The Magical Legacy

ROSS 3

BLARJORD, DYRRHEIM - PRESENT DAY

Two muscle-bound males roughly grabbed Ross by the arms and foisted him high into the air. Their glossy bronze pecs were practically exploding out of the leather and steel Viking garb they wore, and Ross felt powerless to escape their grip.

"Hey! Where are you taking me?" he shouted as they carried him, kicking and screaming, across a long, dimly-lit corridor toward an oversized granite throne at the far end. Grunts and cheers erupted from numerous on-lookers in the great hall as the two guards thrust Ross down onto the cold, slick stone. As he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, he glimpsed the men's faces. He noticed that not only were their foreheads tattooed with strange indigo symbols, but both had thick, black horns protruding from their hairline decorated with ornate silver plating.

"Well, well, well...young Master Ross," a low female voice cooed from the direction of the throne. Ross whipped his head around to stare at the source.

"What?" he gasped. "How do you know my name?"

The woman was scantily clad in glossy carved leather armor, similar to her guards, leaving much of her golden skin exposed. Her face, however, was obscured by a black opaque veil draped from ear to ear. Thick ropes of silver chain ornamented with dozens of intricate talismans covered her neck and chest, dangling in long loops that hung down past her abdomen. Her wrists, arms, and ankles were likewise adorned with silver jewelry, and Ross wondered, briefly, how she could move with all that metal weighing her down.

"Oh, we've been expecting you for quite some time now, my young lord." The woman sat casually on the throne, with one leg crossed over the other. She bounced her suspended foot up and down in a playful, rhythmic motion. Ross noticed that even her toes, with their red-painted nails, wore silver rings. Her other foot sunk deep into a thick, brown, bear-fur rug on the cold stone floor in front of her, its head and feet spread out. The display was designed to be a show of strength.

"Expecting me?" Ross scoffed. "That's impossible. I stumbled onto a pile of rocks in the forest. It was a completely random event." He jerked his arms more forcefully in his captor's grip, and they glanced down at him, tightening their hold. The two men grinned at one another, causing the tattoos on their foreheads to wrinkle.

"Can you please tell your thugs to let me go?" Ross whined, "I'm no threat to you." He tipped his head to the side and rolled his eyes, pressing his lips into a tight line.

The woman clicked her long, crimson fingernails together repeatedly and blinked slowly. Waving her hand at the warriors dismissively, they released their grasp, dropping Ross abruptly to the slick, black surface. Ross scrambled to his feet, brushing dust and dirt from his pant legs and shoving his reddish-brown bangs away from his eyes.

"I'm sorry I invaded your space," Ross said, shrugging his shoulders and shifting his gaze from side to side. "I didn't come here on purpose." He pursed his lips and scrunched his eyebrows together. "Just send me back, and I promise, I'll never return or tell anyone about it, ever."

The woman on the throne tossed her head back, and a high-pitched laugh exploded from her lungs, filling the expansive hall and bouncing off the stone walls. The sound echoed for several moments before the room was quiet once more.

"I'm afraid that would be impossible, Ross," the woman unfolded her legs and slowly rose from her seat. "You see, only a select handful of mortals know our world exists," she began, lifting her index finger up and under the veil to tap her lower lip. "And I can't risk the possibility you might slip up and spill the beans. True," she drawled as she strolled toward him, taking a position behind where he and the guards stood. She was analyzing him like a predator stalking prey to be consumed.

"I could impose a spell of forgetting. But that would be far too boring." She bent down in front of him, stroking fingertips through the strands of auburn bangs obscuring his vision, before turning dramatically toward her throne.

Ross squinted at the woman, who was seating herself, once again, on the large rock monstrosity.

"You said you have been expecting me?" Ross asked. "How is that possible?" He stood there, waiting for her response and wishing he had shoes on. His gray stocking feet, now covered in dirt and forest debris, made him feel strange and vulnerable. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. How could the simple absence of shoes make him feel like such an idiot?

The woman turned slowly and stared at him before answering.

"You are the youngest of your mother's children." She stated it as a matter of fact. "And her only son. Just now reaching the Age of Majority. Of course, we have been expecting you."

Ross scrunched his face and jutted his chin out.

"What? How do you know about my mother?" He squinted darkly at the woman, dipping his head to the side. When she didn't reply, Ross inhaled deeply, then changed his approach.

"Ok, if you won't answer that question, why don't we start with who are you? What is this place, and why am I here?" Ross glared at her.

The woman on the throne sat silent for several more moments before responding.

"So many questions," she began in a deprecating tone. Instead of answering, the woman turned and motioned to a scrawny-looking servant who stood to the side of the dais. The emaciated young man was dressed only in a white loincloth. It dangled loosely below his waist and barely covered his private parts. He balanced an ornate silver platter in his hands. On its surface sat a matching, engraved pitcher and goblet set. And as he began his journey, Ross worried the pair might topple over as the man shuffled across the floor. Ross also noticed that this person did not have horns or bulging muscles, like the guards who had been holding him captive. Instead, this man was small in stature compared to the warriors standing around the room. The servant hobbled up three stone steps leading to the throne and came to a stop in front of the woman, who held her hand out to him, expectantly. Ross watched as the young man looked down at the tray, then to her hand, seemingly confused about how to proceed.

"Ugh!" She balked, exasperated, and grabbed the goblet off the tray, holding it out for him to pour. As the servant lifted the silver pitcher, Ross noticed two festering, red puncture-wounds visible on the man's wrist. Ross would have thought the piercings might have resembled an animal bite if he didn't know better. The injuries appeared fresh and raw, and as the male poured, Ross could see a thick-looking burgundy liquid flowing into the goblet. Raising her hand to signify that was enough, the man placed the pitcher back onto the tray. The woman then lifted her veil to allow the goblet access to her lips, and Ross inhaled dramatically. The movement exposed her crimson lips, spread wide to reveal a mouth filled with gleaming white teeth, barely visible through the opaque black veil. Her canines, Ross observed, were abnormally long and sharp.

The woman closed her eyes and drank deeply, hungrily, an audible growl emanating from her throat. Then, opening her eyes, she retrieved a white linen napkin from the tray and blotted her mouth. She replaced both the container and cloth on the platter before waving the man away and continuing. Ross shuddered at the disgusting display, eyes glaring, and his hands felt suddenly cold and clammy.

"As to where we are," she replied, "this place is called Blarjord. It's a kingdom in Dyrrheim, a magical realm inhabited by immortal beings who are far superior to humans." She paused, and the corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked grin as she continued, "Your mother was born here, Ross. And I'm your great-grandmother, Valdis."