Page 39 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

The abrupt sound of metal bars scraping against the stone of a nearby cell echoes through the space.

Quickly, I crouch and keep my back to the wall, trying to remain hidden as I wait quietly to discover the source.

A guard approaches as I remain motionless, holding my breath, careful not to draw his attention. Fortunately, the guards no longer check my cell in their confidence that I would never attempt to escape this prison, let alone achieve it. I will prove them wrong.

“Behave yourself, you crazy old bastard. I’ll be back with your food,” the guard demands, and a short moment later, the scuffs of boots heading in the opposite direction inform me he is leaving the area.

The lack of bars clanging or lock turning indicates he’s left the cell open.

Briefly, I consider following and strangling the guard, but stealth and caution are my best weapons here. It could take them weeks before realizing my absence, should I leave no traces.With skill and a bit of luck, I could be out of this voiding prison without detection.

As the sound of footfalls fades into the distance, I inch my way closer to the cell. Peering inside, I see an old, disheveled Klendathian chained to his cell walls. His red eyes widen inshock at my appearance, causing him to jerk upright manically struggling against his short leg restraints.

“Lord Dagdorix?” he inquires, hopping up and down.

The prisoner is clearly mad. His clothes are rotten and stained brown. How long has the poor wretch been here for? Tattoos cover his body and face, depicting runes so small and intricate it’s impossible to discern their meaning. They mark him as a Magaxus Elder. Despite that, sympathy stirs within me, as death would be preferable to this pitiful existence.

Before I can answer his delirious inquiry, he mutters again,

“Dagdorix, Dagdorix, Star Eyes, Star Eyes,” in a fevered, nonsensical chant.

Looking beyond the Elder, I notice his cell is much more spacious than the tiny crevice that held me. A gust of ashen wind brushes my long black hair, drawing my attention to a stone window in the room’s corner.

I can escape through there!

Relief floods through me as I step into his cell. I move cautiously towards the window. However, the clattering of metal boots descending stone steps halts me in my tracks. With haste, I press my back against the darkest corner of the room, hoping to remain undetected.

The gray long-haired, bearded elder is still screaming “Dagdorix Star Eyes!” but thankfully he’s staring at the cell door, bouncing on hands and feet.

“What did I tell you?” the tall, brown-haired guard demands as he steps into the cell holding a wooden bowl of steaming hot slop.

I hold my breath and my pulse rises with tension, ready to kill the guard the instant he notices me. I half-close my eyes, so the purple glow does not betray my position.

“Dagdorix walks amongst us! Yes, soon he will take me, his blessed chosen away from here, and punish the wicked,” the old elder babbles, straining against his chains towards the guard.

The guard tuts loudly, placing the bowl at the elder’s feet.

“Last week you claimed your shit bucket was a gift from Machsin. And the week before… What was it? Arawnoth was calling to you from the window to a great battle?” the armored man asks mockingly before striking the elder with the back of his hand. “Now silence. I don’t want to come back down here.”

The elder spits blood but laughs deliriously.

“With purple eyes, he sees your sins. Sun and Moon bear witness. The wicked will be punished, the faithless blinded by a false God,” he rambles, before greedily scoffing from his food bowl.

Although I am tense, like a tightly coiled spring, I remain motionless, primed to act but wary of revealing myself too soon.

The guard holds his hands up as if defeat before turning to leave the cell, muttering to himself, “Voiding lunatic.”

I wait in the shadows, listening for the footsteps to fade entirely before exhaling a long-held breath.

I glance back at the elder. His mad ramblings fall to the wayside versus his hunger, as he eagerly devours the disgusting gruel. Thankfully, he takes no notice as I leap up onto the window ledge in the room’s corner. The path of escape is laid before me. In the tight confines of the window, I crawl on my hands and knees through the long opening. In an instant, the searing ash from the treacherous peaks of Scarn sting and burn my eyes.

Emerging from the opening onto the exposed cliffs of Scarn, I am confronted by the daunting task ahead of me. Ominous black clouds above unleash a torrent of sulfur-tinged rain. Its yellowish hue irritates my bare skin. The ashen wind howls relentlessly, threatening to unbalance me as I cling to myprecarious perch, battling the combined sensation of sticky humidity and bone-chilling cold.

I will have to be quick in my descent. I am utterly exposed with only my loincloth as clothing. It’ll not take long for me to succumb to the brutal elements. Below me, for as far as my eye can see, are sharp and brutal volcanic crags, waiting eternally for one mistake, one slip to claim another victim. They have tasted the blood of many over the years, brave souls lost in their pursuit to petition the Council of Elders.

I will not fall so easily.

Nothing will stop me reaching my Pebbles, not even the wrath of these accursed volcanic mountains. Without another moment’s consideration, I begin my descent with speed. I dig my razor-sharp claws into the solid rock, not trusting my fingers alone against the slick, rain-covered, ashy surfaces. I am reaching a rhythm when suddenly, a savage bolt of purple lightning strikes dangerously close, causing me to shield my face with my left arm as chunks of stone shatter off the cliff, nearly dislodging me. The subsequent thunderous roar echoes like the war cry of a vengeful god.

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