Percival woke in a long hallway that was dimly lit by hanging rectangular lights. The lights were dwarven in make and were covered in small carvings and words. There were no windows, and the walls appeared to be made of sheets of aluminum or tin.

Sitting up, Percival clutched the sides of his head and tried to ignore the headache that arced through his skull. As the pain faded, he looked at the lights and tried to read them, but quickly remembered that he couldn't read Dwarvish, or Kazadul, as it is called.

Standing up on the carved stone floor, he stumbled groggily, but quickly righted himself. He was a little disoriented, as he tried to remember how he had gotten to this location, but the last thing he remembered was sitting down to dinner with Canoelloestel. It was in that moment, that Percival realised that he was alone, and began to run down the hallway, shouted his sister's name.

A deep-rooted panic set in, as he sprinted, his throat quickly becoming sore due to the vehemence and volume with which he cried out her name. "FARAMAUREA! FARAMAUREA! FARA--"

Percival was cut off in surprise as he reached a dead end in the hallway, and Immediately the floor fell out from underneath him. He descended into darkness, almost instantly losing his bearing.

With a splash, he fell into a warm, viscous liquid, the impact-preventing him from obtaining any severe injuries. It was enough, however, to knock the air out of his lungs. He then proceeded to drag himself, wheezing, and coughing, out of this liquid, onto the steel platform surrounding this vat. Lifting himself up onto his hands and knees, he retched out the portion of the liquid he had accidentally ingested.

Spitting to clear his mouth of the vile taste of bile, and iron, Percival waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust. They did this rather quickly, and his elven heritage assisted his ability to see in the darkness. Looking around, Percival saw that he was at the very edge of yet another hallway, but this one was much shorter, and a swirling mercury door barred the end of it. Admiring the door's craftsmanship, he drew his sword, and stabbed it into the center of the vortex, before casting "ollye sívë helcë!" 

As his voice rang out in a commanding tone, the flow of the mercury slowed before eventually coming to a complete stop. A snowflake appeared on the door, and within a minute, the door had frozen solid. Using all of the force in his body, he pulled the sword out of the frozen door, and, whirling, brought his sword down on the door, shattering the door into pieces. Pushing the frozen mercury out of his way, he stepped through the doorway, into the room before him.

As he waited once again for his eyes to adjust this time to the light of the tunnel, he tried to observe his surroundings. He was in what he had assumed was a tunnel, but it was actually a roofless hallway, barred at one end with a tungsten gate.  In the center of the hallway, there was a pedestal, with an open book on it. He saw nothing else that seemed important, so he approached it, getting halfway there before, falling to his knees, and grasping the sides of his head with a shout. He had never had such an agonizing headache, and it took him almost three minutes until the pain subsided enough so that he could continue.

When Percival reached the Book, the cover said "Parma Ello Le Sairina Eva Nar ar Nen ar Helcë," which he quickly translated to: "Book of The Magic of Fire, Water, and Ice." He opened up the silver rune inscribed cover, and inside was a voice, specifically the voice of Canoelloestel, that said: "This book I placed inside your mind to study wherever you go, and to know the spells, to use them well, against any foe. The sum of all my knowledge, in forever inscribed herein, that all of it is all you need to with certainty win."

Percival stood there, before the pedestal, and flipped through the pages of the manuscript. There are spells in here that I have never even heard of. He scanned through the book quickly, then picked it up to tuck the small tome into an inside cover of his cloak. 

But as soon as he picked it up, the pedestal sank deep into the floor, leaving a deep, gaping hole in front of him. Simultaneously, the tungsten gate began to rise, floating over the open-roofed hallway. With nowhere to go but forward, Percival proceeded on through the gate.

. . .

Faramaurea awoke, tied to a bed, her brother's name the first thing that flew from her lips. Or that would have been, but she was gagged, and it came out muffled and incomprehensible. The room was well lit, and she could see Canoelloestel standing in front of a mirror, and she could see Percival on it, walking in circles in a sandy colosseum. Looking down at her bonds, she pulled at the ropes, but even before she did so, she knew the futility of her action. The ropes were of elven make, and she could sense the magic coursing through her.

Canoelloestel turned around slowly, having heard her pulling on the ropes, and grimaced. Walking over, he knelt beside the bed, and said, in an oddly casual voice "If I ungag you, you must not scream. If you do not scream, I will untie you, at which point you must not attack me. In return, I give you my word that everything I am putting your brother through is entirely for his benefit. Honestly, I am an old man, over 9,000 years of age, and I would rather be in bed, at this ungodly hour." 

Faramaurea stole a glance at the clock on the wall, which was dwarven in origin, and noticed that the hour was 22:36 WTT. He continued kneeling for a moment longer, before reaching over, and removing her gag. "You are a sociopath, and a traitor. We trusted you, and this is how you repay our trust? With treachery, and deceit?" She glared at him as she said this, her eyes not matching her voice's rage, but instead showing hurt, and fear.

"Your courage serves you well, Daughter of the True King, but rage is unfitting to one of the emotional control theorists line" He untied her feet first, before untying her hands. Canoelloestel then extended a hand to her but cautioned her: "Slowly. The ropes were tight and may have affected your circulation. I would rather not face your brother in his rage, when he saw the resulting injury."

She stood, and stumbled over to the imagery port, with Canoelloestel walking just behind her, to ensure that she did not fall. "Percival!" she shouted into the portal, trying to get his attention.

"He cannot hear you, Faramaurea. The portal is a one way, visual only variety. He will find his way out on his own."

She whirled around and slapped him with the force of a god. Canoelloestel went down like a sack of potatoes, and rubbed his face, spitting out a glob of blood and salivation, onto the ground next to him. "I suppose I deserved that, but you must understand: Everything I am doing is simply to help your brother. I have great respect for your father's, and grandfather's traditions of apprenticeship, but their method takes time, and time is a luxury that we cannot afford. I had to devise a new method."

"Was it necessary to deprive us of consent?" She challenged him, not threatened by the fact that he was her elder some 6,000 years. "I am almost certain that with the trust we had for you, we would have consented to this new method."

"And yet, you do not trust me, when I say that this is all for his own good? Come with me." He implored her, before walking to the door in the back of the room, and opening it for her. She walked through it, glancing back as he shut the door. When he had shut the door, the room was engulfed in a darkness so thick that Faramaurea thought to herself that she could cut it with a knife. "Hold on, Faramaurea, I am turning on the lights now."

There was a brief buzzing sound, followed by a pop, as the dwarven lights flicked on, and an artificial glow filled the room. There, in the center of the room, lay Percival sleeping. Faramaurea ran over to him, and drew in a breath of relief. "It is a simulation of the Dream Realm then?"

"An induced one, yes." He replied, still rubbing his jaw. "I can't wake him up though."

She turned to him, more curious from an intellectual perspective, than she was aggressive, or concerned. "Why not?"

"I intentionally set it up that way. This simulation is designed for his own good, as I have told you multiple times now." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and continued. "I deduced, or rather, concluded, that you would want me to, after I took you to him. I couldn't allow that, so I decided to remove the spell Fail-Safe."

"Flawlessly logical." Faramaurea murmured, turning back to her brother, who rested on the table. "I suppose he is on his own then?"

"Yes, but such is the nature of The Trials anyway. They must be done alone. Luckily, Percival finished his before he left, as did your sister, but you two youths, are untested. There is nothing more dangerous, than an untested Wizard."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I am a druid, not a wizard. I was trained by my mother, ere her death, and Simon, Druid Leader of Elorean, ere his."

Canoelloestel smiled, and nodded. "So you are, Faramaurea, but you are still untested. That makes you dangerous, especially to Gygax, who doesn't know how strong you are. He will continue to underestimate you and your family, and it is you, who must strike the final blow." He stood, and holding out a hand, said, "Come along, Daughter of Saironellotoron II. Let us go watch the Trials of your brother."

. . .

Percival had walked into an arena, with seven doors, not including the one he had come out of. Sunlight shined down through the styled dome, and each door had a number above it except for his. His read: "Le Sairon nasë le mahtar ello Sairina." Which is to say, "The Wizard is the Warrior of Magic." It was a little redundant, and he glanced at it befuddled for a moment, before shaking his head, and continuing on.

When he reached the center of the arena, he stopped, because he felt a depression under his foot. Kneeling down, he brushed it off, and revealed a symbol of Ohtatur, the God of Conflict. Next to it, lay the symbol of Martamo, the Goddess of Dreams, Messages, and Minor World Creation. However, Percival did not recognize these symbols, because he had elected to bluff his way through the mythology section of his training.

Standing up, he scanned his surroundings before saying, "Where am I?"

A voice boomed back at him: "You are in my Arena!!!"

Percival drew his sword and very rapidly turned toward the source of the voice. Behind him, in the arena stands, stood Ohtatur, in his full Armor. Ohtatur jumped down, striking a bracing pose, before continuing, "But why have an Arena, without an audience?" Ohtatur gestured in a circle, and skeletons and corpses filled the Arena. None of them moved, but the various stages of decompression made Percival shiver with horror. "You shall face five challenges, each one more fierce than the rest, and if you survive, I will show you the way out. Do we have an accord?"

Percival stared at Ohtatur like he was insane. "What? No! Why would I--"

Ohtatur held up his hand and cut him off. "I was asking you as a courtesy; you have no real say in this. Have fun!!!" His form transformed into a puddle of Gloop, and he reappeared in the stands. "Let the games begin!" He exclaimed to the dead audience, while opening the first gate.

Out ran a pod of two female owlbears and three cublets. They charged straight at him, and Percival responded with a spell "Narrond!" He cast this at a mother-bear and struck her in the side. She collapsed with a shriek, and two of the cubs clucked at her in concern. She shook off what remained of her flames, and stood up, glaring at him. The second bear and her cub had reached him now, but he ducked underneath her swipe and thrust his sword hilt-deep into her chest. She roared, and struck him across the face, before falling to the ground dead.

Percival fell like a sack of lead-coated cannonballs but he did not register the pain because of the intensity of the situation itself. His mind did, however, register the fact that he was lucky to be alive, and it registered the fact that the slightly singed bear was running at him. Immediately he went for his sword, but he had dropped it when the bear had hit him, and he was now unarmed. More accurately though, he was unarmed except for the fact that he was a wizard. Really takes the thunder out of a moment Percival thought. If this was a narrative, and if I was the writer, I would really hate how the intensity of every action sequence was greatly limited by the fact that the main character could never be disarmed by any nonmagical means.  A snarl brought him back to reality, as the bear was now six feet away. It went the bite him while charging, but he instinctively side-stepped and placed his hand along the bear's side. With a shout, he cast "Valaélë!" It was a brand new spell to him, one he had skimmed over in the book, and he had decided to try it out spur of the moment.

With a blast of light, the bear went flying, a 700-pound ball of flesh, fur, and muscles, that slammed into the side of the Arena, cracking the wall, before thudding to the ground with one final moan, and collapsing into the eternal sleep. The three cublets stopped, and the two whose mother it was; ran over to her with a caw. Percival ran over and picked up his sword, while the two cublets wailed over the corpse of their recently deceased mother. The Third one, glanced at its mother, and let out a long mournful cry. Then it charged.

Percival brought up his blade, but at the last minute, an image of Faramaurea flashed before his eyes. He stepped out of the way instinctively, seconds before the cublet would have run onto the blade, and it did not have time to turn and face him. He shook his head to clear the image, but she consumed his thoughts, and a feeling of nature's calm filled him. 

At the same time, Ohtatur flinched, and then stood up, and screamed "NO!" He continued, "Slay your adversaries, or I will slay them and you!"

Percival turned toward him, and felt the calm flow throughout his person like the Nenquendi River. "No. No, because more important to me than any god, king, lord, or teacher, is my family. I would die for them, and I will fight to see them again. Kill me, if you will, but I will not waver, nor will I forsake that which is clearly what my sister would have me do."

"So be it." Ohtatur said, drawing his titanium greatsword. Then he jumped down and swung at one of the owlbears, but Percival blocked his sword. Percival calmly cast "Narynenyhelcamacil" 

Ohtatur swung at Percival, but Percival deflected it with his now glowing blade, before countering with a left side-back handed blow, that sent sparks flying off of the diety's armor. The God of Conflicts switched hands, but instead of attacking with his sword, he thrust out a hand, and sent Percival soaring across the Colosseum, and into a wall. With a backhanded strike, he sliced off a charging Cublet's head, without turning away from Percival. "I am a God, foolish immortal. You, even with your immortality, are no more than a blink in the eye of my eternity." He whirled his sword in an arch and raised it above his head. Percival raised his sword weakly, as Ohtatur's sword fell. 

"STAY THIS MADNESS!" A voice reverberated throughout the Colosseum with so much force that some of the dead were shaken from their seats. Percival spat out a wad of blood, and with a grunt of pain turned his head toward the voice. Hovering in the air above the stands, was a woman in a green and blue dress, with her hands extended out over the scene. Her brown hair flowed in the wind, and her white eyes made her a terrifying spectacle to behold. "Ohtatur, be gone. This is my realm, and I will not have the blood of Estelondo spilled in my domain." She snapped the fingers of her left hand, and Ohtatur was gone. She slowly floated down toward Percival, and placed a hand on his cheek. "I apologise for Ohtatur's behavior, but I'm afraid we are out of time. Wake Up, Son of The King, and Blessed of the Hope Stone."

With a jolt, Percival sat up in the bed, his sister's hand in his, and a look of awe on Canoelloestel's face. "Martamo," The Eldest stated, "rarely visits the inhabitants of the material realm, but from the stories your grandfather has told me; she seems to have taken to your family's fate. I believe her fate, and the fate of your line, are now intertwined, but I cannot say why."

Faramaurea embraced him, and whispered: "I do not know if we can trust Canoelloestel anymore, Percival." Percival glanced at Canoelloestel in confusion, but as Faramaurea told him what had happened, his eyes became wild with rage and horror. 

Percival stood suddenly, his eyes locked on The Commander, and ordered him: "Explain yourself!"

"You came to me for training, 'Blessed of the Hope Stone,' but time made that impossible. That tome is locked away in your memory, and with enough time, you can master all 27 spells, in that tome. They are yours to command. As am I, son of Meneltarma."

Percival grabbed by the front of his clothing and hissed "We trusted you. Our parents and our grandparents trusted you. This is how you repay our trust? By drugging their children and forcing them to go through sick mental simulations?"

Canoelloestel pushed Percival away and straightened his military uniform. "I stand by my actions. I did only that which was neccesary and showed you no dishonour in it. You can stay, and train, with the last great wizard trainer of the land, or, you can leave, and possibly doom Meneltarma to an eternal rule under Gygax." Faramaurea flinched at his name, but other than that, she showed no reaction. "Which do you choose, Son of Learannolga?"

Percival stepped back and began to take deep, angry breaths. "So be it. I will train with you, and we see if you can regain our trust. Then, we will take back the Throne from the Abomidible Usurper."

"Come along then, children. There is much to learn, and a limited timeframe to learn it in." Canoelloestel gestured them toward the steel door and said to himself "May your Guardian Goddess protect us all." With that, Faramaurea opened the door, and the two wizard men followed her out, into the evening streets of Le Elyanme.

Dear Readers,
Hello, and Salutations! There are a few things I would like to address, and then I will be on my way. 

1: The new cover was created by@ValkyrieVioletta  so give her a round of applause. This chapter is dedicated to her, so you can find her name there, and check out her books. It will be fun.

2: I have decided, and it is now confirmed, that after I finish this book and my poetic memoir, I am going to revise this book, and The Chronicles of Saironelloistya until they actually seem decent. Well, except for the fact that they won't ever be decent. Expect this book to be done by the End of August.

3: @VenomousKitsune Has a book club out now, and there are some great books in there. I would highly recommend that you not only check out the book club but the books in it as well. I am having a lot of fun just being a reader in it, so definitely go check that out.

4: After this chapter, I can finally get the actual plot rolling again because this should be the last of the insignificant events. I personally am excited for the next chapter, and I hope you all are too!

Well, I have an English assignment to do and it is currently 1:03 a.m. EST and I have to get up a 5:30 a.m. EST, so I have to get going. I will talk to you all later.

Sincerely,

Isaiah Oakley Le Istya
Live LOng and Prosper!