Morsan valemount
Morsan practiced his swordplay with Grothan. Anyone would have been terrified at the sight of him. He was a towering monster of nearly six feet ten inches, carrying a longsword that matched his massive frame. Steel covered him from head to heel. Large round rondels bore the image of two great hounds facing a castle. Castle… what was it called? Morsan was terrible with names. Usually he had to ask their eldest brother, Kevand, who knew everything about history. Grothan's armour was deep red, from the heavy helmet to the breastplate, pauldrons, and chain mail. Did he simply like red, or was it some old family tradition? Morsan could not stop staring at those huge rondels. Finally, curiosity won. He pointed and asked, "What is that castle?"
Grothan lifted his heavy visor and stared at him. "Would it improve your sword play?"
"No... but atleast it would make it less boring".
"History might bore you more, boy. That steel in your hand... Grip it tight and be ready to swing whenever something goes wrong. History makes your mind sharp surely but it cannot defend you. No it cannot. Only that steel in your hands... That is your weapon against them".
Morsan smiled. "Kevand would disagree with you".
"Disagree he might, deep down he knows I am right. Aegis knows what will become of that, lad..." Grothan grunted.
"Now... Less talking and more Swinging", said grothan, immediately taking huge steps towards Morsan.
Steel rang as Morsan crossed blades with Grothan.
Grothan towered over him, red armour gleaming like fresh blood. His longsword was massive, each swing heavy enough to break bone through plate. Soldiers often watched from the shade, expecting the young man to be crushed within moments. Morsan was only in his twenties, lean where Grothan was built like a fortress. Yet his feet moved fast, light as a dancer's. He caught the first blow cleanly, redirected the second, and stepped inside the third with surprising precision.
Grothan pressed harder. The huge blade came down again and again, but Morsan matched him strike for strike. Sweat ran down his brow, his breathing sharp, but his guard never broke. He pivoted, dodged, rolled and forced Grothan to step back once, then twice. A murmur spread among the watching soldiers.
The final clash echoed through the yard. Their swords locked. For several minutes neither moved.
Grothan's visor tilted, studying him. Then the giant stepped away and lowered his blade. A low chuckle rumbled from inside the red helm. "You've grown unlike your brothers", he said.
Morsan straightened, chest heaving, unsure whether to smile or frown.
Grothan nodded once, slow and deliberate. He lifted his helm and rested under his arm. Long jet black hair fell loose and shifted with the breeze. A trimmed brown beard framed a hard jaw. Green eyes, sharp and steady, fixed on Morsan with open surprise.
"Most men twice your age cannot hold me this long. You are still young, yet you stand your ground". He lifted his sword again, not to strike but in quiet acknowledgment. Quite commonly done around here. Around them the barracks yard fell silent, the older soldiers exchanging glances. The boy they had watched grow had begun to look like a warrior.
"Kevand should learn from you", grothan grunted. "Arth kasil... lad! Sits all day and reads history".
"He has his strength and I have mine. No need to demean him to praise me".
"Not want to demean that lad... But Sometimes they need it to be better".
"If I disagree with you, are you by any chance going to crush me with that sword?"
"I'll try not to", grothan said, laughing. "Anyways this is dragon pyre not just any sword".
"Is this the sword that you used in battle of liberation? You slayed king amren's dragons with that?"
"Yes, knocked each one of them until every of them were shrieking and wailing in pain", grothan said, standing a little taller.
"Impressive", Morsan said, he was in awe of that sword. Someday I will have my own sword... He thought.
"Anyways, you are free now. If possible visit moon market and bring me whetstone for my sword".
"Dragon pyre... Not just any sword".
Grothan nodded. "You sure learn fast. Go now".
Morsan bowed and walked towards outer Bailey.
"Castle stormgate!"
Morsan spun and saw grothan shouting. "Answer to your question".
Morsan smiled and made his way down towards moon market.
...
As Morsan made his way toward the Moon Market and realised, with a dull ache in his bones, that he was exhausted. Sometimes he hated the capital. It sprawled without mercy, a labyrinth of markets thick with shouting vendors, perfumed whorehouses, crowded inns and taverns, and winding saddleback steps that climbed toward temples heavy with incense. Rooms full of ancient statues watched from shadowed halls, kings of old that ruled this kingdom several centuries ago, carved in stone, their silent gazes following every passerby. Every wall and building wore the same tired shades of blue and grey, blending into one another until direction itself felt like a lie. Slender towers pierced the skyline, while cavernous dungeons yawned beneath the streets. Somewhere in those depths, so the rumours claimed, the First Sword of the capital rotted in chains. Treasure houses stood behind iron gates. Noble estates were linked by narrow drawbridges, and merchant guildhalls rose with tall blue windows that caught the light like cold eyes. By now Morsan had begun to hate the colour blue.
The capital was split in two. High upon the hill lived the nobility, cloaked in wealth and distance, their palaces guarded by banners, marble courts, and barracks full of polished soldiers. Below, beyond vast walls crowned with spiked ramparts and watchtowers, stretched the lower city. There lay the markets and the inns, the smoke-choked forges of blacksmiths, granaries swollen with grain, shrines tucked between alleys, bathhouses echoing with laughter, and crowded courtyards where storytellers earned their bread. Common folk filled the streets, along with traders from distant lands and allied tribes who came to live beneath the capital's shadow. Caravanserais lined the outer roads, tax houses watched every gate, and herald towers rang with decrees that drifted over the roofs like restless birds. The whole city breathed like a beast too large to tame, and as Morsan walked deeper into it, he felt smaller with every step.
Morsan, after crossing several alleys, finally arrived. The journey had been long, fueled by several side glances and whispers, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the Moon Market. The streets, stretching before him like shadowed ribbons, were as black as ink, absorbing the faint, otherworldly glow that emanated from the shopfronts. It was a hue so profound it seemed to drink the very light, making the air feel thick and mysterious.
Magic, he had heard, permeated every corner of this legendary market, and as he stepped further into its heart, the truth of those tales became undeniable. On either side of the ink-black thoroughfare, numerous shops beckoned, each one a beacon of arcane artistry. There were establishments whose windows shimmered with pulsating auras, hinting at bottled spells and captured starlight. Others offered intricate charms that hummed with unseen energies, their delicate designs promising protection or power. The air itself thrummed with a subtle, underlying current of enchantment, a symphony of whispers and crackles that spoke of countless magical transactions unfolding within these darkened walls.
As he made his way, he realized why the capital was so popular among visitors. The Moon Market was the reason every tribe and human faction came here to acquire magic items that granted them temporary effects of power, derived from tombs. These magical artifacts, crafted from the dust and stone of a tomb, provided their users with only a few days' worth of magic. Every kingdom desired to host such a market, but King Kaisran, in his characteristic manner, denied all of them and established the market here in the capital to bolster not only his power but also his economic status.
"Is that you, my prince?" a gentle and serene voice inquired.
Morsan spun, looking around in the throng of people. "Who is it?"
"Here, prince! I am right here!" the woman called out.
Morsan turned once more, glancing to the other side of the street. There she was, hooded in a black cape adorned with red lines and the sigil of aeromancers...a bright blue flame burning upwards.
Morsan made his way over to her. He knew her as intimately as he knew swordplay. She was the only friend he had known since his childhood. She had dreamed of becoming an aeromancer, and it appeared she had finally achieved it. "So... you are in a cape," Morsan remarked, finally reaching her.
"Doesn't it look good on me, my prince?" she said, in the mocking tone she always used when they met. She knew it annoyed him, but she did it anyway, teasing him further.
"Looks alright to me. The cloak has a hood, so it can hide your ugly face." As soon as he had said this, she punched him hard in the stomach, making him gasp and clutch his abdomen. "So you are strong as well now?"
"You really doubt me? I have always been strong... Well, stronger than you anyway," she said, laughing. She had a thin, round face with brown hair streaked with blonde locks here and there. A sleek nose and blue eyes were her most memorable features, and she had a smile that made one smile as well, no matter how grumpy one might be. Morsan thought she could even make a groath smile from time to time.
"So... an Aeromancer, huh? What do they even do? Find cats or dogs?"
"No!" she snapped. "It appears you don't know our words." She cleared her throat and stood a little taller. "We love our life. We live free. We do what we want, and we never bow to anyone."
"Except for my father, King Kaisran," Morsan shook his head. "He controls your people. You possess the old magic, right?"
"Old magic and old ways," she said, proud and happy.
"Another one of your words?"
"My words. I invented them."
"Something tells me that you are going to enjoy this new magic."
"Of course! I worked myself day and night, or else aeromancy would have never accepted me."
"Accepted you? Merlie... Is there some trial you have to go through?"
Merlie frowned and pouted. "No... My prince, I cannot tell you that. On my honor as an aeromancer, we mustn't share our secrets."
"Would father know about it?"
"No!"
"What are y—"
Suddenly, they heard a voice. They both nodded and made their way through the crowd. The voice was coming from the heart of the city. They moved swiftly, running as fast as they could. And there, on a large tower, they saw a winged creature with a huge head and all bones, no signs of skin, only large bones that resembled a dragon. With chains all around it, they saw on top of it was Halden, smiling, his foot on the dragon and hand on its chain. "This creature troubled me deeply. Do not worry, I am blessed by the sea god," he shouted, looking at Morsan. "I will use this bony creature to ride to Aravan," he grinned.
World of sumaka through eyes of haldren —
The sea god Areyan saved me, healed me, and bestowed a blessing upon me. You might inquire why. Areyan harbored a deep animosity towards the bone dragon, as its presence instilled a sense of insecurity in him. As the undisputed sovereign of Sumaka's seas, Areyan found the bone dragon's claim over his domain, and its terrorization of maritime vessels, particularly vexing.
I bore the Oath of Aegis. Aegis and Areyan are god brothers, bound by an ancient blood that goes back thousands of years. Those marked with the Oath of Aegis are afforded the protection of both deities. Thus, when I fell, the sea god recognized my armor and intervened to save me.
He granted me a blessing, a form of boon: the ability to control every creature within Sumaka...any creature whatsoever! This blessing fills me with immense joy, as it will enable me to tame dragons and journey across Aegis Reach.