Cythera Chronicles: Tales of the Macilnar III

  • Author’s Note: The story now picks up after (url="http://"")Tales of the Macilnar II(/url), by a period of 5 hours. For more information about either (url="http://"")Eroldur(/url) or (url="http://"")Therru(/url), see their bios (linked). I must thank the following people for their contributions, in alphabetical order, Cache22, and Magpie. I must also thank DesertFox, idiotSavant, iKaterei and Sephiroth. They are mentioned separately because although they contributed to the plot of the Team Story, I am not using their characters. Now the story will continue.


    Larc, Martel, Eroldur, Sasha, Sideline, Kwon and Ulf were all following Therru Flame as he ran far ahead of the group, determined to catch Goshnak. By their fifth day of forced march, they stood against the Landfall, the cliff that surrounded the majority of the borders of the swamp.

    Therru scanned the swamp, his supernatural sight looking for any sign of the Dark. He scanned multiple times, and frowned. “They’re not here.” There were murmurs of dissent in the party.

    “Father, are you sure?” Eroldur said slowly, “I think I sense... something.”

    Therru turned quizzically. “You sense...?”

    Eroldur nodded soberly. “I... I first tried in my third year at Pnyx. I had heard about Alaric... he’s like me too. So, I figured that if he could be, well, Landking, then I could use the powers of my element.”

    Therru’s face showed mixed emotions. He looked exuberant, and about to burst weeping. “What did you try to do?”

    Eroldur looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I know you told me to wait until Ignae wanted me, but I had to try... to try...” Eroldur screwed up his face, and was definitely trying to hold back tears. “To try... to find out what Mother knew.” Therru opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. “I failed.” Eroldur continued. “I couldn’t find it out; but I had to try. Father, I saw her killed. I... I just couldn’t resist, it was so terrible.”

    Therru rushed forward and grasped his son in a hug. Therru set his son down, and asked calmly, “What do you sense?”

    “A large concentration, in a fortress.”

    “Mayaati could be considered a fortress, that’s in the center of the swamp.” Sasha suggested.

    “No,” Therru continued, “I was right, and so is Eroldur. They’re close, but not in the Swamps.”

    They stopped for a minute, and then Sideline spoke.

    “The Shadow Demons were attracted to your power that opposed theirs. I bet that if both you and Eroldur put forth as much power as possible, they couldn’t resist.”

    “But can we handle that many demons?”

    “We’ll have to, Larc.” Martel said, drawing his sword. “Weapons ready everyone.” Within moments, they were all ready, and a bow appeared out of thin air, and then retracted. Trinias was also ready. “Ok.” Martel nodded, “On the count of three, one... two...”


    Nec’Trolas was getting worried. He had searched almost everywhere, and had found no sign of The Tyrant’s Ring. The troops were getting impatient, and worse, so was Goshnak. Goshnak was ruthless and didn’t care how close or far Nec’Trolas was, as long as he had what he wanted. The problem was, Goshnak didn’t have what he wanted, and now Goshnak wanted to see him. Great. Nec’Trolas now realized that he was almost in the room of darkness. And now, the platform stopped moving. Goshnak’s dark silhouette turned out of the darkness. “Nec’Trolas, you displease me...”


    Therru and Eroldur were charged with energy, one large bolt of fire about to be launched straight ahead of them. Martel was already counting, and everyone was straining to hear something. “” Martel was cut off when the ground began to shake like an earthquake. Therru held his ground, but Eroldur tripped, offsetting the balance of power. They were linked, so Therru tipped back, and the bolt flew off, and hit the top of the mountain right behind them. “ AVALANCHE!! ” Larc yelled as he began running, but everyone else’s eyes were fixed on the very bottom of the avalanche. Forty-score demons were almost at them. “Therru...” Kwon called dangerously, but had to stop because he was just about to be toppled by a demon. “Look OUT, LARC!” Kwon had knocked his demon over, and Larc had been busy throwing truth powder on it. So busy in fact, that he hadn’t seen the demon that was standing over him, rusty sword raised. Larc ducked out from under him, threw a handful of powder, and the demon froze, sneezed, and disintegrated into dust.

    It was then that Therru did something amazing that he had not yet done on this journey, which the majority of them had not seen. He drew his swords. For a moment, the battle seemed to freeze, as they glinted with the sunlight. And then the blades erupted into flame. Therru twisted and whirled, spun and danced, kicked and stabbed. Demons around him fell like waves crashing upon the shores. He moved to stab another demon, when a large boulder fell on it. “The avalanche has reached us!” He called, “RUN!” Dashing to avoid the rocks that were falling upon demons and squishing them to death, the party ran up towards the mountain. “Goshnak is up there! He’s angry too!” Eroldur called.


    Nec’Trolas was dead. Which really means that he was in hell. He had sailed down the river of death, and was at the gloomy world at the end. “That damn Tyrant probably took it with him when he died. What a-” Nec’Trolas paused at the marvelous wisdom of his words. “Unless that’s exactly what he did!”


    Goshnak heard a funny sound. He looked at his feet, where the limp body of the dead Nec’Trolas lay. He was struggling back to life. He sat up. Goshnak roared. “Nec’Trolas, what!?!” Nec’Trolas’ hand was outstretched. It opened, in inside it was a small bronze ring. “Good, Nec’Trolas. You will not die after all.” Suddenly, Nec’Trolas was lying on the floor, twitching in pain. Magpie had just come up through the floor, and was now rending Nec’Trolas’ soul. Goshnak turned. “Petty Necromancer! Little fool! You… you…” Goshnak paused. “You bring the Flame. Good. Now release my general and go.” Nec’Trolas was at once still. He gasped for breath. Goshnak smiled, and then felt his soul tingle. “FOOLISH MORTAL!” He called, “I AM OF AN ORDER THAT YOU CAN NOT COMMAND OR CONTROL AT YOUR WHIM! I AM GOSHNAK! LORD OF THE DARK! YOU CANNOT!”

    Those seven seconds of yelling were all they needed. The group burst forth from a very crowded chameleon cloak and Therru Flame stood tall before Goshnak. “Goshnak. Too long have you fled from my grasp. I will not let you fly once more. “AHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Therru Flame, you mock me. I have more power than you ever will! We are opposites, and one must be removed! That one will be YOU, Therru Flame, not ME! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Goshnak swelled as he burst from the ceiling of his fortress. The whole room exploded as Goshnak sucked the light from the environment around him. He flew down to the edge of the swamp, waiting for Therru. Therru leaped to the roof, and dived down to the ground, and though it was two hundred feet, he landed gracefully.

    “GOSHNAK!” He called, and his swords became fiery with rage. Goshnak outstretched his arm, and from it extended a blade of shadow.

    “Now you will see how your father died, half elemental!”

    Therru and Goshnak clashed blades for the first time, and Therru’s first blade melted into nothingness. “That is how you will go, fool!”

    Therru then did something no one expected, for they had now made their way onto the base where the two were locked in mortal combat. Therru dropped his sword, and began to burn. Soon, he looked like Ignae, fully in flame. Then he flew upwards, and landed on Goshnak’s back. Therru grasped Goshnak as hard as he could, fighting to stay on. Soon, they were both looking thinner. Therru squeezed harder, and harder. They both melted into nothing. There was one last whimper, as hundreds of souls came rushing out of Goshnak. People he had killed. People who had made him strong. Now the group understood what Therru had done. He had absorbed Goshnak as Goshnak had absorbed the others, and it had killed him.

    Tears streaked down Eroldur’s face.

    “Eroldur?” Martel asked slowly. Eroldur bit back tears, stood up straight, and picked up his father’s remaining sword. A few small flames began to burn upon it. He breathed in slowly and said

    “My name is Therru Flame.”

  • This chronicle seemed a little bit shorter than the others, but it's still pretty decent. Keep up the good work.

    Slayer's guide to Cythera:

  • Yeah, I ran out of stuff to say. The next one should be better.

    Somewhere in Tibet, 1920 B.C. "Look, sir! I call it 'The Manual to World Peace'!" "What does it do?" "I don't know. Let's burn it!"

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