A fortnight they’d traveled, Aleksandr and Ishar, and for a fortnight they had seen death and destruction unprecedented in the Southern Plains. Ishar’s once colorful patterns, purples and reds lined with the freckles of the Dwarven gold that gave him life, had been reduced to the filthy gray-brown of dust and dirt. This land, our land will not be brought to ruin like this, Aleksandr, the creature spoke in the familiar voice only Alexsandr could hear, do not panic.
For years Ishar had been the calming voice in Aleksandr’s head, and their mental bond had saved his life more times than he could count, yet Aleksandr had yet to see a crisis of this magnitude. The black tentacles of The Corruption, kept at bay for a millennia, had broken through Eros’ Keep. The threat wasn’t just to Aleksandr’s people, but to all existence.
“We can still make it home in time, Ishar,” Aleksandr started to mumble under his breath; even after ten years he still often forgot the creature knew his very thoughts before he could utter them “Anika will be safe.” Ishar seemed to push himself at a faster pace at the mere mention of her name, leaving Aleksandr to catch his tattered cloaks with the hand that did not hold the reins of the creature.
“Easy there, buddy, the map says we’re almost home. We don’t want to overshoot it.” The creature heeded his order, and for the next two hours they flew towards the sunset, until they reached the city where both man and creature, two yet one, were made. The situation was worse than either could have feared. The Corruption, its twisted tentacles blackening out the already darkening sky was encroaching upon Athos with great haste. The heroic duo, thinking, acting as one flew downwards to face it.
Landing on the stone road, a road he had traveled many times with the caravans before the days of darkness, in front of the city’s main gate, Aleksandr unsheathed the sword Anika had given him the day he had left for the last time. She’d told him it would be the weapon of a great hero, as she was wont to do, reciting her prophecies, but until now the title of hero she and so many bestowed upon him had felt like a mask he wore, a persona he carried on with out of necessity. But in this moment, defending his home and the woman he loved, Aleksandr’s resolve had never been stronger. The sword he had named after her, Anika, was shining as bright steel against the darkness closing in.
Emerging from the shadows came the first creature of many, a one eyed troll 10 feet tall, its rotten green skin barely covered by the black armor of its legion. They had seen worse. Are you ready? Ishar asked, as the creature lumbered forward. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” the two minds thought in unison.