Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

nerves as well. Tired of shaking odd the endless rain of black ash, the adventures now looked more like chimney sweepers than ballad heroes. Orange lightning would occasionally hit the ground, followed by eerie-sounding thunder. Sometimes, they had to pray to the Gods that the fiery boulders ejected by the ever-awake volcano would continue to fly and not crash on them. For a long time, a red trail remained behind the ejected stone, encircling these inhospitable lands like a bloody belt.

The squad remained silent. In such an environment, there was no need for jokes or idle chatter. Ash had once tried to start a conversation by asking how they had managed to find them in Anna’Bre’s home, but when he got his answer, he couldn’t think of any other topic for a conversation. The answer was so simple that it didn’t leave room for any further questions. After he had played the flute, a black sphere appeared in front of the Stumps and led them directly to the Ice Queen’s chambers.

For the second day now, they walked with nothing but tenacity. There were no animals or birds in these lands. It was as hot at night as it was at noon. Their water supply was running out, and if it weren’t for Ash, they would’ve died of dehydration long ago. The mage often had to get close to a geyser and turned the sulfurous water into a drinkable one. It took a lot of effort, but they had no other choice.

However, they were nearing the finish line of their journey. A huge mountain emerged from the dark fog. Not as tall as it was wide, it was an ever-smoking, forever-flaming mountain. Sometimes, the scorched desert was shaken by a low rumble, followed by the sound of a volcano spurting tons of hissing lava on the slopes, whose red glow could be seen for miles around.

Evening of the same day

Alice threw up, but no one blamed her for it. Pillars stood at the edges of the road. On them, instead of signs, were people and other creatures. Their mutilated, disfigured bodies looked like sculptures of a deranged artist. Some of them had their ribs rearranged to resemble wings. Others wore their entrails instead of scarves, while the rest had hearts stuffed into their mouths, or arms outstretched to hold their own eyes. There were even those who had legs instead of arms, and sticks instead of legs.

The blood that had been dripping down the road for months had made the ground soft ad sticky. The adventurers were afraid to look down, not wishing to know what their feet were buried in.

“Don’t look,” Lari whispered, holding Alice’s head against his broad chest. “Don’t look.”

The girl was sobbing softly. Blackbeard and Tul were running their fingers over their weapons every now and then, and Mary was as pale as snow. Even Ash shuddered at the sight. But more than that, he was struck by the behavior of his friends.

What made the Ternites, who despised horror and blood, go on a journey across the expanses of the nameless world? Did they like this kind of pillars? Endless strings of betrayals? Wars? Feuds? Robberies and deceit? Why did people, free in their desires and opportunities, still come into service? Was it only because of orders? He had often wondered about this, but had never found an answer.

Another orange flash lit up a huge citadel. Its spire tickled the flank of the Fiery Mountain. At its base, it looked like any other fort – square and bland.

“Something tells me,” Blackbeard rasped, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “that we’ll find the flower inside.”

Mary glanced at the pillars. Her shoulders drooped.

“Probably.” Tul nodded, noticing her reaction. “These were probably our competitors...”

Alice sobbed and curled up into a ball, looking like a frightened kitten. Lari did his best to remain calm, and held her closer.

Ash never tired of admiring his friend’s character. Sometimes, the swordsman was flighty and envious, sometimes bold and cowardly, but in the most dangerous of moments, he was always as steady as a rock. Perhaps in this lay the answer to Ash’s question about Ternites.

“Stay here,” the mage said calmly. “I’ll go and get the flower.”

The Stumps looked at him in bewilderment and smiled.

“Even now, you’re cracking jokes,” Tul said, half-joking.

Ash glanced around, then turned back to the slightly braver adventurers. Should he tell them? After all, they considered them his friend, which was why they saved him. Ash had never had any friends before, only occasional companions, forced allies, and rare acquaintances. However, all of them, sooner or later, when their own ways, leaving him alone. Ash guessed what he’d face when he entered the citadel, and that the Stumps wouldn’t survive this encounter. If he revealed who he was, they’d stay, and perhaps they’d be saved. But as soon as this thought crossed his mind, the faces of his new and only friends appeared in front of him.

The dear Alice, whose warm brown eyes sparkled with fear. The tense Tul, behind whose frustration lay the determination to fight the “destroyer of cities.” The dumbfounded Blackbeard, who reeked of grief and betrayal. After all, it was he who had so zealously defended Ash from Lari and Mary’s accusations. In vain, as it would turn out. The latter two would most likely feel relieved and draw their blades without a second thought.

Ash was certain that by some higher force or miracle, his identity would be revealed the moment they stepped foot into the citadel. This moment, it seemed, had become inevitable, inescapable, and ever so nearer.

The young mage sighed. No, he didn’t have the courage to come clean. The little cowardice that remained in him allowed him to feel sorry for himself and decide that he wanted to postpone loneliness for a little while longer.

“I thought I’d cheer you up