Tales of Ocora: The Wraiths of Omyr (Abridged) – Part 1

A short story by Philippe Burton & Dac Philippe Nguyen
Contributors

The two red suns were setting on the plains of the continent of Ocora, ceding their place to the azure moon. The majestic Elven fortress of Orym stood strong on the mountainside, like an aura of grace in the midst of darkness; the last stronghold of freedom for the Elves. Dark masses illuminated by fires surrounded it. The unusually calm atmosphere was thick with smoke and the smell of blood.
Morale was at its lowest among the pointy-eared beings. Days and nights were punctuated by frequent raids from bloodthirsty Orcs. The Black Tribe had conquered the majority of the kingdom of Orym, and only its fortress stood in their way to victory.
Time was running out. Elyon, King of Orym, was desperate and knew he had to act quickly. Out of the tens of thousands of soldiers he had, only 500 were left. With the approaching full moon, the Elven King was forced to play his trump card, a seemingly impossible plan that could nonetheless change the tide of war.
“Guard! Summon Captain Rolym and his men to the great hall. I wish to speak to them urgently,” Elyon shouted from his throne.
A few minutes later, four Elves dressed in the finest Elven armour and equipped with celestial weapons were kneeling before Elyon.
Rolym, the captain, Venali, the assassin, Vamir, the berserker and Vaeryon, the bard. Four of my best soldiers, Elyon thought. Although, I doubt the capabilities of the last one as a warrior.
“Captain Rolym, I am charging you with a mission of the highest order. You and your men will be sent to the Underworld, where you will search for the ancestral tombs of Orym’s past kings situated behind the Door of the Greats,” the Elven King said. “It is not known by many, but behind that sacred gate lies an outstanding power that could save us from the Black Tribe if you succeed in opening it.”
“How are we supposed to unlock a door protected by sophisticated magic?” Rolym replied.
“The door can only be opened on a full moon. Since it has been guarding our fallen kings for the past centuries, carved on its surface is an enigma that only a noble elf shall decipher. You are our last hope. I thereby dismiss you until dawn.”
That night, Rolym, Venali, and Vamir were busy preparing for the long trip ahead of them, packing up provisions and polishing their equipment. On the other hand, Vaeryon spent most of his time sleeping and singing awfully.
At the first light of dawn, the courageous Elves were in front of the entrance to the Underworld, accompanied by the king and his court. A constant cold breeze escaped from the tunnel. Whispers could be heard before even a foot was set inside the obscurity.
“May the light of our ancestors guide you to victory,” the king proclaimed.
“Long live Orym!” the Elves shouted in unison as the four warriors slowly
disappeared into the darkness of the Underworld.

***

“I don’t see anything. Who am I touching?” Vaeryon yelled. His voice echoed throughout the tunnel.
“Keep your filthy hands off me, or I will crush you to pieces,” Vamir said.
“My apologies, tough guy.”
“Just keep walking straight.”
“But I am scared; it is so dark. Can’t we go back?”
“Quiet!” Rolym commanded. “Venali, do you feel something?”
The group has stopped to wait for Venali’s answer. Venali had the sharpest senses of the four Elves, making him a deadly assassin. In fact, they were so sharp that he was forced to constantly wear a black blindfold over his eyes. He took a deep breath before scanning his surroundings.
“I hear the whispers. They are calling for us.”
“Who?” Vaeryon asked nervously before Vamir hit the back of his head, warning him to stay quiet.
“The spirits living here. They are whispering, ‘Tolo, govano ven.’”
“I never quite listened to the teacher in Ancient Elvish classes. What does that mean?” Vaeryon said before he received another blow to the back of his head.
“Come, join us,” Venali muttered as a yellow trail of dust started to form ahead of them, illuminating the corridor they were in.