Near The Heart of the Oaks

     Onward they venture into the shelter provided by the fur of the earth, the jesters in front and the wizard following. The spirit of a dragon in the sky bellows, disrupting the firmament and releasing harsh showers. Roars tumble across the lands behind acidic streams of light that burn between the ground and the clouds, personifying the earth.

     The wizard, who was carved out of enchanted lapis lazuli, has always been aware of the infernal child dwelling at the heart, the blackest part of the forest. He reminds the jesters to take careful steps and avoid distractions. Rumors were that wood demons invade minds, drawing victims towards illusions. “They are simply false perceptions,” states the wizard. Aware of the dangers, the men were wielding shining staves of enchantment. The jesters’ staves were of pure silver with runic symbols cut into the shafts, useful for non-destructive magic and warding spirits. The wizard held a large staff made of amber, a prized gemstone with magical properties, using it primarily as the group’s light source.

     Graye, the younger, comedic jester of black and white cloth, follows his crimson-coated elder Borand – a taller, quieter jester who possessed the nerve of a reptilian and displayed the boldness of a water horse. Necessary traits to have, as he and his comrade are mercenaries. With the will of humanity leaning towards a darker age, traditional jesters have been training under magicians to seek serious work. During these times, it is not uncommon for a wizard to pay jesters for completing tasks that advance their training.

     Dodging the heart of the oaks, the trio reaches the woodland clearing. In the center of the clearing, the artifact stands: a gleaming, golden figure of a woman, wrapped in vines and blackened roots. The roaring and spilling of the air’s drink had not ceased, yet the clearing is spared of water. Upon sight of the artifact, Graye speaks with a chuckle, “A ridiculous statue of an ugly, old maid,” then a joke, “An old maid for an old sage. Fitting indeed!” But the very blue wizard was not amused and further commands the jesters finish the deed. Graye calms himself as he and Borand chant, flooding their scepters with light to illuminate the artifact. In this moment, the weight of the sky is felt while the sensitive ground-dwelling beings pummel the ceiling of the underworld in annoyance. At the peak of the magic’s intensity, the perception of reality breaks. The artifact erupts, leaving a cerulean haze to flood the clearing. A moment of patience passes as the smoke clears, revealing the former artifact to be an entrance to the underground. By command of the wizard, all three step into the vein.

     In the tunnel, the secure stone walls are mathematically armed with opal torches bearing violet flames. Borand is still leading, though now only following the torchlight instead of his memory. Past finding the artifact, he did not know the full intentions of the wizard. Suspense is relieved at the end of the tunnel, which is the mouth of the temple. Seeming timeless, the temple appears clean, as if it had been built yesterday, yet obviously old and mysteriously perfect. At the jesters’ hesitation of such a sight, the wizard moves them aside, walking through them and straight to the altar between two large, opal statues that favored the feminine artifact.

     “Is this the end of the mission?” Borand asks the wizard, who is examining the glyphs imprinted on the bronze slab above the altar, “We would like to receive our payment.” But the wizard wasn’t listening. Instead, he was translating:

     “He who pays the toll to this fountain of arcane energy will be given the vigor of the celestials.” He didn’t read the rest. A fluttering frequency rumbles the temple’s air as a spewing fountain of light develops above the altar. The wizard grins, cracking and breaking off parts of his stone lips. Two lethal bolts of lightning snake from the sage’s back through the hearts of the two jesters, who collapse into a growing crimson puddle. The wizard’s grin creeps wider, shattering his left cheek. The room gradually dims, spreading blackness from the center of the wizard, gradually infecting all but the source of illumination. And as the wizard touches the blessed light, the temple shakes violently while eternal life is transferred to him, his lapis disguise falling apart, releasing his true demonic smile.