# The Infernal Legacies: Chains of the Infernal, chapter 1



## Farseer Ulthris (Sep 6, 2008)

This the stuff I've been working on for a while, my own homebrew fantasy universe called the _Infernal Legacies_. No one else has read it before, so I thought I might as well showcase what I have. Any questions I will gladly answer, I've got so much stuff in this universe it will make you :hang1: just from the sheer quantity of it. All I will reveal is that this stuff can become *VERY* dark.

_"Change happens, for better or worse, gods only know it does. But what if that change is the result of the darkest of circumstances? What would it make of us? Do we become the better for it, allowing us to understand the plight of others, to become a better person regardless of species? It is only natural to wish for that convenience, sometimes reality begs to differ. The darkest of these can bring out the beast in all of us; Man, Elf, Dwarf or our half-blooded kindred. One race above all revels in this, to turn the most innocent of children into the most sadistic of murderers, the most heartless of monsters. This is our twisted kin, the Helvete Elves, descended from the most depraved of our ancestors. For the Atsuomalai, though we deny ourselves the need for vengeance, to sate a bloodthirst and replace it with the need to satisfy justice. Sadly, not even we are spared from its wrathful touch, those who have it in their hearts join the Koston Veljeskunnan , the brotherhoods of vengeance, Atsuomalai who have lost much at the hands of our fallen kin. They now roam the Wilds of the frost into the lands of the Northmen and the Epäpyhä Surmaajat, seeking to quench their losses in blood or through the suffering of our despoiled kinsmen. For some, the fire in their hearts becomes extinguished, yearning once more for a peaceful life; a life no longer bathed in blood. For some, their wounds are so deep that the fire burns until they sleep in the halls of our ancestors, those who cause death will be repayed in full. The Koston Veljeskunnan at least know how control themselves, what becomes of those of other races, those who take such matters further? Alas, only the divine will know."_
Vaarunen Kuruulä's _Ohut rivillä verestä: koston makeutta?_ (A thin line of blood: the sweetness of vengeance?)

_Chapter 1: A Delivery of goods, an exchange of knowledge_

The trees of the forest began to break into open sky, for Taelir it proved somewhat breathtaking. The wheels of the cart added to the ambience of the journey, it's gentle rocking proving somewhat soothing for the Uachairn. The New world offers many splendid sights, though Taelir was born here 14 summers ago, he always was fascinated by the variety this place offers. _Still wild, none have touched it yet_ he thought to himself, he scanned the the area around him, eyes wary for any bandits, beasts, rival clan members and hostile Greywings, such was the nature of this wild place. A voice broke him from his vigil, "we're almost there young one, can you see the smoke up ahead?", Taelir looked ahead, he could see the thin wisps of smoke rising in the distance, he silently berated himself for not seeing it sooner, if he couldn't spot the smoke, then he could not detect any potential assailant. As they drew closer, Taelir felt a peculiar sensation, a power that was unseen and unfelt...at least not to Spellcasters. He concluded that it was wards that he felt, designed to protect the settlement from hostile magics and demonic entities. They were clearly well hidden, meaning enemies with magic would be hard pressed to find them. "What is this settlement Uncle Serraes?", "tis a place where our Albyne kinsman have settled, a port to bring in and export goods named Ferydwen". Taelir shrugged, it didn't surprise him in the slightest "so this is where our goods will go then?", Serraes chuckled "aye my lad, our friend Jonas has given us the names of a few contacts, interested in what the clan offers". The Uachairn grinned a little, the Ruaridhan Yslyren made the finest jewellery out of all the clans that roam the New world, if they wanted the best they will get the best. They drew close to the port's wooden stake walls, _cowards_, thought Taelir, the Uachairn were ones to face the world, not hide from it. Two guards stood in front of the walls, each garbed in an ornate breastplate, gauntlets, scale mail and boots, each carried a sword, spear and shield, each simplistic enough in their design and cloaks of red wool adorned their backs. They raised their hands, "halt travellers, what business draws you to Ferydwen?", Serraes nodded to the Taelir, the most recent generation of the Ruaridhan Yslyren could speak Albyne Imperial, a gift from the urban cousins who chose to abandon their households. "We have a delivery of our artisan's finest jewellery and barrels of our finest mead", replied the 14 year old, the two Albyne guards glanced at the cart, content with their observations they finally spoke "fine you may enter...but cause trouble and you will answer to our blades, is that clear Uachairn?". He nodded, "good", the two guards then pushed open the gate. Serraes ordered the horses forward, into the heart of Ferydwen itself.

Taelir was surprised at how crowded the town's streets were, _there must be at least over 700 people here_. The Ruaridhan Yslyren only numbered at least 300, then again, must be the tight spaces that made it seem there were more. The town's occupants paused, like they have never seen the braided hair, the azure tattoos and the pointed ears of the Uachairn. Slightly unnerved, Taelir turned to Serraes, "why do they stare at us uncle?", he chuckled, baffling his nephew a little, "my boy, when you live for 500 years, you tend to learn that others stare at you because you are not one of them. Trust me when I say this...they're jealous of our fine hair". The two Uachairn burst into laughter, safe in the understanding that the Albynes could not understand a single word they spoke. Taelir gently tugged at one of his silken brown braids "well we certainly know how to make ourselves look good uncle, perhaps matching the Dawn Elves?". Serraes tucked his hand under his chin in mock thought "well my young nephew, by my powers of deduction our chances of besting them are". The older Uachairn paused, then smiled "when hell freezes over lad, when hell freezes over...now where in the name of the god's is that merchant". The younger Uachairn scanned the crowd, it frustrated him seeing as they all looked the same, _are we really related to these...peacocks?_ As if answering their wishes, one of the crowd raised his hand. Flamboyant even for one of the locals, _this must be our contact_. The gaudy Albyne approached them, "hail Uachairn and welcome", Taelir replied "aye tis us, you must be Marius I take it?". The merchant smiled, "indeed, that is my name..." he paused to look at cart, licking his lips he continued "I take it you have brought the goods then?", "and I take it you have what we need?". Marius stroked his chin, "indeed, I have what you need boy"; Taelir smiled "then we have an accord". "Good" replied the merchant, "if you will both follow me to my shop, there we will make our exchange". The young Uachairn glanced at his uncle, he nodded, he barely understood the language used by their diluted kinsman, but he got the general gist of the conversation, "then follow we shall, my name is Taelir Ans-Firaen, this is my uncle Serraes Aoife-Rachaern".

"You're a bit young aren't you?", the Albyne incquired; Taelir raised his eyebrow, "pardon?". The 14 year old found it strange, at his age many responsibilities were heaped upon him as is fitting for those who come of age. Marius raised his hands in apology, "sorry if I offended you, but normally the Uachairn who I have dealt with are adults". He understood, the Albynes have different standards when it comes to adulthood; Taelir smiled "you haven't offended me, it's just that such questions are....rare to say the least. The young ones of the clans are considered adults at the age of 14...I understand with the Albynes it's 18". Marius shrugged, "depends where in the Empire you are...but that is a story for another time, in the meantime stop the cart, we're here". Looking around, for Taelir the merchant's shop seemed too impractical, it's gaudy appearance in line with it's owner. Walls lined with gold and silver, the crystal glass windows revealing the the lush wares the establishment boasts of; a stark contrast to the rough and ready appearance of the Uachairn. Taelir's eyes widened, "it's a miracle no one has decided to smelt your shop merchant, seems you must have trouble with thieves I imagine?". Giggling a little, Marius replied "when I first came there was that problem, but nowadays it pays to have a few Njalathari to watch over it", the younger Uachairn glanced at his uncle, "can't argue with that" Serraes replied. The merchant chuckled, "judging by your uncle's tone he agrees with my choices, I may not understand Uachic but I do understand tone of voice". "Hehe, he certainly does"; as Taelir finished speaking, the merchant opened the door into his opulent shop, he yelled "Björn! Sven! Koma hjálpa með vöru!". In response two tall muscular men, both with long-braided hair and beards, though one had blonde hair and the other had a shade of dark red. Both were clad in animal pelts and chain mail; they both approached the cart and began heaving the cargo into Marius' emporium. Upon the second mead barrel, the two almost slipped, "Vertu blíður við það þið! Þetta eru dýrmætur þú veist!!" yelled the Albyne. Taelir spoke next, confusion etched his voice, "any idea what he just said uncle?", Serraes nodded his head, "afraid not lad, I only speak our tongue and that of the Éin-tíre". Marius returned his attention to the two Uachairn "apologies for that, you just can't get the staff these days, my warehouse is around the back, your goods are there". 

The merchant carried on speaking as they walked "it was quite fortuitous that I managed to acquire this place, so close to the docks and to my shop, there is quite the story involved in it's acquisition...", the two Uachairn drifted into their own conversation, uninterested in the merchant's self-indulgent ramblings, "do they always go on with themselves uncle? This Albyne just does not know when to shut up, Jonah himself does not go on with himself this much". Serraes shook his head, "be thankful you can understand him Taelir, to me it just sounds like the non-sensical gibberish of an ego-maniac". The 14 year old groaned "I certainly wish I didn't, his words reek of vainglory and self-gratification combined with a load of horse-", his uncle cut him off "be polite, he may deserve what you say of him but don't go there, he probably doesn't trust us enough as it is", Taelir frowned a little, "besides lad, us speaking behind his back does not help", "then what is it we are doing now uncle?". Serraes shrugged his shoulders, "alright, I'll let you have that one nephew". As they looked ahead, they could see that Marius had begun to fiddle with the locks, he was shouting in Njalatharic, "Bölva þér Hroth!!! láta okkur í þú heimskur sonur ...". The warehouse doors opened to reveal a much bigger Njalathari within the threshold. He looked at the two Uachairn and immediately returned to the inside of the warehouse. "Let us help you Hroth, you can not carry them by yourself" offered Taelir, who followed the Northman into the warehouse. From his perspective, the warehouse was quite dusty, _guess they clean them when they go in the store_. Hroth smiled "thank you lad, by Ulfgar most folk don't offer to help", the boy chuckled "Uachairn aren't most folk, we collaborate for the good of the clan". "That is something both our people share Alfar-blooded one, for the sons of the ice life is much harder without each other we may as well remain slaves". The two then began to heft a crate, Hroth continued speaking, "the Njalathari must be strong, individually and together with his shield-brothers, lest he be left to die in the frozen lands of our forefathers", "I can't argue with that notion, life in Njalathai must be hard" replied the Uachairn. The Warehouse manager paused, trying to choose the right words, "I suppose it depends on where you are, the kinsman down South have it easiest, those who live North-west have it harder. Mid-winter is an utter nightmare, I feel sorry for those of your kin who wonder the snow-drifts". Taelir raised his eyebrow in surprise, "I didn't know there were Uachairn in Njalathai, I'd have thought any who chose to live there would be.." "insane, I know thats what people say and if that is the case then so is fate". This Northman has a point I wonder if... a voice, speaking in Uachic, cut off Taelir's train of thought, "will you two hurry up?! we're burning daylight our here and I'm not getting any younger or pretty", the speaker was Serraes, "we'll be right with you uncle". He turned to Hroth "guess we better keep on moving these".

It was two hours later when they were finally finished loading the cart, Taelir wiped the sweat off his brow, but his uncle was more tired out. _I understand uncle, you were born in Albyon_, the weather is not so warm there, "finally", the older Uachairn exclaimed. "We can finally get going back to the clan". "Before you go" asked Marius, "would you care to toast to future business?" The Albyne merchant held out a bottle of luminous blue liquid, "the finest Celestial wine, freshly imported from the Dawnlands", Taelir shook his head "I'm sorry Marius we cannot tarry for a moment longer, we must be getting back". He frowned, "I'm sorry to hear that, here take this", he threw the azure bottle, Serraes caught it, "our thanks merchant...may the old gods bring you fortune". Marius laughed "I already have it friends, seems you need it more". Taking the reigns, the older Uachairn issued a command and the horses were moving. Another thought began to bristle in Taelir's mind, a thought he decided to give voice, "uncle...did you know we had kinsmen in Njalathai?", Serraes replied, his voice etched in reluctance, "that I did, I dare say it's worse for them there then it is in Albyon, at least they mostly leave us alone whilst the Helvete Elves actively hunt us for sport, seeing us a travelling freakshow". He placed a hand on the 14 year old's shoulder, "trust me lad, it's best not to discuss their fates, no other clan speaks of the doomed ones".

Feel free to comment...it would be greatly appreciated. Same goes with ideas on improvement.


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