The Silver Door

"The Silver Door was always there, for as long as anyone could remember, and no doubt, as long as anyone ever will." Elder Priest Gunnar How many worlds exist in the unending void of time and space? Only the Lord of Creation knows, and he comes in many forms. What is known is that somewhere in the history of the cosmos, the Lord of Creation, King of Light and stretched forth his hand across the emptiness of the heavens and touched the formless seas of Altheim, from where the first roots of the Tree of Life began to grow. As the tree grew and grew, it spread forth its unseen branches into the heavens, from which many worlds bore fruit, budding into realms of chaos, light, life and darkness. For not all fruit that is born, is good. As the worlds budded and thrived, the Lord of Creation sent forth his celestial host of the heavens, the Guardians of all life, who would spread their wings across the worlds and nourish the life that spread therein. How many worlds spring forth from Altheim is unknown, yet what is known is that from these realms, after a thousand ages, their people made their way back to the Old World of Altheim and flourished like the sands on the beach. From unseen bridges, over ages of history, the Men, Alfar (who are the Elves), Dwarves, Orcs, Giants, Draugr, Draconi, and a multitude of beings and beasts who have come to inherit the Old World of Altheim. Every race not knowing how or why their ancestors returned to this world, and yet they strive on in Covenant or competition to create societies that are rivalled only in dreams. "Though there are many of the deeper magics at work within this world, and our scholars and priests work night and day to uncover their secrets, there will always be one of complete mystery to us; and that, is the Silver Door." Elder Priest Aethelric For seventy and seven ages, the cosmos has existed in a state of perpetual balance. Chaos fights against the light, and peace struggles against the Void, yet balance remains a constant, allowing life to continue. However, an ancient sickness has returned from the Void, one which is somehow been allowed to seep through the empty cracks in time and space and infect the many worlds of the Tree of Life. It has exposed itself in many ways, through the villainy of Men, the Wars of the Orcs and Elves, through the cracks in the earth. After almost two hundred years, some say even the Dwarves, who spend their life"s hold up in their underground cities, have been seen emerging from the depths, driven out of their homes by this sickness. All that is known of this infection, is that it is called The Corruption, and into Men"s minds it weaves its insidious agenda. You can see it at work in the trees, twisting and burning along the woodland of the Elves as it tears the fabric of the world asunder. As we eat and breathe, the Elder Priests, High Elven Lords, and the mysterious Black Skull Monks are using all they can to keep The Corruption at bay. All magically inclined beings have been urged to head home to their Colleges and Monasteries to pit their minds and hands to work against the sickness, before it not only consumes Altheim, but poisons every world through the Tree of Life, until all that is left, is the Lord of Creation himself; and who knows if he can survive such evil? "Ask a stranger, ask a mother, or a father, ask a child, or a kindred spirit. They will know. They will have heard the tales. The Silver Door exists, even if you cannot see it, and never will, you will know in your heart that it is there." Elder Priest Jargrun All that remains in this time of fear, is hope. Hope that one day, the Lord of Creation will send someone forth to Altheim, one who will fight for all life to thrive and stop this Corruption before everything known is eaten away into the Void. The Lord of Creation hears their prayers and somewhere in a distant land on a distant world, The Silver Door is opening. The Silver Door Chapter I New Beginnings The first time anyone ever saw the stranger, he was lying face down on the beach, unmoving. The Southern Sea had spat out another of her victims, her morning tide breaking over the small rocks and wrapping the strange man"s legs in seaweed. Far out to the sea, was nothing but water, an ocean of deepest blue as far as the eye could see. No islands or ships broke the horizons edge, and the shore was dotted only with several guards, who had begun prodding and poking at the stranger. "Do est er Dokk-Alfar?" One of the guards, clad from head to toe in a leathery armoury of chitin, scales and wolf skin hide used his long spear to prod the stranger again. "Al tu Dokk-Alfar?" With a grunt, the stranger turned over in his side and began coughing up sand and seawater in a thick clod of muddy brown spit. The two guards jumped back and began shooting incoherent words down at the stranger who just lulled over onto his back and let out another long groan. The taller of the two guards, knelt and searched over the man"s body, finding only a few silver coins in the left pocket of his wooden outer wooden tunic, which now drenched, looked a dark shade of green. Apart from this, all the man was wearing were a pair of wooden trousers and a thick leather belt, on which was tied a seax; one small sword about three hand lengths long. He did not look important, nor did he look too much out of place, save for the stance necklace he wore about his neck, and the way he had shaved his hair close to the bone, whilst leaving his bright white beard to become scraggly and unkempt. At first glance, the guard who was searching through the strangers clothing had assumed that he was a deserter from the war far to the south who had washed ashore, but as he carried no real weaponry or armour, save for one small sword, perhaps he was a pilgrim, or worse, a prisoner. To the south of the Southern Sea, was Mussenwusste, where the Alfar waged war against each other endlessly, a war which had been fought long before their births, and would no doubt be fought long after they were found slumbering in their graves. Often slaver ships, or prisoners aboard Alfar longboats would reach port to find that several of their prisoners had jumped ship in the night. Death by sea was a far better place than life in the cells of a Dokk-Alfar dungeon. "Collect his belongings and throw him into the cage." The standing guard ordered his second in command, who with his help, dragged the strange man up the beach to where a caravan of horses, wagons, and peasant men and women had been traveling along the coastline. To the rear of this caravan was a wheeled iron cage attached to two horses, that they tossed the stranger into before slamming the cage shut and heading back to the front of the caravan. The stranger was however not the only prisoner in the ranks. Describe the landscape and setting before returning to the caravan some miles on. It was a few miles before he began to return to consciousness, the world at first seeming but a strange blur. Mountains and peaks were all he could see, looming high above his cage, illuminated by one of the most wondrous days he could ever remember seeing. High above the mountains, a great sun was just starting to peak over the heights of the hills, and as his vision started to return, the stranger saw misty wisps of snow billowing high atop the mountains. The sky was lighter than he remembered; but what exactly was he remembering? Where had he been, and where had he come to? He would not allow himself to panic, he had been in situations far tougher than this, and knew from drink and battle, that loss of memory was but a fleeting thing. He would start to remember soon, and yet, it had never been like before; right now, he would not be able to even tell you the name of his wife, his children, his parents. Nothing but a blank cloud over his mind, faces came and faces went but they had no names. Neither did he, it was dancing there, on the tip of his tongue, but he could not speak it. "Time, just give it time," he thought; he hoped. When he opened his eyes the next time, the caravan of cages and carts, horses and people, was turning off the road and onto a long dirt track, that meandered through a wood. The roots of the huge, strange trees were jutting upwards from the dirt track and the carts were struggling to keep their balance as they were pushed and pulled along the cracked mud. It must have rained but a few hours ago, but the heat of the day had begun early, making the earth crumble beneath feet and hooves. The iron rivers and bars of the stranger’s cage rattled and woke the stranger from any further sleep. His bones ached and his muscles kept creaking. Whatever had happened to him before landing on the beach was a mystery, yet it must have been a terrible accident. When he tried to concentrate, thinking back, he remembered thunder, lightning, fire in the sky. A dreadful storm, waves higher than mountains, more terrifying than the twilight of the gods. Then all was silent, still, calm. As he sat in the cage, trying desperately to push his mind backwards, he simply remembered silence, as if his soul had been touched by the heavens, and then a bright light of purest... Silver? Maybe he had walked through the light, maybe he was passing into the next life. As he twisted the handle inside the mysterious Silver light, all became lost, until he awoke in this unfamiliar land. It was over an hour trekking though the dense wood, over the worst terrain for such a caravan, that the stranger noticed light appearing through the thickets of shrubs and leaves. Far ahead, past the dark wood, were fields, illuminated by the shining heat of the sun. Fields of gold and luscious green, spanning many leagues. "Look at this, its spreading fast." The stranger heard one of the leather-clad warriors by his side, come running forward from the rear of the caravan, carrying a bundle of leaves. He strained to look at what the man was holding but saw little, until the second man he was speaking to, picked up one of the leaves and held it in front of his face, grimacing. The once green and speckled white leaf, was now turning a sickening black colour, before the edges of its tips seemed to disintegrate, becoming nothing but ash that floated away in the breeze. The man uttered something cursive and threw the leaf to the floor, wiping his hand across his chest, as if not to catch a curse. "The Corruption is spreading to every corner of the world; how long do you think until it breaches the Grey City?" Asked the first man, clearly a great many years younger than his superior. The older warrior shook his head, "who knows, the Priests can keep us safe for a time, and the guards will break anyone who even tries to disturb the City"s peace. But it is spreading faster now, something dark has disturbed the land, this Corruption will not stop until it has consumed-" The older warrior stopped when he noticed the stranger, his white beard and face pushed against the bars of the cage trying to listen in. "Dokk-Afar, hallen!" With this he smacked a long leather arm against the cage, trapping one of the stranger’s fingers underneath, making him shoot back and bang his head against the rear bars. To this, the two soldiers began to laugh uncontrollably, mocking him by rubbing their heads and biting their lips. The stranger sat down against the cage and stayed silent. He would bide his time, use it wisely to reflect on these men, watch them. They would slip up at some point, make a mistake, and then he would show them something to laugh at. That was when he looked down into his hands and saw something he had not. Priced before. His beard, just in front of his face; it was white! Had he, by some strange magic, been adrift for so many years? But no, his hands, yes rough and damaged, still the hands of a man in his thirtieth year. He plucked a hair from his head, wincing as he did. By what force of nature had his hair turned white? Now his heart skipped a few paces and he felt nauseous, ready for his stomach to give up its contents all over this cage; yet he held it in. Just then, when the stranger was feeling his lowest, a marvelous sight appeared through the edge of the forest and over the fields. A great grey city, towering over the landscape of the green and golden fields. The stranger was in awe of its pure brilliance, such radiance pouring out over the world around it. He did not realise until they started to approach the huge gates, some hours later, that his worried suddenly became washed away, replaced by grandeur. If you were to look at his face you would have seen a sight that not many have seen before, unspeakable mesmerisation. Never in his life had he remembered being lost for words, but there was nothing quite right to describe this city. He saw a great spire, jutting from the crucial point, its tip touching the low hanging clouds, where birds of prey hunted among the roofs of the tallest buildings. One lofty wall stretched around the entirety of the grey city, broken only by watchtowers and gates at several intervals. The city stretched across the landscape, across many fields and the breadth of two rivers that ran towards it out of the mountains he had seen before. This must be the lifeblood of the people who dwelt here, for the mountain provided shelter from the winds on one side, and poured in water from their peaks, over which, unseen by the stranger, long bridges of grey stone and golden filigree, lay. To the other side of the city were the fields and villages of the land folk, they who worked the rivers and rolled the soil, feeding their families. Not that he was to know any better, but it was very quiet today, on such a beautiful afternoon, for there was a curse upon this land. Indeed, there was a curse upon all the lands, one that touched not only the animals and the crops, the trees and the waters, but the hearts of men too.