Darmin breathed heavily, excitement filling his chest. He was so close. His eyes scanned the page of the heavy, weathered book, its edges tattered from centuries of use. The smooth leather-bound spine pressed into his hand. Running his finger down the yellowed pages his eyes fell upon what he needed printed in scrawling, loopy cursive: The Great Wizard Ashberg.
The Great Wizard Ashberg, he read in his mind, is to be found in Danin Collin Valley. Finally. His years of searching had come to fruition. His eyes raked over the rest of the small print on the page but found nothing else helpful. Closing his book and returning it to the worn shelf of the old library, Darmin nodded to himself, knowing what needed to be done as he tromped to his dwelling. Ample preparation would be needed for the journey ahead.
In his home he packed food: dried meats, bread, and cheese; a change of clothes; a map; and a nap sack. Grabbing a gnarled walking stick from outside, he rehearsed everything else he needed in his head. It would be a long journey to Danin Collin Valley.
Walking along a river on a beaten path, Darmin knew what he wanted, and another book had confirmed that the Great Wizard Ashberg could provide it for him. It was important as everything he did was, but this was the most important thing he had ever attempted. Dared he think it? An army. Made of shadows. He believed he had the skill to conjure it. It would take months of preparation of course, and who knew what state Ashberg would be in when He arrived in Danin Collin. Aside from the pride he felt blooming in his heart, he also felt a flicker of fear. What if it didn’t work? Or what if Ashberg refused to teach him?
Great Ashberg was most known for leading the Naroth army into battle. Fiercely conjuring spells alongside some of the bravest men in history, he had defended his homeland. The men had been strong and fought with axes and swords, but they would not have been victorious had it not been for Ashberg leading them, dealing death blow after death blow and striking courage into the hearts of his comrades.
As Darmin walked on the pine-needle laiden path the smell of pine assailed his senses. Listening to the rushing waters of the river, he felt peaceful. His mood matched his surroundings that held gently cawing birds and a slight breeze. A feeling of elation bounced in his stomach denoting his excitement at drawing nearer to Ashberg and the creation of his great army.
Days and nights passed with Darmin sleeping on the ground and eating his provisions. On the seventh morning, having arrived to his sleeping place that night in the dark, he awoke on a hill, sitting up to see a view of Danin Collin Valley. Multitudes of vibrant green trees, oak and pine, dotted the valley along with a brown mass of a small village on the far east side that was highlighted by the rising sun. Darmin took a deep inhale and admired the view. It was glorious, but a world this glorious had still not seen the might and power of his soon to be army. The world could only be made better by it, and Darmin reveled in the thought of the riches that lay in his future.
Trekking into the woods to find Ashberg, since he certainly did not live in a village, because wizards did not often mix with humans, they preferred privacy to practice their magic in peace. The humans tended to bother the wizards with requests to use their magic for them, he found a path to traverse. Walking through the trees for a day and a night, he looked for him until the next day he came upon a stone hut with a straw roof built between two groves of aspen trees. This may be the hut of Ashberg.
He straightened himself and walked up to the door and knocked. Pearly white teeth bit his lip as he felt a thrill of anxiousness race down his spine. He waited thirty seconds until the door creaked open. The Great Wizard Ashberg himself stood on the other side of the threshold. He had a short white beard and scraggly white eyebrows. He was balding too. He was wearing a green wizard’s robe which had sleeves that hit an inch above his wrists. He was little known to all wizards and all people in general due to the dark magic that he possessed. But to the ones that did know him, the ones who practiced dark magic, and in Darmin’s book, the ones who counted, he was agreed upon to be great.
“Hello,” Darmin said, “I am come to–.”
“Who are you?” Ashberg interrupted, glaring at him.
“I am the wizard Darmin, come to seek your mentorship on a rumored spell that creates armies.”
Ashberg just stared at him for several seconds until Darmin wasn’t sure if he had heard him. Then he said, “Come in.”
Darmin regaled him with the story of his long trek to find him and explained his intention of creating a shadow army. To rule the world no less. Darmin was one to revel in opulence and seek out riches and the finer things in this world. He explained that Ashberg was the one he needed to bring his goal to completion.
“I agree, you do need me,” he said, “this spell is a dangerous one indeed. It hasn’t been attempted for eons. The records of its outcomes and effects are sparse. I can’t recommend that you try to learn the spell, therefore, I refuse to teach you.”
Darmin couldn’t believe it. He had come all this way just to be refused. Anger welled up inside of him, “If you won’t teach it to me, I will find a way to learn it myself.”
“That is impossible. You would be remiss to attempt it on your own and of course I am the only one who possesses such knowledge.”
“Please, I beg of you, I must create this army,” He said, his voice going hoarse. Darmin stared at Ashberg. Then, muttering words, he began to say an incantation to disable Ashberg.
“Are you attempting a spell against me?” Ashberg roared in outrage. He muttered a counterattack and Darmin’s voice was silenced. Ashberg took a steadying breath, sensing he was safe now.
Eventually he said in resignation, “I am too old to deny it to you, I might as well pass on the knowledge before I am gone. Very well, I shall teach you. It is called the spell of Gnarlock. Come.”
Darmin’s vocals restored, Ashberg led Darmin behind the hut where he saw another building built out of sturdy-looking wood. Coming to the door they both stepped inside and Darmin saw that it was an observatory of sorts that was filled with magical equipment and shelves lined with books. Cauldrons and misplaced books and maps littered a table along with beakers, telescopes, and jars filled with strange looking plants.
Ashberg walked up a set of old stairs to a loft that housed shelves. Pulling an old leather-bound copy off the shelf and bringing it down to the table where Darmin awaited, Ashberg gave Darmin a long look. Then, muttering to himself, he began thumbing through pages, stopping on a less used-looking page. The page was titled The Spell Of Gnarlock and was covered with warnings about the danger of the spell. One read: Those who attempt this spell may unleash more than they intend. The author advised that the spell was for reading purposes only and should not be attempted. Darmin disregarded the warnings.
Ashberg read aloud, “The spell of Gnarlock takes a potion brewed with rare ingredients over a fire, completed on the night of a full moon with dozens of words that must be memorized and said out loud over the potion. Then one must drink the potion, then spit in the fire and remove the cauldron. The fire will then grow bright and the Gnarlock will form. A dark mist will emerge and form into a human shape until it resembles the silhouette of a person that is long and slender. Then this will be repeated, one by one, until your army is formed.” Under that it listed ingredients to the potion and the words that needed to be memorized.
“The words to the spell of Gnarlock: Sen argentum nastaroth slenseeth a mandulum comarlune ya an argun solan a mendan thenmarnarnap insen deena nroth argun carn nemdulum argentum a slenseeth an rhenarn yandere en andrel endreb bener nastaron aneron a argentum.”
“Those are quite unique words,” Darmin said
“They are the words that make an army for you. Do not take them lightly,” Ashberg commanded.
“And these potion ingredients,” Darmin remarked running his finger along the page, “I’ve never seen half of them,”
“I know where to find them,” said Ashberg, “But we will have to take a journey for some of them, many are hard to find,”
“Lead the way,” said Darmin.
II
At last, it was ready. Ashberg and Darmin had labored for nearly a year perfecting their spell. Part of Darmin thought that the reason for Ashberg’s tireless laboring was that he wanted his legacy passed down to Darmin. Perhaps if Darmin was successful he could be remembered as having the Great Wizard Ashberg as his mentor and Ashberg would have one more accomplishment to his name before he died.
Gathering ingredients and memorizing words, while also practicing proper pronunciation and techniques, they were finally ready. It was the night of the full moon and Ashberg and Darmin were busy building a fire in a clearing by Ashberg’s hut. Once done Ashberg placed his cauldron on some wood over the flames. He started putting the rare ingredients in, following the directions with exactly as written. It took hours for the potion to brew. Then, once it was ready, Ashberg ordered Darmin to say the words.
He recited from memory, “Sen argentum nastaroth slenseeth a mandulum comarlune ya an argun solan a mendan thenmarnarnap insen deena nroth argun carn nemdulum argentum a slenseeth an rhenarn yandere en andrel endreb bener nastaron aneron a argentum.”
The final words left his lips as he quickly dipped the ladel. The bubbling liquid was poured into the glass. Smiling, Darmin drank it. With a mighty blow he spat it into the fire. Quickly, he pulled the cauldron from the flames. The fire grew brighter and brighter, then so bright they had to look away. Then a small glowing mass formed and grew more concentrated in the center of the fire.
The mass began to radiate blackness inches from its center. It stood like that for a few seconds then it fell into the fire with a thud putting the fire out. A round black translucent stone sat there with a bright center two inches wide. The black portion of the rock was the size of two fists put together. A dark mist began to emmenate from the rock. It grew and grew, undulating around the rock and extinguished the fire. Growing some more it began to form shape. Resembling a translucent silhouette of a human as the book had described, tall and slender, it stood there for a second. Then something crackled and popped, and the fire sparked back to life and the silhouette was scattered. A roar went up out of the fire, and something like a shooting star shot out of the fire and into the woods.
“Oh no,” Ashberg said gravely, “I knew this wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“What was that,” Darmin asked, slightly breathlessly.
“That was very bad news. I am not quite sure what it was, but we will find out soon enough.”
The fire went out again. The silhouette reformed from the rock – its source of power, the Gnarlock. Then another one formed. And another. They kept forming until there were hundreds then thousands of them standing silently amongst the trees.
“Wow, I’VE DONE IT!”He exclaimed, feeling jubilant and beaming at his army of Argentas.
“Something went wrong,” Ashberg commented, “There shouldn’t have been that roar or that flash of whatever we saw.” Ashberg checked his book. He looked grave.
“What is it?” Darmin asked.
“We may have created a beast,” Ashberg said, “Look,” he pointed to a picture on the page. It was of a six legged hard shelled creature with antennas.
“What do they do?” Darmin asked.
“it doesn’t say, all it has is the picture, but it can’t be good.” The monster had shot off into the distance, too far for Darmin and Ashberg to see it. They looked around at their army.
“We march for the palace in the morning,” Darmin commanded, “But what of the monster?” He asked Ashberg.
“We must search for it, the situation is too dire,” he said, strained. Darmin commanded his army to stay put and followed Ashberg through the trees.
III
Hours later, Darmin and Ashberg came upon a village. The houses’ walls were bent and mangled, with sides crushed inward. were torn down and crumbled pieces of the statue in the city square lay on the cobblestone streets.
“How has this happened?” Darmin said in shock. Darmin and Ashberg hurried forward to survey the wreckage up close.
“I’m guessing that whatever that thing was last night did this,” Ashberg remarked as he surveyed the collapsed remnants.
“I think so too,” remarked Darmin. Then his eyes grew big, “Look out,” He said. Ashberg turned around and first saw two long antennas. He followed them to see the hard shell, pointy teeth, and six legs. Coming to just below Ashberg’s knee, the creature pointed its antenna at Ashberg and they began to glow.
“It’s just a baby,” he said. Then Ashberg’s knees began to wobble suspiciously.
“No,” He breathed. His breathing quickened as if he was running. Fumbling in his mind for any spell that could counteract this creature he at last thought of one and said it, pointing at the creature. It had little effect, only making the creature stumble, before getting back up and continuing to weaken Ashberg. Darmin tried a spell too. It did the same thing. Then they both rapidly fired whatever spells came to mind but the creature was unyielding.
“Run.” Darmin said. They both turned to run and the creature followed, easily keeping up. Then it caught up and pinned Ashberg to the ground with its six pointy legs. Ashberg grew even weaker and stopped being able to fight back.
“No!” Darmin yelled, he fired spell after spell at the nameless creature, but it kept Ashberg pinned.
“Run!” Ashberg yelled. Darmin hesitated, but then saw that he had no choice and ran. He didn’t know where else to go so he ran towards Ashberg’s hut. Ashberg remained pinned under the creature, still weakening. He inhaled, “Run,” he whispered one last time, and he exhaled through his mouth with a soft huh sound, not being able to find another inhale.
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