of the village. This led her to dig deeper than anyone was ever willing to go to learn the truth.

As a result, the full force of the Blackstone Order mustered for the first time in centuries to destroy the entire village. Although many innocent people died in this purge, the templars were honored for cleaning this singular taint on the Holy Land. Shaville now remains only as an embarrassing mark on Resta's vaunted history of relative purity, but it is important to remember so that Restans will be on guard should they ever again find a similar place that seems too good to be true.

Death Touch Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

Clint

Clint had never imagined that dating Alexis Midas could be so exhausting. He even said this as someone who had breezed through what should have been several grueling months in the treacherous Lightning Ridge with her younger brother, Seth. But wherever the newly minted spellwarrior had gotten his stamina, Alexis had twice as much. It must be hereditary, Clint thought to himself as they finally stopped in the relative quiet of Palon’s outer foothills, some ancient trait that made their ancestors such monsters at fighting.

Alexis was not a fighter, but a nurse. Still, Clint remembered the legends of her lineage almost as well as his own. A descendant of the world’s first templar was he, but the legend of Karla Blackstone paled in comparison to the exploits of many generations of Midas warriors. Although the Midas Clan had not ruled the kingdom of Resta in over a century, nearly every single warrior who called themselves by that name had been responsible for protecting the young country in some way since before its founding with the unification of the nations of Coronos and Necros. 

Now Clint understood why. As strong as he had always considered himself, a young farmer turned hunter, he never could keep up with Seth. Alexis had turned out to be much more of a challenge. So much so, that the end of their long and perfect date had brought him a desperately appreciated respite. As he slumped against an ancient pine, Alexis chuckled at him. 

“How did you survive three months in the wilderness with my brother if you couldn’t keep up with me?”

Clint had been expecting her to make fun of him for tiring so easily, but even still had no retort. Alexis simply could have run circles around any of the deer who roamed the woods around his family’s farm and danced on their bodies after they passed out. Still, he could at least take comfort in knowing that the day had gone well. No other man he knew of could have kept up with her as well as he managed and he was sure to point that out.

Alexis smiled and knelt next to Clint’s limp form before poking him gently on the forehead with two fingers. “You’re not wrong, you know. I should be more impressed.”

Clint closed his eyes and chuckled. “We both know that won’t last. How’s Seth doing?”

Seth, a recent graduate of the spellwarriors’ Hem Academy, had been eager to go on his first peacekeeping mission, but it had not ended well. Although he had held up better than most fledgling spellwarriors, it was his brash overconfidence which led him into a trap. He had been hoping to bust a counterfeiter of divine relics only to stumble into the discovery of an entire syndicate producing the false talismans. He was a warrior of the Midas clan, though-- one of the last, in fact-- so he stood his ground as he was surrounded by twelve armed criminals. 

The result was what one might consider a draw. The syndicate was brought down and the fake trinkets were all destroyed, but Seth had fallen into a coma which had, thus far, lasted for over a week. To be sure, no one seemed to be more concerned than Alexis, but there was little comfort Clint could offer. Seth would be commended for his bravery and skill should he ever awaken, sure, and Dr. Anthony Clark was taking personal care of the patient out of gratitude toward his favorite nurse. But nothing about Seth’s fate was certain and, to top it all off, their mother had not been seen in the village for over a month. For Alexis to have faced this suffering alone would not do, which was why the two of them had wound up together in the first place. Originally a loyal friend of Seth’s, Clint shared some of Alexis’ feelings over the very tenuous position Seth was in.

Alexis frowned, but it was not the dark expression that Clint had come to associate with the subject of her brother. “He’s doing better, I think. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but Doc says that the way he’s blinking lately might mean he’s getting better.”

Clint’s own brother would have described this as a symptom of REM sleep while his sister would say that he still had the ability to dream. Whatever insignificant words they came up with, though, ultimately led to the same conclusion. He wasn’t brain-dead.

“That’s great news!” Clint exclaimed sincerely, only briefly delaying the confusion that soon grew in his face. “But why don’t you seem happy about it?”

Alexis sighed and stared bitterly toward the ground. Just as Clint was getting a sense that he had made a mistake in talking about Seth, she replied, “There was a complication. While Doctor Clark was examining him, he found an infection of something called ‘wild source matter’.”

Again, the clinical voice of Clint’s little brother rang in his ears. He had long since grown used to Richard’s scholarly rambling, but he never imagined that he would recall him explaining, “Source matter is an indefinable element weaved into everything in this world. All we really understand of it is that it is meant to take whatever form is necessary for the Gods’ purpose. To observe source matter in its natural state is rare, but it is exceedingly dangerous because of…”

Clint could not remember why his brother had said that source matter was dangerous, but he did not need to in order to understand the severity of Alexis’ words. “Damn,” he grumbled, relatively speechless.

“Do you know what that means?” Alexis asked hopefully. “Doc sure as hell didn’t.”

Clint shook his head. “Nope. Only that it’s not the sort of thing you want to find inside a living body.”

Tears sprang to Alexis’ eyes for the first time. “I hate this. First my mom disappears without a word and now I might lose my brother. I can’t stand not doing anything, but I don’t know what to do!”

Clint encircled the trembling woman in what he hoped could be considered a comforting embrace. “Focus on the good. He’s getting better. Doctor Clark is the best physician in the kingdom and he’s giving Seth the finest care he can manage. I don’t know what this source matter thing is about, but I don’t think it’s necessarily fatal.”

Alexis took a deep breath and returned the hug, evidently beginning to relax a little. She did not say anything, but Clint was finally starting to feel as if he had said the right thing. The two of them curled more tightly together and began to watch the sun set in reverent silence. After such an exciting day and firm, gentle reassurances, Clint had every reason in the world to feel good about himself, but he was too tired to appreciate this. As it was, it did not take long for him to doze off in that position. But before his consciousness faded, he thought he could hear a chuckle from close by.

Clint stood at the foot of a tower none would ever call cozy, staring into the sky above it. There, a dark cloud loomed, growing steadily larger. He didn’t know what he was looking at, but he instinctively knew that to touch it would mean death. He thought he ought to be afraid of what he was looking at, but couldn’t bring himself to flee. Behind him, he felt a presence nearly as intense as what hovered in front of him. No, more like several presences. 

He attempted to turn around, but as he faced these others, he nearly felt blinded by their radiance. Before he was forced to turn away, he was able to identify three human forms. Two appeared to be female and the other male, but he could not be sure because their glowing skin made it impossible to study their features. But in that moment, he was sure that he could tell what they were feeling. 

The man was slightly shorter than he and gleamed with power. He held a halberd that Clint felt sure could have easily been used to cleave the tower. His long hair reminded him of someone he knew, but for all Clint could tell, he might have been staring Ragos himself in the face. And yet, he did not feel himself burning into a smoldering pile of cinders.

The shorter of the two women was a jumbled mess of conflicting feelings. Clint could hardly have made sense of it all, but was certain of her rage and savage pleasure. Whatever the cloud was, this woman hated it with all her heart. He searched for a cause and found only the shock of betrayal and grief over a tragic loss. 

The other woman was the most pleasant of the three presences. She appeared to be extraordinarily calm considering the danger that she and the others faced. This calm seemed to reassure him as well; as if standing in her presence blocked his ability to feel fear. He felt himself inexplicably drawn to her and could not help being more curious about her identity than anyone else’s.

With all of the power at his back, his brain spun all the more quickly to make sense of what was going on. But there was no logic to any of it; only certainty. He had felt as if he stood in the presence of three deities, but that wasn’t the case. The man and two women each stood in the presence of a single deity, but so did Clint. He did not need to reason long to understand. Crane, the God of Knowledge, seemed to be watching over him. 

Clint wanted to talk to the deity, sure that this was no ordinary dream, but as soon as the idea occurred to him, he realized that it would be impossible. Even the clergy, who could decipher the Gods’ language, had trouble hearing their voices. It didn’t matter, though, because something about this dream had made him instinctively aware of what he was seeing. It was as if he was Crane himself and no secret hid from his knowledge. He tried to picture something about his sister which had always made him curious, but was quickly disappointed. He knew then that he was not here to abuse Crane’s powers; he had a message to decipher.

So, decipher he did. The cloud represented something evil, even without his temporarily enhanced intellect, it might have seemed obvious. Then there were the four people who stood at the base of the tower. Crane, Ragos, Serenity, and Salica seemed to have each chosen someone to face this cloud, which may have been a threat to them as well. So, whatever this evil was, it seemed as if he’d be expected to help put a stop to it. Clint could tell that this realization pleased Crane. As he was now, he could not have imagined having trouble understanding this message, but apparently he wasn’t expected to so easily. 

Crane had made the right choice.

Clint woke up abruptly, feeling a pair of hands roughly shaking him. He looked up into Alexis’ eyes blearily. He was quick to come up with an apology for falling asleep on her, but it turned out not to have been needed. She looked like she was on the verge of panic.

“Wha…? What is it?” Clint asked tensely.

“Someone just fell down the Whitebark hill,” Alexis said urgently as she pointed toward the limp form far below the strange white tree. “I’m going to go help her.”

Clint shook his head to clear the numbness in his brain. “I’ll come with… you know, in case you need help.”

Alexis helped Clint to his feet and the two of them rushed toward the fallen woman that the former had pointed out. Alexis dropped to the ground beside the unconscious form of Sara Marle and checked her out.

“She seems to be breathing, thank the gods,” she murmured as she brushed back some of her auburn hair and studied the bruise that had formed on her forehead. “We should get her to the infirmary.”

Next Chapter

Death Touch Chapter 1

As I work to bring us up to speed again, enjoy this preview of the first Comalan novel, Death Touch, which is set to be completed eventually, I'm sure. I'll be serializing the entire backlog of chapters as I continue to write.

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Sara


Palon is a quiet place. Sara thought this to herself as she trekked to the top of the grassy hill of a local park. The village, which was nearing its twentieth year, was only barely founded within her lifetime. There wasn't much to see here; this place was far out of anyone's way, so there wasn't much incentive for it to expand. Less than two dozen houses, four shops, one inn and a modest infirmary dotted the lush green hills of this southland hamlet. It was no place for children, to be sure. Many of the men Sara met at the inn were adventurers preparing to hike Lightning Ridge, which lie nearby to the northwest. It was clear that they were the whole purpose of this village's existence.

For Sara, it was just a stop on her way home. She had been traveling west from Blackstone Monastery en route to her hometown of Beldor. But as the sun began to crest over the mountains to the west, she decided that this was the place she would rest for the night. The sky's fading golden light glistened through her silken auburn hair as she wandered up a narrow path toward the top of a steep hill. She was fascinated by the massive white tree that was nestled in its pinnacle. A massive cluster of round orange leaves clung to its bleached branches. This tree was a rare sight, one she recognized as Whitebark's Promise.

She breathed a sigh of reverence as she reached the end of the path and passed under the tree's extraordinary canopy. The air here wafted with a pleasant, minty aroma that brought back memories of drinking tea back in the gardens of the monastery. Through her study in the Serene faith, she knew that such calming places were nearly always meaningful. It was for this reason that she walked close to the tree and pressed her palm to its trunk. She felt what she expected as she did so. Her pulse slowed, her mind began to float with euphoria and her breathing became easier. She nodded to herself, satisfied that she had found her place to meditate.

She straightened the hem of her dark green travel robes before sitting cross-legged at the base of the tree. She then inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, leaning back very slowly. When her head came to rest against the bark, she released her breath. She chose to contemplate the calming silence of the village around her to lull herself into the trance she sought. There were no predators, evil presences, or abnormal weather conditions to worry her. In this place, she was free from danger and so she could, just for now, feel completely at peace. In this blissful solitude, she prayed, she would feel the loving peace that was the gift of Serenity.

It did not take long for her to fall deeply into her trance. It was in this state that she hoped to commune with the goddess through prayer. Although it was technically possible for anyone to reach this state, no one could do so more easily than her. It was this gift that guided her to the Serene faith. Already, at the age of 21, she had already accomplished what had taken her elders twice her lifetime. The spiritual connection she had formed with the sacred realm of Fadal had begun to grow to the point where she almost believed she could actually hear Serenity's voice.

In her trance, Sara thought of none of this. This was the time for her to focus on the ruminations that drove her to leave the sanctuary. The last time she had gone into a prayer trance, the day before, she had sensed Serenity saying words that made no sense to her. She could usually only hear the voice speaking disjointed words, but for the first time, she heard several complete phrases. The only one she remembered was the most damning: lulled into complacency.

The elders had readily believed Sara's claim of sensing the goddess' gentle voice until she mentioned what she heard. There was much disagreement over the implications of those words. Some believed that this was a warning, but most saw these words as proof that she was not truly hearing Serenity's words. The more they argued, though, the more certain Sara was that she had heard what she believed. However, she could not add anything new to the increasingly redundant discussion. She was not the first to consider what she now believed to be the meaning of those words.

The Serene Church is in trouble, she had determined. For centuries, those of her faith had paid tribute to a goddess they always believed would protect them from the dangers of the world and maintain the peace with her own power. But if she were threatened, what use would her acolytes be to her if they had known nothing but perfect tranquility? When the goddess spoke, she could sense the desperation in her voice. There was something to this the others weren't seeing, but she couldn't put her finger on it. This revelation brought discord to the Serene quarter of the monastery for the first time in living memory, so it wasn't a shock to anyone when she chose to leave.

When she first put her home of seven years behind her, she planned to travel north to Resta's capitol city, where she could consult the leaders of her faith. But then she thought about how the elders had responded to her warnings. There was little chance that she would get there before word from the monastery elders, so there was every chance that the city would already be tense on her arrival. Time was clearly against her.

What she needed was guidance of the sort that the elders had failed for the first time to give her. Without mentors to rely on, all she could do is pray again. So she prayed, beseeching the goddess to tell her the meaning of her dark words. She did not know what to expect this time. Every time she went into trance, she could feel the words becoming clearer. But as she drifted along in her mind, she slowly became aware that she didn't hear the voice at all this time. Her blood turned to ice with the sudden fear that she had made a mistake. Was she to be excommunicated for disrupting the harmony of her former sanctum?

That fear nearly brought her out of her trance, but just as she felt herself rising, she was calmed by a sudden sensation of a long pair of gentle arms closing around her shoulders. When she settled back down, she already knew what had happened. She couldn't explain the sensation, but, somehow she was certain that Serenity was with her, encircling the young acolyte in her comforting embrace. Sara asked the goddess the question that was burning through her mind and, to her surprise, Serenity answered in a clear voice.

“Sara Marle, I knew you would understand.”

Sara's heart skipped as she took in this complete sentence. She still didn't completely understand yet, but her suspicions were confirmed. She sighed deeply, firmly controlling the elation that also threatened her trance. To hear a deity's voice so clearly was unheard of and she didn't want to lose that feeling so soon. Although a chill wind was beginning across the hilltops in the dusk, she felt unbelievably warm.

“My lady! I am honored by the sound of your voice!” the priestess declared, unsure of what else she could possibly say to the goddess.

“Be at peace, Sara. My people and mortalkind alike live in troubled times, but for now, you are safe,” Serenity whispered soothingly.

There it was, the gods were in danger. Although Sara wanted to gasp, she could not find the fear that should have been the result of this revelation. So powerful was Serenity's calming aura that she might have just been told that nothing was wrong at all. She could not afford to lose herself in her calm, though; that was the mistake that her detractors at the monastery seemed to be making. There had to be a reason that Serenity was talking to her now.

“I do feel calm, but I must ask what you mean by troubled times.”

“It is my daughter,” Serenity replied somberly. “She has once again escaped our world and haunts yours once more.”

Sara could not quell her gasp this time. Serenity could only be talking about Maula, the Goddess of Death. She recalled what she remembered of her instantly, for every deity was the subject of an acolyte's studies. She was the daughter of the God of War and Goddess of Tranquility and a potential heir to the sacred realm. Two hundred years ago she descended upon Comalan in rebellion against her parents. It was said she crushed the land of Resta under a wave of death, hence the title by which everyone described her.

She had nearly wiped out the entire population of Resta before being driven back by four champions. At first there was Nicholai Desmond, the champion of Chaos and Helen Winstrom, the champion of Serenity. They were joined later by Artix Maloran, the crown prince of Resta and Orion the Elven Queen. They devised a spell of some sort that had driven Maula back to Fadal, where the deities and dead souls roam. This legend was central to Resta's history as it was the biggest catastrophe it had experienced since the tragedy that led to its founding. If she was truly back, she would almost certainly have grown more powerful in the last two centuries. Many more people could die this time.

Sensing Sara's growing fear, Serenity continued soothingly. “It will be alright, my child. The mortalkind are surprising creatures. When she was banished the first time, the four mortals who were responsible foresaw her return. They left behind their secrets so that when she did, someone would be able to send her back to us once more. All that is required is someone with the courage to follow in their footsteps.”

Although Sara had relaxed somewhat with the hope that someone could do what was done before, Sara felt a chill in her blood upon hearing the goddess' last sentence. She could not explain why, but she knew she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.

“I long believed that Helen's grace and determination were without equal, but I have watched over you for twelve years. When first you knelt before an altar to me, I sensed something familiar. Not since Helen's death have I felt such sincere devotion to my ideals. When you pledged yourself to the Doctrine of Tranquility, despite many urgings to the contrary, I felt that I had found what I was looking for. So I nurtured you on your path through the faith. You've demonstrated your grace for many years and in leaving the monastery, you have demonstrated that you are incredibly determined. You are, or at least will be, her equal.”

Sara was torn with conflict. On one hand, she believed that Serenity must be wrong about her. But on the other, she had believed her entire life that Serenity couldn't be wrong about something like this. She didn't believe she was equal to what Serenity was clearly asking, but she must try.

“My Goddess, are you sure? I don't share any of Helen's bravery or strength!”

“My dear, when have I ever prized strength? Mortal historians have never forgotten that Helen was a formidable warrior, but that is not what I asked of her and it isn't what I am asking of you now.”

“But what makes me so special?” Sara asked in the desperate hope that the goddess might reconsider,

“How can devotion to the Doctrine of Tranquility help me to banish a deity?”

“You are not the one who will banish Maula,” Serenity declared flatly, “What I ask of you instead is to keep the peace. When my daughter sets her plans in motion, many will suffer. I will need someone to convince those who remain that we have not forsaken them. You must heal their wounds, ease their troubles, and protect them from despair.”

This sounded more like a burden Sara thought she could bear. She had indeed feared that she would be expected to fight on Serenity’s behalf, but she had spent her entire life learning to heal the hearts and bodies of those in need. But this left an obvious question in her mind.

“If I am not to banish Lady Maula,” she asked carefully, “Who is?”

“You will be aided in your quest by others chosen by each member of my family,” Serenity said matter-of-factly. “Two of them can be found close to where you sit, but the rest will not join you for quite some time.”

That changes things was the first thought on Sara’s mind upon hearing this response. Although reconnecting with the other members of her faith to relay this new information remained vital, she also knew she mustn’t leave without finding these other two champions.

“Thank you, my lady,” Sara said with a smile to herself. “I think I know what must be done now.”

With that, the heavy, tranquil feeling that had accompanied her trance had begun to dissipate, leaving only the words, “Trust me, trust your comrades, and trust yourself.”

Then, Sara had found herself alone once more, uncomfortably aware of the early evening chill that hung over the hills. She stood up once more, shaking the numbness out of her legs. She had planned to press on into the night, but given her sudden decision to remain in Palon, she resolved to get a room at the inn instead. As she began to descend the hill, however, a sudden gust had caused her to lose her footing and send her tumbling all the way to the bottom of the hill.

As she lay there on the ground with a throbbing pain in every part of her body that could feel pain, she cursed her own luck. The first steps of my journey, she thought sourly before she passed out, inwardly thankfully that there had been nothing on the hill for her body to hit besides tall grass.

Further into the foothills, a burly man with short copper hair and a young woman with braided raven-colored hair had noticed Sara’s fall and rushed to help.


Next Chapter

The Starlight Crusade

Hey everyone! I know it's been a while, but just because I've been away from this blog doesn't mean Comalan has been sleeping. As we kick things off a third time, let's start with the a new art feature. You may recognize the following picture from our new temporary banner, but I figured I would post the full version as well as some backstory.

For starters, you'll notice that the banner version is cropped and sloppily resized compared to this one. That's because the full version is huuuuge and the four characters in the center were the most necessary to include in an image that represents what Comalan is.

But with those details out of the way, I'm sure you'd love to know just what you're looking at. Well, in the Third Age, Comalan takes a deep spin towards the science fiction elements that were originally used only to slightly enhance the story. In this section of the timeline, we are going for a more harmonious blend of fantasy and sci-fi in our story line.

These characters are part of the Starlight Crusade, which represents a worldwide effort to resist the assimilation efforts of a species from another world. The Sho'kai from the planet Mennon are an aquatic species that has invaded Comalan once before and attempted to terraform the world by flooding it in water that was laced with mutagens meant to force people to live underwater. Their invasion was successfully repelled by the combined might of the world's five great nations: Resta, Galeon, Midania, Tanis, and Heron.

But the mutagens left behind by the Sho'kai had the unintended effect of reviving a long-dead plague known to the people of Comalan as the "Curse of Suffering." Many would die painful deaths before being offered hope by two important figures. The first was Gyanda Maloran (an older version of the protagonist from this story), who revealed the previously undiscovered method of healing the once-deadly plague through blood magic. The second was Tir Apollo, who spearheaded the effort to adapt the spacefaring technology left behind by the invaders to a worldwide counter-offensive. It was these developments that allowed the great nations to unify and form the world's most powerful army.

The characters shown in this picture are:

Umi Karn

Umi is the captain of Heron's spaceship, the Gyandala. She is the eldest daughter of Ulva Karn, who is the reigning Lord of Heron's most prosperous province, and is married to Sun Jun, who is the first pyromancer to emerge since their ancient art was revived by the Avatar of Chaos. Since becoming a pyromancer in her own right, she has begun to strip down ages-long cultural barriers in her country, which once had no place for female warriors.

Kartal Marle

Kartal is a templar from Resta who commands the kingdom's Goodwill Company, a group known for lending military aid to Resta's allies. His company serves aboard Midania's ship, the Karashartal, despite recent social unrest between the two countries. While he must focus on keeping the peace between his men and the Midanian crew, he also worries for the lives of his wife and son who are currently stranded on Mennon.

Atunis Astersong

Atunis is the captain of the Karashartal and the Avatar of Midania's matron goddess, Salica. He is a stalwart companion to many, including Kartal and Tir. He shows a deep concern for the people who were taken to Mennon, most of whom he counts among his friends. While he is deeply uncomfortable with space travel for personal reasons, he remains a source of comfort to the other members of the Crusade.

Tir Apollo

Although she was born in Heron and currently lives in Resta, Tir captains Galeon's ship, the Selon Res due to her technical contributions to the Crusade's fleet and because she was recently named the Avatar of Crane. Through hard work and ingenuity, she has earned the title of Fleet Commander, naming her ship the fleet's flagship. She hopes to use this influence to create an opening through which she may redeem the betrayal of her predecessor as an Avatar, Richard Broger. Since coming across evidence that the Betrayer might not have been acting of his own free will, she must balance her desire to save Broger with the good of the fleet.

Gyanda Maloran

Gyanda is a spellwarrior and blood mage who became the third man to receive the vaunted title of "Archknight." He commands Resta's ship, the Morta, as well as the massive coven of blood mages that staff all five ships. He has fought against Chaos himself to seek redemption for his many mistakes in the eyes of mankind. His participation in the Starlight Crusade is inspired by many things, including his obligations to the people as the Archknight, his campaign to legalize blood magic, and his fear for the safety of his wife, who is among the people trapped on Mennon with the sho'kai and the Betrayer.

Benedicte Zeringue

Benedicte, or Bene as he prefers to be called, is a mercenary employed to serve on the crew of Tanis' Amologra. Despite his long history as a conman, he jumped at the chance to serve in the Starlight Crusade because the authorities of this forest nation promised substantial fees to anyone willing to commit to this presumed suicide mission. Together with his friend Bolreck, the two bring a unique set of skills to a nation that was starved for warriors.

This beautiful image was digitally drawn by my fellow contributor, Volt. I'm sure there will be more to come, but this will be the only one posted by me.

Shamira's Comet

Long ago, Shamira’s Comet was charted and named by a Galean astronomer. The legend says that the astronomer fell in love with the comet’s namesake, Shamira, one of Galeon’s guardians, who devoted her life to protecting the people of Galeon from the forces of evil. The two are said to have met one night on Galeon’s northeastern hill, where the astronomer was studying the comet, and was saved by Shamira from a fearsome beast that was ravaging the countryside. The pair spent the night together on the hill, and pledged to meet in the same place every time the comet passed overhead, every three years. Their relationship continued for decades, until one night, as the comet passed overhead, Shamira did not come. The astronomer knew that she must have been killed while serving Galeon, and established what would become one of Galeon’s oldest and most prestigious observatories in her memory. 

A statue of Shamira stands on the grounds of the observatory, and the passing of the comet is celebrated with festivals held all across the region. This occurs once every three years, and it is customary on this date to spend time with the person or people you love the most, or to reveal any hidden romantic feelings as the comet passes by overhead.