The Founding, Part One

The first part of this epic tale is told by Azerichtoniffen, or Azerich, as an elder council.

    “I remember those few years of peace. We were friends then. We were young boys and girls. Each of us sharing ideals. We were adventurous in our own sense. We dreamt of having a castle of our own. Zachad with his plans for defending it, Orron with his ideas of government, Vapren, with her prime library, Gathren, her wisdom ever inspiring, and me, the everything else. I remember being in the group, but never fitting in. That never bothered me. Besides, I had my own friends. Ones from the meadow that Orron showed me. He used to go there to think. But we were never satisfied with just imagining our castle. We had to go out and make one, all on our own.”
    The band of friends was tight-knit. They had the right schedule, the right situation, the right minds. The village they lived in was called Pottsam. This was not the Pottsam you know. This is ancient Pottsam. This is when Pottsam and the surrounding area was still being settled by farmers and merchants. The trees and roofs blend in a wonderful canopy, and the children play in the branches, often on the roofs. When the time is right, they’ll come down from the trees and complain about blisters and cuts that they either already had or never had in the first place. The surrounding area was covered in strawberry fields and graineries filled with all sorts of things, but often just grain. Everyone in Pottsam was happy.

    The friends were ambitious, though, and didn’t stop to smell the sugarlilies planted in the flower boxes, they wanted to grow to be leaders of a castle. They didn’t execute their goal before they were separated by their school and career paths. Zachad went to the military school, Gathren was taught wizardry by the wizard in Sorvon, Orron went all the way to the red slopes to learn artificiery with Glamdafak, Vapren studied books in the close-by Shrai Reef school, and Azerich stayed in Pottsam because his father couldn’t pay for school.

    The wizard Gathren apprenticed under was close to Pottsam, only a few kilometers away, thus Azerich wasn’t entirely alone.  Every other month or so, when Gathren wasn’t busy studying the next level of spell or a certain ritual, she visited Azerich and told him stories of the wonderful magic her master performed. One time, when Gathren was visiting (Which, with time, grew increasingly rare,) Azerich and Gathren were watching the sunset as Gathren taught him how it worked. Azerich turned to her and said, “I’ve been thinking about the castle we designed.”

“What?” Gathren answered.

“The castle. Pomparley. Remember? We designed it as kids.”

“What about it?”

“I feel the need…”

“What need?”

“I need to build it.”

“And just how will you do that? There’s only one of you.”

“Wrong. There’s five of us.”

“Oh no, no, no, Azer. You can’t do this. You haven’t seen Zachad in the state he’s in.”

“What state?”

“He’s-”

“He’s what?”

“He’s changed, Azerich. And there’s no going back.”

“Changed in what way?”

“I didn’t want to tell you this, but when he went to that military school, you remember the caravan he left on?”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t make it to Zameoff, Azer. It fell off a cliff when orcs attacked.” Azerich sat there, stunned about the sudden news of a friend’s death from years ago.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Azer asked angrily.

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you, you seemed so happy here.”

“You call this happy? I’ve been trapped in this town for three years without anyone but the rare visit from you. This place is miserable! I’ve been stuck here learning to bake the same recipe of bread and how to make the same basket for three years! I don’t care whether you want me to or not, I'm sending these letters!” He pulled out five letters, pre-addressed and in handwriting, requesting the presence of his friends, and waved them in the air. Gathren looked hurt.

“I never said he died, Azer. He’s just changed.” Azerich slightly calmed down at that point, though on the brink of tears conjured by three years of bottled-up rage from being left here. Azerich left the room, headed to the town hall. “Azer. Do me a favor. Don’t send one to Zachad.” Gathren said to his back. He didn’t listen.

    The next day, Gathren had to go back to Servoi to continue her studies, and she didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Azerich. Azer was busy conversing with the Mailer in order to convince her to send the letters. “You must send them, these are extremely important!” Azerich pleaded, holding the letters in his hand.

“I’m not cross-continental, bud. I can send to Servoi and the Shrai Reef, definitely Aerus, but you expect these canaries to make it to the Red Slopes? Zameoff?

“I’ll pay extra.”

“I’ll take extra, but I still can’t get them birds up to the Red Slopes, it’s impossible.”

“Then send an owl, Cara.”

“You know how expensive those things are? I’d have to send gold with it just to get it recovered.”

“Then I’ll pay,” Azerich reasoned.

“Fine! It’s 20 per owl.”

“20 copper? That’s easy!” Azer said as he pulled out his pouch.

“20 gold for the distance ones, kid.” Cara corrected.

“Oh. Well I can get one to Zameoff, but I don’t have enough for the owl to the Red Slopes.”

“Then I’ll send both and you can pay me back.

“Deal” He said, and they shook hands.

Part Two Sample

    “It’s too steep, Zach! You’ll never make it back up!”

“The wind’s picking up, and Orron can’t see the map.”

        “How many times will this thing die?”

    “Where’s Zach?”

“And from that forge of power, the twin peaks’ balance shifted”