The Tale of Daemonica

On the Journey

The journey seemed endless... Daemonica felt she didn't understand anything at all as she listened to the voices of the recruiters, who together offered her an easy path to fame and the purge of her family's name. Her desire for revenge for the unjust accusations made her decide at the time to take matters into her own hands. Being accepted into the royal troops and gaining the military glory that her family had been proud of for generations seemed the simplest solution, along with evidence to show that her father was not a runaway. At least that's how it seemed to her when she decided to follow in the footsteps of her father, the general of the royal army, who was now considered a fugitive, which Daemonica could not believe.

The situation was complicated, her father used to serve the previous King Theodus VII, who was a weak king in the long fading line of the family. However, as far as she knew, for the good of the country, her father, along with his troops, decided to join Arnvin, the current king, whose savage origins were obvious, but who had conquered the declining empire. It was told among the people that he had previously served Theodus, then disappeared for several years to return and provoke a rebellion among the king's armies, which helped him to gain the throne by coup. In the confusion that ensued, all sorts of damage was done, and the fact that she and her mother fell out of favor after her father and the whole unit did not return from the expedition to Xix was absolutely nothing special. These times were in favor of runaways, spies and opportunists.

Daemonica, despite this, longed to avenge the family name, which had lost all weight due to the slander. She believed that the truth was on her side and would soon be revealed.

But now everything has become even more complicated. She was still trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling she had when she woke up this morning with her head on the table with confused thoughts. So now she tried not to think about anything that had happened last night. In fact, at this point, she did not want to remember anything at all, including otherwise precious memories of the years when she was still with her family, a noble woman and a girl with a future, however predetermined.

Fortunately, no one talked about yesterday's events. As surprised as she was that everything was going so easily, she was grateful that she didn't have to deal with the racy questions and innuendos that the rest of the unit was harassing her quite routinely, even without what had happened last night. Everything expected and feared eventually shrank into a few sideways glances from the others, but otherwise really nothing to worry about. This worried her much more as a result.

As the road passed, green meadows and rocky hills slowly replaced the dry steppes. They were the lands she had dreamed of so many times, but which actually looked quite different from what she had dreamed of as a child. Such things can easily happen to any traveler and often surprise him more than one time on his pilgrimage. But that is exactly what makes many of us go on such a journey.

Finally, in those ancient fantasies, she imagined the expected hint of wide greenery in front of them, long before the ubiquitous steppe wind blew the putrid smell of the swamps that awaited them. Before long, in the green valley beneath them, she could sense the mighty trunks of ancient trees, the branches of which had partially sunk into the muddy water, and whose crowns then joined at the top into a solid mass that absorbed all the light that fell on it.

But so far the road has been drab, and everyone has been unusually quiet. Daemonica attributed this in part to yesterday's revels, and in part to the fact that they were approaching the infamous Great Swamps of Zmara, created by the Silver River, which split into a large number of blind shoulders before the end of its journey in the Sea of the Lost Kings. It was said among the people that a long time ago there was a proud city of a long-lost civilization in this territory, and that its remains could still be found in the swamp today. No one remembered the name of that city, and there were very few documents relating to ancient civilizations.

Perhaps the city-states of the Wasteland of Xix so close to the epicenter of the ancient disaster that caused the demise of these civilizations, hid more information, but it was almost impossible to obtain. And the fate of those who tried to find the lost city and acquire the legendary wealth remained unknown to this day. For none of them ever came home to tell of their experiences. In addition to the swamps being inhabited by wild tribes of unknown race and origin (very likely descendants of the lost civilization), legends circulated among humans about the remnants of ancient magic that might have protected the ruins of cities from their decline in the Great War. Only the descendants of these people should have been able to pass unscathed. That is why the wild people who lived here were considered to be them, and why neither the rulers of Xix nor the kings of the people of Raia ever attempted to waste their forces on their annexation, and this territory thus became a natural border between them, a land of no man, where no one settled permanently.

However, an ancient path led through these swamps at their eastern edge, connecting the present Kingdom of Raia with the south.. But all who could afford it preferred to use the sea to travel south, despite the risk of a collision with bandits from the Pirate Islands, who, thanks to their advantageous position, largely controlled live tourism between the city-states of Xix and Raia. So the ships had to have either a well-armed and trained crew or pay the pirates' charges, from which the high prices of this mode of transport were derived, regardless of the fact that it was widely known that pirates mostly targeted larger ships carrying goods and people. The Pirate Islands were the base for the slave trade of perhaps every known race. Neither pirates nor buyers ever approached the accursed shores of Zmara from which the Silver River flowed into the sea, and this unwelcome narrowing between the mainland and the Pirate Islands understandably played into the hands of pirates. But despite all of the above, most passengers would rather pay unprecedented amounts for transportation by sea than risk their way through the swamps.

Daemonica's thoughts went back to her family. Both her parents came from aristocratic families who had lived in the ancient capital Andala for centuries. She inherited her mother's subtle, if bland, beauty as well as her hair color and sense of choice of behavior. She also inherited her father's tall frame and pensive nature, but she hid an unbending passion for whatever cause she had just set her mind to. The will and belief that almost any dream can be fulfilled if it is fought for long enough and proportionately to her target.

Her gaze unwittingly turned to the bow of their expedition, in which Quiretus rode surrounded by soldiers in full armor, reminding her that some dreams were all too true to dream. The road continued through the unchanging hilly landscape until it began its descent into the green valley she had been expecting for so long. Just a moment later, she smelled the excruciating rotten smell of the swamps spreading beneath them. In the presence of another thirty men, the dangers that most likely awaited them on their journey when they crossed the Silent Bridge across the Silver River, which definitively separated Raia from no man's land, seemed insignificant to her.

Then, in the waning sunlight, they took a break, and the whole unit camped on the last hill above the green valley that seemed to feed on all the light around it, yet remained dark. For an unknown reason, it was decided to go further after the sun went down. Daemonica felt too tired to think about it, as did most of the men, who were now trying to find the best resting place for them and their horses. She found such a place for herself, too. It was hidden behind a small rock on a hill overlooking the landscape that lay below. She leaned against the rock, squinting at the sun. She fought with fatigue and a nagging desire for sleep.

But suddenly, against the dying light, a shadow emerged, moving noiselessly toward her. It was so quiet she could easily confuse it with the wind, playing in the tall grass of the vast steppes where they now rested. But the shadow approached her without a doubt, then stopped only a step away from her. The wind swept to a whisper, and Daemonica could make out some of the words in fragmentary sentences: "All...I ask you...to fight...no matter...whatever... comes for me... to fight...destined..." The shadow seemed to reach out to her face now, as if to touch her, but the following gust of wind blew it away, even with a strange sense of harmony at the moment that left her as unexpectedly as the vision.

Daemonica opened her eyes and realized that the day was coming to an end and that everyone was preparing for their next trip. As she rose to prepare herself for her next journey, she seemed to catch a glimpse of the shape of a figure disappearing into the ever-lengthening shadows of relentless twilight. She tried to reach out to Quiretus to ask him about the mysterious visitor, but he was busy giving commands in the organized mess of preparations for the night's wandering, as well as his own problems, which were at the bottom of the bottle he had ordered her to refill. Otherwise, he paid her no attention, and after she had complied, his officers referred her to an inferior spot at the end of the entire ride where she belonged.

When the jungle finally absorbed the last vestiges of light and the sun hid behind the horizon, they set off slowly downward, toward the valley, into darkness that seemed to greet them with its hungry gaze. The Silver River to their right climbed the elevation in cascades and roaring waterfalls. They were on journey again, and with each step closer to the dark flesh of the ancient forest and the treacherous swamps, Daemonica felt that something far more sinister than the ever-present stench of the swamps was in the air. The feeling dominated her mind with the power of fear that grew with the increasing darkness and the sense that she was entering an insatiable maw, the mouth wide open, which in an instant could clench into a grip from which there was no escape.