WARRIOR PURE and the Hunt for North Soul

Warrior Pure and the Hunt for North Soul

Written and illustrated by Pure

A cold North-eastern wind howled into the barracks of what had become Pure’s home the past eleven years. He shivered as he struggled into his Frozen Red armour with his numb fingers. Not one area of his armour could be found free from the kisses of war, but it was reliable enough. Besides, he hated getting accustomed to new armour and all the nuisances that followed. But he did make exceptions in special occasions. Pure gazed fondly at his prized tiger-shaped helmet resting on his worn-out chair, the only furniture he owned apart from his hard, lumpy bed. The East Soul helmet, made from a special dark-gray metal that could freeze an enemy, had been won in the Battle of Cane during the lowliest times of Rakion, a time where evil had nearly triumphed. He shivered again as he looked out into the sullen, dry land outside.

The lands of Rakion had never felt a chill like this one as far as anyone could remember. Even Sir Fahl-con, the oldest man living and rumoured to be well into his second century, had never experienced anything like this. And just two weeks ago, the Great Mage Har-Ree Poh-Terr had prophesized that an evil was coming, an evil greater than Cane.

But Pure was just a soldier; he did not have time to dwell on such things. Leave that to the Great Mages and the Circle of Seven to ponder over. He donned his helmet, grabbing his mounted Red Moon sword off the wall as he walked out into the cold. The moon directly above its worn hilt glowed a dark red. Bright orange energies – he could not describe exactly what it was - orbited the moon. The blade was made of a dark metal, light for agility, with vicious curves running along the sides. It was short for a long sword, but like his armour, it was dependable and got him through many a battle alive.

But will it get me out alive today? Or the next battle? Or... Pure shook the thought off. He was growing senile.

There were reports of White Naks in the Eastern reaches of Rakion multiplying three times the norm. They were said to be illegally-fed dark magic by Hi-Yurrd Force – a group of fanatics that worshipped Naks. Pure and his comrades, a dwindling number as men these days chose to hide in fear rather than enlist into the army, were ordered to seek and destroy the fanatics.

“The portal is almost ready,” said a gaunt mage, noticing his approach. The mage was dressed in dark green silks, elaborately embroidered with golden vines, like all the other mages in this land.

Pure stepped back to let the mages continue their work, and noticed something glinting on the hard, cold ground. He picked up the strange stone that seemed to have a light of its own, and pocketed it without another thought. The other warriors had grouped around Pure as they waited for the mages to complete their spell.

“I hear that Hi-Yurrd Force is a clan of dark mages led by a pathetic, power-hungry blacksmith,” said Llama-Dis, trying to make conversation. Llama-Dis was renowned for his skill with the sword; young boys seeking glory came from afar in hopes of being apprenticed.

“Power-hungry and fried chicken hungry,” grunted Shee-Onix, a grizzled veteran whose battle instincts could be counted on.

“He do be mod-u-rate... duh... Argh-Ell inter-web board,” ventured Cah-Turr-Pi, a thick-minded warrior who was only accepted into their ranks because of the lack of swords.

“The portal is ready!” the gaunt mage announced, relieving Pure from having to hear Cah-Turr-Pi’s mindless dribble. “It should take you directly to the south of the enemy’s main camp exactly thirty-two yards away, effectively rendering you invisible behind the crop of trees it lies behind.”

Thank Ah-Jes for magic. Halfway across the land of Rakion faster than I can kill three Boss Samurais and that's only a mere second! He turned towards the mage.

“You have done well, mage. Now it is time for my sword to sing.”

The band of warriors ran into the portal, the Red Moon of Pure’s sword shining brightly above.

***

A flash of white. And silence.

***

It felt like an eternity.

Pure pulled himself onto one knee as he regained consciousness. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed his surroundings - bright, cold, and seemingly deserted.

What is this strange land, he thought to himself, all covered in a powder of white? It freezes my skin like how the East Soul helmet freezes my enemies....

As his eyes adjusted to the glaring brightness of the stark land, he noticed a slim, winged figurine standing atop the North-western mountain.

Could that be...? No, impossible. He faintly recognized the Protector of the North from his lessons in the dusty classrooms of Fahl-con long ago, but surely he could not be in the North now.

“Greetings warrior,” squeaked a voice from behind.

Pure jumped up and into his battle stance in one fluid motion, his Red Moon glowing fiercely in front of him. Very rarely was Pure surprised in battle, but he was surprised now.

“I am Asclei and I do not like swords pointed into my round tummy. Which reminds me - I’m hungry.”

The chubby mage was dressed in red silks that were cut in a foreign style not known to him. His pointed ears jutted out from beneath a strange red hat, a ball of white powder attached to the point. Seeing that the mage was without his staff, Pure sheafed his sword.

And if worst comes to worst, I still have my Poh-Kamon kung-fu.

“Is this the North?” Pure asked bluntly.

The mage gave him a look of ridicule and amusement. “Of course. Got any food?”

Pure tried not to let his puzzlement show. Is this a dream? Surely this is a dream, but why does it seem so real?

“Well?” asked the mage snapping Pure out of his thoughts. “Food! I am hungry and I want food.”

“I have no food,” replied Pure, scratching his head at the odd question. Fitting as this was an odd land.

“In that case, you better follow me inside. I’ll get you warm and comfy clothes! And BBQ duck for me!” With that, the mage sped off towards a monstrous mountain enveloping the east.

Pure had struggled to hide any signs of weakness, but it was cold here, even colder than back in the lands of Rakion. Shivering, he quickly ran after the mage who did not appear to wait for him – BBQ duck was calling and the mage was intent to answer it.

After what seemed like an eternity of running, the mountain finally grew larger. Growing on its shadowed western face was a monstrous structure - a large decagonal-shaped dome supported by four towering columns, two of which jutted out from the mountain. Pure could only imagine what forces roamed in this land that could shove a column into a mountain. Looking up, he saw icicles the length of longbows dangling dangerously along the parameter of the dome. Sensing his unease, the mage spoke.

“No worries! Those icicles only fall on our enemies!”

The mage scurried up an icy slope to the west of the structure and left Pure no choice but to follow. He dashed quickly underneath the dome, not trusting the icicle defensive mechanism one bit. Only when they were safely below the dome did Pure notice the massive entrance hidden on the mountain’s side. There was no gate house, nothing but a gaping hole. At that moment, Pure thought to himself - how can a fort be a fort without proper defenses? - and he did not receive an answer until after they had entered the fort itself.

The large, unguarded entrance was inviting enough, but it was merely an illusion. A company of fierce-looking warriors in strange, glowing red armour waited within the entrance; a battalion deeper in the fort were ready to provide their support. Pure suddenly realized these were the storied Inn-Cirk-Leat soldiers, hardened men who gave their lives to protect the North.

But the soldiers were only part of the illusion. Hidden in the shadows, the large opening abruptly concaved inwards to form a much smaller entranceway. If their enemies managed to evade the icicles, they would be forced to walk through the very narrow entranceway, two at most abreast. An army a hundredfold that of the Inn-Cirk-Leat would still be slaughtered mercilessly.

As Pure followed the mage through the narrow passageway, he noticed that the warriors were not alone. High above the passageway, ninjas were strategically perched in hidden crevices, ready to rain shuriken down on the enemy. Below, archers hid behind cross-shaped balistrarias, ready to loose arrows from glowing red bows. The warriors themselves waited safely in pockets carved at even intervals along the passage, slaying enemies that managed to evade the flying messengers of death.

Pure nervously eyed the soldiers who seemed to scrutinize his every move. It seemed like ages when the passageway finally opened into an empty, cavernous room with numerous doorways along the yellow, aging wall. He tried to count them all, but it made him dizzy. He could not even remember which door he came in from; all the doors were identical and whatever lay beyond was hidden in deep shadows. On the floor, a greenish purple pattern seemed to shift when he studied it for too long. An eerie glow emitted from the walls and floor, but he could see no torchlight or windows. Glancing up, he noticed more rings of door as far as the eye can see, disappearing into the shadows above. He could see no way of reaching these upper levels.

“Go through that doorway,” Asclei said, pointing to a door that seemed no different than the rest.

Pure found himself in a more brightly-lit room, this time lit by a more natural source – hundreds of candle-flames flickered along the wall opposite the door. A rich, intricately engraved oak desk with a matching chair stood next to a comfy bed, its entire surface covered with fluffy pillows. At that moment, Pure wanted to lie down and get some much needed rest. But from the corner of his eye, he noticed red armour gently pulsating an eerie glow as it floated in mid-air, dashing away all thoughts of sleep.

Cautiously, Pure walked toward the glowing armour which was similar in style to the Inn-Cirk-Leat’s. It even included the strange, pointed red hats. He gingerly touched the gauntlets and it fell easily into his hands. Pure put on the strange red armour and left his Frozen Red on the bed.

With heightened curiosity, Pure took a quick look around the room. On the oak desk was a large map pinned down on its surface. It was the map of the North. Red flags were pinned across the map. They were marked with words like “Ice Wind” “Soul Cannons” “White Dragons” ... all enemies of the North.

As he started to walk back out into the cavernous room, he noticed how surprisingly well the armour fit him. Even a highly-skilled blacksmith could not forge metal without flaw.

This must be the work of magic, but like no magic I’ve ever seen before. I can only imagine the wonders of magic weaved onto Runet steel...

Asclei was already seated on a bench next to a long table when he stepped into the cavernous room. A dozen BBQ ducks, crisped to perfection, lay on the table next to rich golden goblets of wine.

Where did all this food come from? A table can’t fit through these doors... Am I in the right place? There was only one door leading out from that candle-lit room...

“Sit! Sit! Enjoy the juicy meat!” gestured the mage with a haunch of duck, juice dribbling onto his chubby chin.

Pure obeyed, greedily shovelling in all the BBQ duck he could contain. Questions can be asked later. Now, I will enjoy the food.

When at last the platters of food were empty, the mage was the first to raise Pure’s unasked question.

“You must wonder why you’re here. We, the people of the North, are in dire need.” Asclei paused as if to wait for a reply. Seeing that he wasn’t going to receive one, he continued. “As you may have witnessed, our magic is great but not great enough to restore peace in what has long been a peaceful land. We seek The One who can help us. Come, we will talk along the way.”

Pure followed the mage as he walked through a door, seemingly chosen at random, and suddenly bright sunlight and cold wind struck him.

They were standing on a large stone ledge jutting out the top of a mountain. Across the large snowy expanse, he caught the silhouette of the Protector of the North shrouded in mist. His breath caught in his throat - they were on top of the fort itself.

Asclei suddenly threw back his staff which abruptly caught light. Pure shielded his eyes from the bright green fire as the mage, with his free hand, started weaving a spell. A large, translucent blob hung in the air and started flattening into a perfect circle. The mage swung his staff towards the circle, and it flashed a bright orange as the sparks from the staff touched it.

When Pure regained his sight again, he saw the mage standing next to the circle, his staff no longer glowing.

“Look through the Seeing Glass,” instructed the mage sombrely.

As Pure approached the Seeing Glass, he noticed how the scene behind it was fuzzy at first, but sharpening as he drew nearer. When he was standing directly in front of it, he could see his and the mage’s footsteps across the snowy expanse with vivid detail. It was intriguing at first, but after a while, he gave the mage a questioning look.

“The Protector of the North,” suggested Asclei.

He glanced to the mountain opposite of theirs. The mist seemed to vanish in the Seeing Glass and he saw the statue clearly as though he were standing next to it.

The Protector of the North appeared exactly as the diagrams in Fahl-con’s dusty old books. Long wings were raised high to either side, bearing close semblance to an Ice Wind, with both arms prematurely incomplete. No! Only one of the arms were incomplete, that is the left arm. The right arm should wield the Sword of the North Soul! Pure smiled at his wit.

“This is a grave matter,” Asclei said, wiping the grin off Pure’s face. “Without the North Soul, the Protector cannot watch over the Northern lands.”

It was all beginning to make sense now. The ancient lore - the North seeks help every ten thousand years to restore its peace and only one man can do it. But that is just a tale sung by tavern wenches...

“I am sure you have heard of the prophecy down South,” said Asclei as though reading his thoughts. “We will provide you all the Inn-Cirk-Leat warriors you need. As for the rest, you are on your own.”

With that, Asclei stepped into the doorway at the side of a massive stone and vanished.

That is all? How am I to succeed in retrieving the North Soul sword when the mighty battalions of Inn-Cirk-Leat and Northern Great Mages have failed?

Pure closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He was only a soldier whose sole duty was to protect his land. But he was also the leader of his clan of swords because of his quick wit.

I have always found a way out of these seemingly impossible situations and my East Soul helmet is the proof.

He paced around the top of the mountain, but found he could not think clearly. He needed more oxygen flowing through his brain, so he went through the door on the side of the rock and emerged back onto ground level, in the cavernous room with many doors. Randomly, he walked through one of them and found himself in the same candlelit room where he had found the armour. Sitting down on the oak chair, he let his mind wander.

North Soul sword... Protector of the North... Wings... His eyes suddenly focused on a red flag pinned on the map. Ice Wind.

Sir Fahl-con was a great warrior in his time, but when old age stole his sword away from him, he dedicated his life pouring wisdom into the people of Rakion. One of his lessons started playing in Pure’s mind. He could remembered it vividly: all eyes were on Fahl-con as he paced energetically up and down the classroom, staring intensely into the eyes of a student whenever he paused, sometimes shouting when he spoke...

...It was 1336 B.C. when the statue of the North, now called the Protector of the North, was erected. Commissioned by King Lurn-D to decorate his expansive Northern kingdom, he ordered it to bear the likeness of the Ice Winds. Lurn-D was best known for his love of Ice Winds, although it was and still is an evil creature. But his blinding, bestial love led to his downfall. He did not look past beauty, he did not look past the surface... and thus his reign ended quickly to the shrewd King Forever Oh-Kei... The statue passed from one generation to next, and all that time, it was what it was – a mere statue. Now, here is where things start to get interesting. It was not until well over a thousand years had passed when a band of mages in the Northern lands of Rakion perfected their magic with metal. They called it enchanting. In 83 B.C., a mage named Jo-E rose and became the greatest mage of all time. Jo-E, and a skilled blacksmith named Luh-Kee-Cill, worked together to create the ultimate weapon – the North Soul sword. It was created not to destroy life, but to protect it. And thus the Protector of the North wields the North Soul sword to thwart all evil from the Northern regions...

I really must thank Fahl-con for the lessons when I return - if I return. With that thought, Pure quickly ran out of the room, and came face to face with a platoon of Inn-Cirk-Leat. They stood attentively awaiting his orders.

“Daggers at the ready. North-east side of the mountain, to the Ice Wind lair, now!” barked Pure.

Along the narrow passageway they went and in to the blistering cold. They marched quickly down the icy slope, keeping the mountain close to their sides. Soon, Pure led them to the mouth of the Ice Wind’s lair, which was exactly where the map indicated. The lair was dark and no signs of life could be seen. Pure shouted loudly to the warriors to follow behind him. Their boots crunched noisily in the snow, but they made no efforts to keep quiet. They had to be bold. Ice Winds could only sense fear, and it was fear alone that gave them life.

Pure raised his Red Moon sword high, the bright red moon reflecting off the icy walls. Nothing moved as he swung his sword around.

Suddenly, the walls seemed to explode. Tall, winged figures melted away from the ice. The Ice Winds had been camouflaged against the walls. Pure could understand Lurn-D's obsession with these creatures.

Again, Pure swung his sword wildly, the red glow dancing in the Ice Winds’ frozen blue eyes. He could sense their hesitation and knew he had the upper hand.

“Hand me the North Soul sword!” he roared.

A strangely beautiful Ice Wind, who seemed both old and young at the same time, drew close to him, eyes unblinking.

“I am Aphre-Dote, leader of Ice Winds! The North Soul sword is rightfully ours. Return to your stony fort, for you are not welcome in my lair!” it shrieked, voice ringing shrilly off the walls.

“It was forged by the Northern mages and blacksmiths. We are the rightful owners,” shot back Pure, fist tightly clenching his sword.

“Silence! The Protector of the North is an Ice Wind, thus the rights of this Land is ours including the sword! All else is irrelevant and I am justified!” shrieked the Ice Wind, shaking in rage.

“The statue was also crafted by the Northerners, Aphre-Dote,” spat Pure.

“The King was our supporter and he wanted Ice Winds to rule the lands! Get out, or we shall strike!”

Pure swung his sword dangerously at the Ice Winds, and noticed them cower back.

“Oh really?” Pure taunted them again with his fiery sword. “I don’t wish for bloodshed here. I have just this to say: a statue that bears your likeness does not warrant you the rights to the land. And need I remind you that King Lurn-D is long dead from his own foolishness? Hand over the sword now and nobody gets hurt.”

The Ice Wind stared coldly at him, as still as the Protector. It seemed to be challenging him to a staring contest, so Pure stood his ground and gazed back.

An hour passed. Another rolled by. The platoon of Inn-Cirk-Leat started murmuring amongst themselves, while the other Ice Winds stood still as statues, nervously chewing their lips.

Aphre-Dote blinked. Narrowing her eyes in blinding rage, she shrieked to an Ice Wind in the back, “the North Soul!”

Pure smiled.

The massive sword was quickly in her slim, icy hand and just as quickly, the Ice Wind threw it straight at Pure.

But Pure was quicker. Sidestepping quickly to the left, he watched as the sword sailed past him, grabbing the hilt. Red Moon in his right hand and now the North Soul in his left, he turned back to the Ice Winds but they had melted into the walls.

An Inn-Cirk-Leat warrior silently swore at the spiteful Ice Wind, but then grinned and slapped Pure on his back.

“Good work, soldier. Let’s head back.”

***

It was dusk by the time they returned to the fortress and the place seemed to have transformed. Thousands of Inn-Cirk-Leat warriors and mages were outside in their red armours, shouting merrily at one another. The mages were jumping high in the air in what seemed like a highly choreographed dance. It was hypnotizing. When Pure finally peeled his eyes away, he approached the nearest Inn-Cirk-Leat warrior.

“What’s going on here?”

“Tonight is a doubly special night,” grinned the warrior. He had a scar running down from his right temple to his throat, but he looked more like a child than a heartless killer tonight. “We are celebrating the return of the North Soul sword and preparing the annual Christmas ritual for Santa!”

“Santa? You don’t mean...”

“Yes, the big fat guy who hands out the gifts,” chuckled the warrior. “He’s waiting to see you and the sword right now. Over there, beneath the dome.”

Pure had completely forgotten about the North Soul sword, partly due to the infectious Christmas excitement but mainly because it felt so natural in his hand – it seemed a part of him. He started to make his way up the icy ramp.

Another fairy tale comes true? Pure shook his head smiling.

A massive figure stood beneath the dome. He was dressed in the red armour of the North – or a variation of it as the armour exposed his upper body. The now familiar pointed red hat donned his gigantic head. He was big, but by no means fat. His eight-pack was visible in the moonlight, displayed for the entire world to see.

“Ho ho ho, Pure! You have restored peace in the North,” said Santa in a deep voice.

Pure made as to hand over the North Soul sword, but Santa gestured him away.

“Keep it, it is rightfully yours! Merry Christmas!” boomed Santa merrily.

“But won’t you need it to protect the North?” asked Pure.

“The sword is just an object. Alone, it cannot protect the North from evil. It is human goodness that wards us from evil... But if we ever need it, we know who to find,” said Santa with a wink. “Now go and celebrate!”

“Aren’t you going to come down too?” wondered Pure.

“I have a long night ahead of me. I’m going to conserve my energy and watch from up here,” said Santa smiling.

When Pure returned to the large expanse of snow, the throng of mages seemed to have grown tenfold. It was like watching thousands of hyper children all jumping and gyrating restlessly.

“Pure!” squeaked a familiar voice.

“Asclei! I have recovered the sword!”

“I know!” winked Asclei. “Are you ready to watch the ritual? The mages are performing a special dance to purify the magical forces in the air. Only the purest magic can be used for this ritual, and it requires the energies of all the mages.”

Pure nodded his thoughtfully. He asked, “How long will this take?”

“We’re ready! Come watch!” said Asclei, scurrying off without waiting for a reply.

He followed and watched as Asclei stopped beside a large chest, tapping it lightly with his staff. The chest sprung open to reveal glowing stones of all the colors of the rainbow. He watched as the mage grabbed a fistful of stones in his chubby hands, studying it in the twilight. Frowning, the mage threw them back in to select another assortment of stones. After a few times of doing this, Pure could sense that something was wrong and spoke his thoughts.

The mage looked up from the chest, clearly fustrated. “I just can’t seem to find a certain stone that I require...” said the mage, trailing off wordlessly. All the mages stopped dancing, their little mouths hanging open in surprise.

In the silence, Pure had I thought. “My Frozen Red armour!”

The mage looked at Pure with puzzlement written on his face, but asked no questions. “Get his Frozen Red armour. Now!”

A nearby mage scurried off towards the fort. A moment later, he returned with Pure’s frozen red armour floating in front of him.

Pure reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone. It glowed a haunting metallic green.

The mage smiled, and took the stone without question. He grabbed another fistful of stones and added it to Pure’s. Suddenly, Asclei threw back his staff, this time igniting it a bright red. With his other hand, he threw the stones into the air. Bright rings of oranges and reds pulsated from the mage’s outstretched hand. In the background, the mages cheered and resumed their frantic dance.

The glowing stones flew higher and higher, and as they passed through the pulsating hoops of light, they transformed into presents – boxes of all shapes and sizes wrapped in shiny red paper and decorated with bright green ribbons lined with silver. The dancing mages ooh and aahed as the presents seemed to multiply in the air. Soon hundreds were in the air and a great deal more were lying on the ground. He watched as the mages stopped their dancing to collect the presents in large, cloth bags.

***

It was nearly midnight when the ritual was complete. There was still a great deal of mages and warriors out celebrating, but Pure was feeling tired from his long day.

“Do you wish to return to your world?” asked Asclei, noticing him yawn for the umpteenth time.

“Please. I wish to stay a bit longer, but I am exhausted,” said Pure yawning.

The mage swung back his staff and wove the portal spell, just like how the mages did at home. Except it usually required a group of four to five mages.

“When you return, it will feel like none of this has happened,” said Asclei. Then the mage looked up with round, shining eyes. “Pure, we shall all I miss you and what you have done for us. Please come back and visit us soon!”

Pure smiled and stepped into the portal.

***

A flash of white. And the sound of battle.

Pure raised his North Soul sword towards the sky and shouted a battle cry, echoed by his clan.

As they marched towards the enemy’s camp, he smiled to himself. I can learn to like this sword.

End.

ARTWORK

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