Ruins of Orasia

Daniel has escaped the train, but something worse awaits.

Did the elves find me? I ask myself. Two of them were asleep, but Thulf was on watch, and he heard me when I moved three inches.

    The hole is nearly finished now, just a few more inches.

    I pick up a blunt metal rod in case of an attack and sling my bag over my shoulder.

    Two inches...

        One inch...

    Clang! The metal falls into the train and I see the figure on the other side for the first time.

    “DOL?” I say, out loud. I clap a hand over my mouth.

    DOL stands in the hole, holding a welding torch. He’s about three feet tall, (half my height) with fabric skin stretched like a drum over a metal skeleton. The fabric shows off the metal ribs protecting his inner workings, giving him a slightly menacing look.

He’s been given a mind by some kind of elven machine, and self-winding clockwork moves the body. When the dollesques (his kind) were given to our city by the elves, they had been plain, without decorations. That had added to the menacing edge, so the people of the city had created them. For example, with DOL, we sewed buttons on for eyes and drew our family crest on his back.

    One eye was lost when DOL tried to slice vegetables, though I always say he fought with a huge feral cat, and the crest has been all but washed away from when he falls into water. He’s helped me out since I was thirteen years old.

    He beckons for me to follow, and then I notice that he’s on the same side that the elves were on. I peek out the hole and see them lying on the ground, unconscious.

    I look towards the north, towards the town, but I can’t see anything past the trains in the train yard.

    “Let’s go.” I say, walking towards the northern edge of the train yard.

    DOL sizzles, the only sound that’s come out of him since he broke his voice box.

    The train yard is relatively small, but still respectable. It’s nearly mid-day when we reach the edge. I freeze as I get the first glimpse of the burnt husk of the city.  

〄  〄  〄

    Smoke rises from almost every single building, and I can see the fires even from a half-mile away. Nothing survived.

    Who could have done this?

    I see movement in the section of the ruins closest to us, but it isn’t human. Probably more elves.

    Those b******s could have dropped bombs on us from their airships.

    Long ago, they had enslaved us. Was that, too, a ruse? Maybe this was what they were planning from the beginning.

    DOL and I continue towards the town, taking care not to be noticed by the elven scouts. When we reach the outskirts, there are no signs of elves anywhere.

    “DOL, let’s head for the house.” I say, remembering a large supply of food in the basement. He sizzles in agreement and we start off.

    On the way, I see a huge mass of metal stuck halfway into the ground. Parts are still in flames, and there’s a body lying outside.

    It isn’t the body of a human, I can tell that from the side of the face that’s not covered in horrible burns. The pointed ear is still evident. The eyes seem to be gone, melted away in the intense heat.

    His clothes seem to be untouched, fireproof, and there’s a sword at his belt that seems to have sustained no damage beyond the scabbard (which is only scorched).

I stand and admire the hilt for a moment, swirling pieces of metal that wrap around the wielder’s hand. They would probably protect it from all but the most skilled stabs. I take a hold of it and find that it fits my hand perfectly. I draw it from the sheath and see that the blade is flawless, long and slender.

I give it a few experimental swings, perfectly

balanced, I could swing it all day if I needed to.

“This is nice, don’t you think?” I ask DOL, and he nods.

I strap the sheath to my belt and try to put the blade back in.

Why is this so hard? I think, remembering an elf

who had visited our city, Orasia, many years ago. He had heard a noise that startled him, and his sword was out in a fraction of a second. When he found that it was nothing, it was back in almost immediately.

I struggle with the blade for a few more seconds, then I have DOL slide it in.

I’ll need some practice at that...

〄  〄  〄

When we reach the house, it is still relatively unharmed. The two stories only mildly scorched in places. As I look closer, there are a few places where the walls have partly collapsed, but it should still be safe to enter.

Inside, there is havoc. There must have been a rush

for supplies when the disaster struck, because the stores in the regular pantry are missing and all the valuables are gone.

Damned looters. I think, looking around for anything to salvage. DOL races up the half-standing stairs, obviously there’s something there that he wants to get. I look around at the chaos and remember a week where Katla, John, and I created a plan in case of something like this.

 〄  〄  〄

    In case of an attack, we would hear the explosions of bombs or gunfire before they reached us, chances are they wouldn’t be near us. We would head for the Serpent Tail pass in the mountains, which would take us into the great Ranyrrn Forests. There, we had an old hut that we had fixed up long ago. It had supplies, shelter, and a nearby stream.

    That’s where I’ll head. Chances are, Katla and John would remember the plan as well as I did. For now, however, I, at least, will need food for the journey.

    There’s an old storage area below my house with an emergency supply of food. It’s well hidden, I hadn’t even known about it until fairly recently, and I doubt that anyone else had found it.

    “DOL,” I yell, “I’m going into the secret basement for the food! Don’t leave without me!”

    I go into the front room and remove a tapestry from the wall. It’s an ugly thing, some ancient battle clumsily sewn into the fabric, but behind it is the secret door.

    I push the wall and it slides easily. The dust on the stairs shows no sign of raiders’ footprints. I descend the stairs slowly, the darkness making me temporarily blind.

    What’s that smell? I think, peering through the darkness. It’s awfully familiar.

    I can’t make anything out yet, but the sickly sweet smell is something I should know. But what?

    I continue down the stairs, the smell growing stronger the further down I venture.

    As it gets stronger, I remember what it is.

        Damn.

            It’s too late to turn back. And I need that food.

    I sprint down the stairs and see them.