Blackheart Swamp
RAZAEL

Razael and Bouldern trudged through the marshes of Blackheart Swamp a few sloshy steps at a time.   The horses grew weary with each heavy-laden stride.  The sickening stench of foul, stagnant mud rose up into Razael’s nostrils, so strong it turned his stomach bitter.  At any moment, he felt he might lose the food he managed to choke down earlier.  He threw the hood of his robes back and pulled his long black hair into a tail.  On his forearms, he bore scars where twin demonic imp tattoos once roosted.

The fog rolled in, so thick he could barely see his companion riding just a few feet to his right.  The ruddy, long-bearded dwarf insisted on leading the way.  Beady brown eyes squinted ahead as if that would help pierce the haze.  From the marshes and trees surrounding them, Razael could hear things.  He could hear them slithering through patches of earth floating atop the muck.  He could hear them rustling in the trees.  An ominous presence loomed over them like the moisture in the air—thick and wet.  He recalled the stories of the swamp he’d heard as a child.  The frontiersmen who lived in nearby villages said it was haunted by the spirits of the dead.

Turn away.

Razael’s blue eyes went wide at a voice inside his head, one not his own.  It could not have been a whisper.

“Turn away!”

This time he was sure he heard it.  Faint, inhuman echoes reverberated behind what sounded like wailing and screaming.  It was a voice in pain—the voice of a tortured soul.

“Did ye hear that?” Bouldern asked.  His mail-gauntleted fingers stroked nervously at his beard.

“You heard it too,” Razael said.  A sense of paranoia crept into his mind.  They were all alone in the swamp.  No one would hear them scream if they were in trouble.  They could not see more than a few feet in front of them and had not run into a patch of dry land in hours.  Their food and water supplies were limited.  How long could they survive in a place like this?

Stop it!

This time, the voice inside his head belonged to him.  He mentally kicked himself for giving into fear.  He dealt in fear, not the other way around.  He gathered his wits and started thinking about what needed to be done.

“How much further do you think we can take these horses?” Razael asked.

“Not much,” Bouldern replied.  “If this muck gets any deeper, we’ll be swimming.”

“We have to find solid ground.”

“Maybe we should heed the warning, lad,” Bouldern suggested.  “I keep trying to tell you that no good can come from what we’re trying to do.”

“It’s the only way to stop Sanctus Dei,” Razael insisted.

“There’s a reason this land is cursed.”

“We can either turn around and go back the way we came, or continue forward and hope we—what’s that?” Razael asked, pointing.

From within the fog, a long cylindrical silhouette materialized ten feet away.  He squinted and leaned forward, trying to make sense of it. And then they appeared: two glowing, fiery orbs ignited, piercing through the haze.  It was not until he realized he could not move or look away that they were eyes.  He sat atop his saddle, frozen in fear as the silhouette arched forward and slithered closer.  A giant serpent with pointed horns and glowing yellow-red eyes closed in.

 Basilisk.

He tried to say the word out loud, but his mouth no longer worked.  The hypnotic effect of the serpent’s gaze had taken over him.  Having never seen one before, he passed them off as legend long ago.  Now, he stared legend in the eyes.  It was said no man could escape its gaze; once someone met eyes with this creature, it took ownership of him.  A wave of euphoria washed over him as he relaxed and accepted his fate.

 Hiss!  Crack! 

Razael rubbed his eyes and looked around.  Bouldern stood, hammer in hand, facing off against the basilisk.  Razael could get a good look at it now.  The snake’s girth was thicker than his thigh, and it stretched thirteen feet in length.  Brilliant scales glistened like gold and rubies.  Even in the dank swamp, he could see them sparkle as the snake shifted.

“Whatever ye do, don’t look at its eyes!” Bouldern warned. 

Razael did not want to learn that lesson again.  He struggled to stay atop his horse as it tried to get away.  The basilisk hissed and struck out at Bouldern like red and gold lightning, and the dwarf swung his hammer.

 Crack!  Hiss!

The blow struck its mouth, knocking the snake off course, and forcing it to retreat within the murky waters below.  Razael’s horse reared back, catching him unaware.  He fell backwards into the marshy ground behind him.  The fall knocked the wind out of him and made him see stars, but he knew he had to keep moving.  The basilisk surfaced for another strike, and Razael tried desperately to get away, moving backwards on his hands and legs.  He risked a glance and found himself frozen again.  Staring longingly into the glowing eyes inching closer, he was forced to watch as the snake reared back and bared its fangs, preparing for its kill.

 Crack!  Hiss!

From Bouldern’s direction, a small rock sailed through the air before smacking into the basilisk’s head.  He proved to be a much better shot with his sling than Razael anticipated.  The glowing eyes fixed on Bouldern.

“Have at ye, ye filthy devil!” Bouldern roared.  The snake’s mouth twitched as it bared is long fangs, glistening wet with oily black venom.

It struck again, but this time Bouldern let out a cry as he jumped in the air and positioned his hammer overhead.  Just as his target came into range, he brought down a devastating blow.  The snake’s head smashed, and the pike came protruding out of the bottom of its mouth.  Bouldern put his foot on the back of the creature’s neck and pried his weapon free.  The creature did not appear as dangerous lying dead at their feet.  Seeing it up-close allowed for admiring the beauty of its shimmering scales.

“Snakes!” Bouldern spat.  “Good riddance!”

“You just killed the rarest and most beautiful snake in the world,” Razael pointed out.

“Well now it’s a little more rare and a little less beautiful,” Bouldern snickered, giving the corpse a kick.  The skull was crushed, and one of its eye sockets trickled blood.  The other side fared better.  Kneeling, Razael used his fingers to pry its eye open.  He would have jumped back except the glowing eye still held its power over him.  Bouldern reached out and shut the lid of the basilisk’s eye, and Razael snapped out of its spell.

“What are ye tryin to do?” Bouldern asked.

“I wanted to see if the eye was intact, and if it still had the same effects as when the snake was alive,” Razael explained.

“That’s just folly.  What could you hope to accomplish with that?” Bouldern asked.

“If you must know, I plan to preserve it and use it as a weapon,” Razael replied.  “Having a glowing orb of light people are unable to look away from might come in handy.”

“Bah!  It would never work on dwarves!” Bouldern said.

“Why?” Razael said.

“We dwarves are resistant to magic.”

“All kinds of magic?”

“Aye.  It was the dwarves who turned the tide for the Crown when Velian tried to…”

Whoosh!

A violent gust of wind overtook them, and with it a thousand whispers of anger, hatred, and rage.  Screams and wails roiled up as the voice began to speak.  Razael felt the hair rise over his neck and arms as a sinister chill crept down his spine.

“I know of whom you speak…”

“Who’s there?” Razael demanded.

“Heed my warning, mortal!  Turn away!”

And with that, the wind and voice were gone.  It left them standing in the marshes with croaking toads and a dead snake.  With naught else left to do, Razael reached to his belt for his dagger, and pulled a crystal orb from one of his pouches.

“I need to you take this dagger and very carefully open up its head, retrieve its eye, and then place it in my hand,” Razael instructed.  Bouldern grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly agreed.  Razael kept his eyes shut and listened as Bouldern sliced through the serpent’s flesh.  It made a sickening, sticky, wet sound with each slash.

“Hold out yer hand,” Bouldern said.  It felt warm and wet.  Razael dared not open his eyes as he recited the transfusion spell and pressed the two components together.  He heard the familiar suction sound as the eye transmuted to the center of the crystal orb where it would be preserved permanently.

Razael placed the orb into a component pouch, and sealed it shut with leather tassels.  He opened his eyes, and Bouldern stood before him, arms crossed over his massive chest.

“Tell me it was still glowing after the transfusion,” Razael said.

“It was still glowing.  Be careful with that thing,” Bouldern warned.  Razael did not reply.  It was time to move on.  Basilisks and tortured souls or not, the two of them had a destination.  They stopped talking and made their way back through the mud to their frightened horses.  Saying Velian’s name aloud, and hearing the very swamp cry out in response served as a sobering reminder of who they were here to meet.  Razael mounted his horse and looked ahead, noticing the fog had thinned out.  He pointed out some trees not too far away.

“Aye,” Bouldern said, acknowledging he saw them too.  They steered their horses to the left.  Maybe at last they would have some time to rest.

Razael and Bouldern trudged through the marshes of Blackheart Swamp a few sloshy steps at a time.