Legacy of the Last Shadow

In the lands to the north lay a small monastic settlement, populated entirely by a race known as the Dakan. The settlement had been built in the midst of tall northern mountains because of the altitude and solitude of the area, which created a sense of being close to the gods. However, as time passed, it became more of a settlement for those Dakan seeking direction in their lives, rather than merely those who sought to worship, and the settlement grew from one of religion into one of guidance. Thousands of Dakan would come from across the world to visit this place, hoping to find their way. Some young Dakan would even be raised and educated in this place, before setting out to make their way in the world, with whatever skills they acquired. One such Dakan was the warrior, Brishen Tarn.

According to the rules of Dakan society, Brishen was most suited to, and therefore raised and trained in combat. Being trained to defend the innocent, he was put through rigorous tests to prove his skill in battle. While he accomplished all of these tasks, most of his successes could be considered gratuitous, rather than from skill. Some occasions he would be due to face large and powerful Dakan warriors, only for them to fall ill the morning of the battle, dulling their strengths, and making them weaker opponents. Other occasions he would be cornered by his foes, would lash out, happening to strike a nerve or some other sensitive area, garnering victory through accident.

Having passed all of his trials, and being of age, Brishen grew restless in the community. Deciding he would leave, he went to the monasteries patriarch, Torgul, seeking permission. Torgul was unconvinced by Brishen's successes, but reluctantly agreed, under the condition that Brishen perform a task for him first. He asked that Brishen journey through a north-westerly path through the mountains towards a small village, and learn what he could about society there, before leaving the mountains for the open world, to the south. He also stressed extreme caution, for there was a dangerous truth to be found, deeper within this mountain range.

Brishen departed the next morning, and headed deeper into the mountains towards the west. It was almost winter, and the entire range was coated in snow and ice. After travelling for miles, by nightfall Brishen found a thin and crumbling pathway leading around a sheer cliff. To go back, Brishen would add almost an entire day to his journey - assuming he even found an alternate route. He decided to attempt to navigate the ice.

He found the ledge slippery, and the walls of ice on the cliff too brittle to dig daggers into. At one point, a column of ice blocked his path, which he had to destroy to pass. This turned out to be another fortune for Brishen however. Shattering the column with a devastating blow, debris sent hurtling through the air, he heard the sound of voices, reacting in surprise. Remembering Torgul's urging of caution, he hid being a mound of snow. He saw 5 human figures navigating the cliff, coming in his direction - each one wielding swords or bows, some holding torches. The shattering ice alarmed them, but they did not see Brishen.

When the head of the troupe approached, Brishen confronted him, bone-daggers in his hands. He attempted to greet the figure, but before he had a chance to speak, the human cried out. "Daemon!! Kill him!" Brishen was forced to confrontation. However, the sheer cliff was not an ideal place for battle - with a single blow, the leader plummeted into the darkness below. Two flaming arrows cut through the air just by Brishen before he threw their owners from the cliff face also. The man at the back of the group turned and fled, while the final soldier confronted Brishen with blade. However, a small pit of stalagmites lay nearby, and parrying the soldiers blows, Brishen knocked him back into the pit, impaling him on the hard ice.

The man's head hit rock with an unusual sound. Not normal for a human head - slightly hollow, and not as solid as Brishen would expect. Conflict finished, Brishen's curiosity took over. He examined the dead man's skull, and found growths around it - places where the bone looked as though it would grow into horns, or some similar appearance. However, the bone had clearly been sawed down - someone did not want this person to look anything but human. Slightly disturbed, Brishen touched his bone-headdress, and continued along his path.

The fleeing soldier was incredibly fast, and Brishen stood no chance of catching up to him on the mountain. However, he followed his route, to a place where the mountain path diverged. The soldier had taken a turn which descended the mountain, towards what looked like a settlement below. Firelight flickered in windows, a little less than a mile away. The other path led further around the cliff, to a cave. Knowing that he would find only more enemies to greet him in the village, Brishen decided to examine the cave.

There was a large fire burning in front of the cave's entrance, seemingly unaffected by the heavy snow. The walls around the cave were carved with fine decoration - mostly recent work, it seemed, although there was a carving so old and worn in that Brishen almost missed it entirely, and certainly would have, if the firelight hadn't caught it.

The old carving depicted a large, powerful looking man, standing over small human figures in chains. The man seemed to be performing some kind of magic, as skeletons climbed from the ground. Clearly he was a necromancer. Then a human figure broke loose of the chains, and attacked the necromancer with a small dagger. The figure stood before all the other slaves, holding the dagger in the air, and sunlight shone down upon him. The dagger was carved in extremely fine detail.

The new carvings were less interesting, although carved in a much more impressive way. To the left of the cave entrance was a depiction of a grand looking man, wearing fine armour, on a large horse, and holding his sword up in the sunlight. The light of the fire seemed to collect on the carving of the sword. On the opposite side of the entrance was a depiction of a legion of skeletons, and shaded figures - clearly the undead - and the seemed to duck and cower in fear from this hero and his sword. The firelight flickered above them, looking almost as though they were withdrawing from it.

Brishen walked into the cave. He found further images of this hero, slaying various monsters and undead creatures as he journeyed further in - clearly all recent work. This hero definitely belonged to the current era, while the old carvings of the necromancer could have been thousands of years old. Passing a sort of antechamber, Brishen found a great horse residing in a side room, near the entrance to the cave. Various riding gear rested against the walls, and a sack that looked stuffed of adventuring gear. Opening it, Brishen found something he could only assume was kept as a trophy by the owner - it was the skull of a Dakan. The bone-headdress was that of a Primark. This adventurer was proud to have killed such a rare and skilled Dakan. The thought sickened Brishen. He decided to journey deeper into the cave.

Traps lay amidst all the corridors, though Brishen found they just missed him, or most of them didn't work when he triggered them. His fortunes were certainly far from fading. Most of the traps seemed ancient in construction - clearly this place was as old as the carving outside it. The traps would have been almost inconceivable for the time they must have been created, Brishen mused. Clearly this lair belonged to an incredibly powerful individual.

His musings were cut short by the activation of what seemed like the one recently forged trap in the cave - a room with spiked walls, which quickly closed in on each other about the time Brishen reached the centre of the room. He managed to avoid being impaled by running to the end of the room, but was still cut and bleeding from the sharpened spikes. Something felt off about the spikes however. They weren't made from regular materials. Turning to examine them, now that he was out of harms way, Brishen realised that they were made from sharpened bone. Dakan bone.

He found maggots and eaters of rotten flesh, coming from behind the walls, and decided to examine the area. One of the walls had concealed a small chamber behind it. It was full of these maggot-creatures. Moving them away with the fire from his torch, he discovered more Dakan corpses in the chamber. Some seemed almost as old as the cavern was. It was among this heap that he discovered the spear.

The spear was forged from Dakan bone, like all weapons he was used to. However, it seemed especially ancient, and at its tip lay a spike, ornate and sharp, identical to the carving of the dagger at the cave's entrance. Brishen wondered if perhaps this was the same blade, centuries old, which was grown and expanded in a Dakan skeleton into a larger weapon, over time. Taking the spear with him, he laid out the bodies, spoke death-rites he was sure they never received, and set out to travel deeper into the cave, with greater resolve than he had before. He would punish whoever it was that cast aside bodies of such important Dakan figures in such a casual way.

A few minutes deeper, he found a large room, empty, apart from a single stone coffin in the centre of it. Expecting something of interest inside, Brishen opened the lid. He narrowly avoid being cut by a bone axe which swung at him from the inside. Diving back, he watched as the skeleton of a Primark stood up from the grave, though no flesh remained on his body. Clearly he was restored by necromancy.

Brishen fought of the creature for several minutes, parrying blows and making strikes of his own, but the Primark was in a league of its own. It could change the shape of its bones faster than any Dakan Brishen had ever seen, transforming its arm from axe to sword and even to crossbow in mere seconds. Every blow Brishen struck, the bones would heal themselves before he had time to strike a second blow. Brishen was holding strong, but he knew he could not fight off the creature forever. In desperation, he reached for the spear on his back, leapt above the Primark, and thrust the spear into the creature's spine. Suddenly, the battle was done.

Seeing the spear, the Primark bowed before him. It would not attack the wielder of the dagger. Brishen knew now that this was definitely the dagger depicted in the carving. The Primark could not speak, but clearly expressed servitude to Brishen. It walked towards him, intertwined some of its bones with his, and showed him a memory.

Brishen was in shackles, chained to hundreds of humans all in a line. They were all burning in the extreme heat from the sun. The necromancer, Mortanius, was descending the steps from his great temple, and so, the were to all bow before him, as he passed between his slaves. One slave he passed was dead. The necromancer merely glanced at the corpse, and it returned to life. He would never let his slaves die. They would serve him for eternity. But one of the humans in the chain of slaves would not bow. The necromancer approached him. Laughed at his spirit. Then commanded him to bow. The human spat in his face. The necromancer used magic to wrack the human's body with pain. Still, the human spat at him again. Eyes flaring in anger, the necromancer used his life-giving magic on the man. The man who was already alive. The necromancer animated his skeleton. And the human fell to the ground in agony. The necromancer moved on. Where the human slave fell, however, he did not lie still. Bone protruded from his wrist. It formed a blade, a dagger. Where the human slave fell, a free Dakan rose. He broke the chains in a single movement, and leapt at the necromancer, stabbing him in the neck with the bone-dagger. The necromancer fell to the ground, bleeding profusely, and the first Dakan stood in the sunlight, holding up his blood-stained bone-dagger.

Brishen emerged from memory. The Primark indicated towards the spear, and created a dagger from his wrist. Brishen understood. Then it stood back, bowing low to Brishen, and tore its head from its skeleton. It would move no more.

In the deepest room in the cave, Brishen found his quarry. The hero, whose carvings decorated the walls of the cave, stood behind a small desk, studying a manuscript. As soon as Brishen's foot touched the floor of the room, he looked up, sword in hand. "Daemon!" he cried. "You dare defile this place? The vault that belongs to Sigmund, the hero of this land?!?" Brishen cried out "You defile this ancient relic, mocking, murdering, and disrespecting the noble Dakan!"

Sigmund smirked. "Through my studies of this ancient tomb, I have discovered that your vile and despicable race are all the creation of an ancient evil. A necromancer who ruled the entire world, before history began. The world may have forgotten him, but I know you are his spawn, and with my steed, Bravenhorse, I will eliminate your kind!"

With that, their battle begun. Sigmund was a powerful fighter, clearly every bit the hero he claimed to be, and he knew how to hurt a Dakan. He would strike Brishen's arms every time Brishen tried to land a blow, and sweet at his legs every time Brishen attempted to move. But he did not know of Brishen's training, and backed him to the wall. Ducking a slash that would have beheaded him, Brishen sprung up high, using the wall to gain extra height, before kicking off, and landing behind the hero. Sigmund turned and struck, but missed the Dakan by less than an inch - striking just a split-second earlier than the Dakan reached the spot he slashed at. Brishen didn't waste the split-second however. Before Sigmund had even finished the arc with his sword, Brishen thrust with the spear, which passed through his armour like it were paper, through the hero's heart, and deep into the wall behind him.

Withdrawing the spear, Brishen let Sigmund fall. The human hero, stunningly tall and muscled, looked radiant and noble, even in death. He spoke through coughs of blood to the Dakan.
"You may have defeated me... but you... only... prove my... point... You may conceal your ori... origin... all you want... but there are those... in the world... who hate you daemons... just as I do... Skeletal... monstrosities... can never... be... allowed..."
With that, the hero breathed his last.

Now Brishen understood Torgul's advice. While most people accepted the Dakan as simply another race among a dozens, there were those out there who reviled the concept of an animated skeleton. It was something too closely linked to necromancy, and it would mean that a Dakan always had to be wary of finding enemies, everywhere he looked. If the world knew the ancient truth he had just uncovered, then the enemies of the Dakan would only grow. Brishen would have to destroy the text Sigmund had found here, and could never speak the truth to anyone. Not even the other Dakan.

Feeling weary beyond his age, bearing his burden of knowledge, Brishen prepared for his journey back the monastery to say his final goodbyes, before journeying into the world. The large, open, dangerous world, which now seemed draped in shadow.