Richard J. Ronayne
Novels
Guardians Of The Abyssal King
Guardians Of The Abyssal King is a second world fantasy adventure novel. The world of which belongs to my dear friend Harry Cattell, where I have assisted in his creation of a narrative which I have put to pen for publish.
A vast world of adventure within deep, rich lore, from the minds of a close group of friends, about a close group of friends…pretty much arseing around.
Below is the introduction and first chapter.
Guardians
Of The Abyssal King
By Richard Joseph Ronayne
And Harry Cattell
Prologue
Light is but the absence of shadow, with which darkening times encourage encroaching evil. So it was when Aylzrot, the Dragon King of the Abyssal Plane, invaded the lands of Éiféindü, ending the millennia long age of freedom the material realm had relished. A shadowed entity of deity defying indomitable will, none could hope to stand against him.
The lands were consumed as the heavens rained down the blood of the countless dead. Fields filled with the remains of those who rejected Aylzrot’s will. All hope was lost and the world was plunged into abyssal darkness as Aylzrot sat upon his throne, victorious.
But, shadow is also the absence of light. Two constants, by godly design, that can never be fully expired. And so, a flicker of hope was sparked by the first of the Guardians. Kýv’Rońieth was an elven Watcher. Tasked to eternally protect the elven capitol Éichéimndü from all threats, for all the elvish were trained martially, yet they raised no armies. Single entities of considerable power were tasked to the single handed oppression of all potential threats to their charge, so those that dwelt within could live without fear. This was the Elven way.
So long had this task consumed his focus, thousands of years Éichéimndü had been without fear. Kýv’Rońieth had crafted a powerful artifact that allowed the entire city to be transported away from danger at his will, what danger his wisdom of foresight could not prevent. For this reason Aylzrot had not bothered to press into the High Forest as yet, but the elves knew this would not last indefinitely. He gathered the greatest heroes of his time, collecting and crafting what would be known as the Artifacts of the Guardians, magical items of unimaginable power that could perhaps rid Éiféindü of Aylzrot’s plague.
Organised and cleverly gathered away from the seemingly all-seeing gaze of the Abyssal Dragon King, unified under the banner of these Guardians, the races of Éiféindü marched once more against their tyrannical Lord of Will. Step by step, victory after victory, granted by the strategies and powers of the Guardians, until at last all of Éiféindü’s sword abled peoples gathered at the seat of Aylzrot’s Throne for one final battle. Here, Aylzrot himself met the once colourful host upon the desecrated fields of the Plateau of Grace.
Alas, his will to live was stronger than the combined might of the Guardians and their Artifacts, all seemed lost as Aylzrot could not be slain. The fields littered with the bodies of the brave, the ground soaked red with blood and gore, on the verge of defeat, Kýv’Rońieth ordered the retreat. None, but the Guardians remained to purchase time for the few survivors. They knew if Aylzrot could not be stopped, there would be no surviving, and he would burn the entire world out of spite.
One survivor, broken and beaten, turned back in time to see Aylzrot and the Guardians consumed by an all-encompassing flash of white. With her ears ringing, her sight slowly recovered from the blinding light where before her she saw a giant crater five hundred leagues across…Aylzrot and the Guardians were not to be found.
At costs too high, the people of Éiféindü had won their freedom once again, as far as they knew… for six thousand years.
Chapter 1;
Floorboards & Fate
A dull and sultry evening befell the quaint village of Juvidad. A way post to weary travelers, Juvidad was entirely uninteresting. A small population of mostly humans, to the south eastern edge of the High Forest, it truly offered no more than respite to all who were wise enough to avoid the protruding corner of that dangerous woodland, where none return.
Market stalls packed away, shop signs turned to closed, lights extinguished, the population retired after their peaceful and ignorant day of work. Most ventured to sleep, but some, despite midweek, ventured to the pub.
The Three Vixens was the true accomplishment of the town, if you were to ask anyone but the locals. It was all that ever brought outsiders to even know the name Juvidad. Operated by a trio of unlikely elven sisters, it had become a popular haven for all. Husbands and fathers found the mental fortitude to return to their unhappy homes, feminine perspective was shared to appease the wives and rooms were available for rent.
Protection was provided by the most miscast of Juvidad’s citizens, the half orc woman adopted and raised by the three elvish sisters. Mog found she was not the most welcome individual of the small minded denizens. Orcs were feared by peaceful sorts, misplaced half Orcs were no better than dirt. A lower caste of person was unimaginable to most country dwellers. Yet it was Mog, and her growing physical strength, that was called on when strength was required. This alone, was enough to barter her place amongst the village, lest she be chased away with pitchfork and fire.
Her official job was as the bouncer for her adopted parent’s pub, though she found her presence alone was usually enough to discourage discourse. Never had she had to raise a hand against a patron, her fierce growl of warning sharper than any sword. None had the courage to shape a fist towards her, none even had the constitution to drink enough ale to even tempt such confidence. This evening was expected to be no different than the many eventless ones before that had stifled Mog’s life.
There are old stories told, of how all shadows move hungrily, when no sight or light is upon them. A tale told to children who prefer to venture when they should remain in their beds. No excuse though, for the large shadow that had clambered swiftly over the town’s palisade. Slithered from corner to corner away from all eyes, until slowly encroaching upon one unsuspecting dwarf, slower than other market vendors to pack his wares for the eve.
‘I have travelled far, Dwarf, and seek a place to rest?’ The shadow spoke.
The elderly and frail dwarf spun round in surprise to see a dark shape towering over him. He cowered behind his arms and fearfully replied, ‘The Three Vixens! They have room to rent there!’ pointing across the square. After receiving no reply, he braved to lower his arms, where he found he was alone in the square again and cursed his deteriorating mind.
Alina was a young elf, according to their passage of time, knowing her kind were often despised by the younger races, she walked gracefully and respectfully through the town of Juvidad with her hood raised to hide her pointed ears. She had explored the village and all it had to offer, listening to the denizens and taking relief in their ignorance of her subtle questioning. She had been travelling for some time and frankly needed a hard drink, deeming that she would continue her journey tomorrow, one night without camping in the wilderness was worth a slight delay.
Entering the Three Vixens, after hearing many conflicting reviews, she was warmed by the sight of her kin and removed her hood without fear of prejudice. A group of local men had moved several tables together, seeming to have settled to many hours of drinking and seeming to not enjoy the sight of another elf amongst them, they scowled and muttered quietly as she walked past towards the bar.
Pulling up a stool and deciding comfort lay away from the other patrons, she thought she saw a shadow moving in the darker corner of the room. She gazed into the darkness and saw a figure lean forward to give her a slight nod of greeting, taken aback, she returned the gesture and uncomfortably returned her attention to the elven bar maids.
Speaking excitedly in Elvish, ‘Hellllooooo I am gladdened to see my kin where I would not expect my name is Alina I am sooo tired from travelling and require a strong drink a bed for rest and with your pardon some long overdue conversation in the old tongue?’
Seeming to not react in the slightest, Alina thought perhaps she had not been heard or this elf did not even know her own language. Until, finally, without a hint of emotion the elf replied in monotone Elvish, ‘Christina.’
‘Umm. Sorry, is that… your name then? Christina? I think that’s a lovely name are you one of the three vixens that run this place? How did you all find yourselves here? Why did you leave the forest? Are the humans not mean to you? Who are the other two vixens?’
To this, Christina only sighed and slid the ordered drink to Alina before continuing her work.
Mog was leant backwards on a stool pretending to be asleep. She had, in fact, been listening curiously, as she had been taught the elven tongue by her adopted elven parents. She decided she should spare the poor elven patron, knowing Christina was not the talkative type. In perfect Elven, though spoken with brutish tones, she stirred from her pretend rest and approached Alina;
‘Greetings Elfkin. Welcome to the traveler’s gem of Juvidad. You won’t get many words from Christina, but I can answer any questions you have, my name is Mog and I am the security for the Vixens.’
Alina paused, almost offended to hear a half orc speak the old tongue, but shook it off and decided quickly that it was a wonderful thing to spread the language to the most surprising races.
‘Well I thank you Mog I apologise if I disturbed Christina from her work but I would be pleased to speak the old tongue to you none for the lesser!’
Despite the half orc’s politeness, Alina stopped short of hugging her muscle bound host.
The two talked for a time, setting up a room for Alina to stay the night. Mog answered quizzical questions that flitted between the completely meaningless to talk of the tell tale signs of the touch of undeath.
The shadow watched and listened intently from his dark corner. Ronin was a master of remaining unseen and gave a slight smile to himself, realising his own temptation to join his elven kin in the old tongue. But, after many leagues of travel, he had found his quarry, the town guard named Jameson was amongst the large group who were reconsolidating their drunkenly confidence.
Ronin would not allow himself to be distracted now, there was a group of Orc filth encamped not far from the town. The village guards must have cut a deal, otherwise Juvidad would have been pillaged already. They would have met with the greenskin’s leader, they may even have seen the camp itself. Jameson would tell Ronin every shred of information, but he had to wait until his drinking had finished, to steal him from his lonely walk home. And so Ronin would stay focused and wait. Thirty years he had hunted, his quarry was so close now.
Then the entrance doors swung open and another elf swaggered through. Pausing a moment for dramatic flair before announcing to his captivated audience in a privileged tone, ‘Greetings all, my name is Marrum! I have travelled to this muck pit clearly out of desperation, I demand your ears.’
Before falling flat on his face, tripping over a loose floorboard…everything was still, until the room erupted with laughter. Some of the customers got up to help him to his feet, but he brushed them off with disgust and pounced back up and, dusting himself off, changed his tone in embarrassment, ‘You there, bar wench, I could have this place closed for such ignorant service to your customers! This is a clear hazard, I demand that you repair your floor with immediate effect!’
Then, the liveliest evening to have happened in Juvidad in many years played itself out. One by one, each person in the establishment began arguing with the newcomer, Christina first, then Alina joined. The large crowd clearly sought to stoke the flames of anger for their own entertainment, until, eventually a second Vixen came down.
Clearly more clear headed than her younger sister, Rebecca, calmed everyone down and took pity upon the colorful Marrum, suggesting he help to appease the situation unless he seeks to be thrown out. Pausing for a moment, Marrum collected himself and loudly ordered an apologetic round of ale for everybody.
A roar of forgiveness was heard through the town… catching the attention of a dozen unwelcome guests, who now gathered in the market Square seeking to blood their war axes.
--------------- End Of Demo ---------------
Richard J. Ronayne 