Quick Tales

In the quiet town of Elderglen, nestled between towering mountains and a whispers-thin river, there lived a sorcerer named Eamon. He was not like the other townsfolk; his eyes held an ancient wisdom, and his hands bore the markings of arcane symbols that danced beneath his skin. Eamon had been charged with a sacred duty—to prevent the dark ritual that could awaken Malphas, an ancient evil sealed away for centuries.

The prophecy spoke of a time when the stars would align in a specific pattern, and the ritual could be performed. This time was near, and Eamon felt it in his very bones. He spent his days teaching young apprentices the ways of magic while keeping a watchful eye on the shadows that crept closer with each passing night.

One evening, as Eamon walked through the town square, he noticed a peculiar scent—a mix of decay and dark magic. Following it led him to an old, abandoned mill by the river. Inside, he found a hidden chamber adorned with sinister symbols. At the center stood a hooded figure, chanting in a language long forgotten. Eamon knew this was no mere ritualist; this was a High Priest of Malphas.

"Who are you?" Eamon demanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. The figure turned to face him, revealing a face twisted with malice and desperation. "I am Thorne," he spat. "And I will not be stopped from freeing our lord."

Eamon raised his hands, and arcane energy crackled between his fingers. "Malphas must remain sealed away. His power would consume this world."

Thorne laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Consume? No, he will remake it in his image. A world where the strong rule and the weak serve."

Eamon shook his head. "Your delusions do not change the truth. Malphas's reign would be one of eternal darkness and suffering."

Thorne sneered. "Then let us settle this like true sorcerers—with a duel."

A circle of fire materialized between them, separating Eamon from Thorne. They began to cast spells at each other, weaving intricate patterns in the air with their hands. Bolts of lightning and streams of ice clashed, the force of their power shaking the very foundations of the mill.

As they fought, Eamon realized that Thorne's magic was fueled by something darker than mere ambition. It was a corrupting influence, one that sought to twist all it touched into shadows. He knew he had to end this quickly before Thorne completed his ritual.

Summoning the last of his strength, Eamon called upon an ancient spell—one that could banish even the darkest of evils. The air crackled with energy as he unleashed a torrent of pure light at Thorne. The High Priest screamed in agony as the light enveloped him, his body convulsing before crumbling into dust.

But Eamon knew this was not over. He rushed to the center of the chamber, where the ritual had been taking place, and found an open portal leading into a chasm of darkness. From within, he heard Malphas's voice—a whisper that echoed through his mind like thunder. "You cannot stop what has begun," it said. "I will rise again."

Eamon gritted his teeth, determined to seal the portal before it was too late. He called upon every ounce of power within him, weaving a complex spell that would close the gateway forever. As he did so, he felt a presence behind him—a cold touch that sent shivers down his spine.

Turning around, Eamon found himself face-to-face with Malphas. The ancient evil had taken the form of a towering figure made entirely of shadows, its eyes burning like embers in the night. "You cannot defeat me," it growled. "I am inevitable."

Eamon stood his ground, even as fear clawed at his heart. "Your power may be great, but my resolve is stronger." With a final cry, he completed the spell, and the portal began to close. Malphas roared in fury, but it was too late. The gateway sealed shut, trapping him once more within the abyss.

Exhausted but victorious, Eamon stumbled out of the mill and into the cool night air. He knew that the battle against darkness would never truly end, but for now, Elderglen was safe. As he walked back towards town, he couldn't help feeling a sense of unease—for he knew that somewhere out there, another servant of Malphas was waiting in the shadows, ready to try again.

But Eamon was prepared. He would stand vigilant, protecting his world from the whispers of the abyss. And when the time came, he would be ready to face whatever darkness might arise.