“Taking on the role of a Warden is not something to be done lightly. We are the shield of mankind against the djinn and death in service is all but a guarantee. Once you take up your relic, you cannot put it down regardless of how weary you may grow. Once your body tastes the sweet thrill of ether running through it, you will not physically be able to live without it. Experiments run on Warlocks and criminal Wardens have found the longest anyone can survive without consuming ether through combat is ninety days. Such a death is agony as every cell in your body craves ether energy. Eventually, like a man in a desert, your body caves in from lack of nourishment. This is not a problem Weavers suffer but such is the difference between the two roles.”
- A warning given to aspiring Wardens by Master Xasven, Cleric of the House of Lordell
Cain – Saturday, August 3rd, 564 AB
“Cain!” a young man’s voice called out from across the field. “Cain!”
I lowered an ivory and silver flute from my lips. My back was against the bark of willow next to the stream that ran past my father’s fields. I stood up and walked out from under the shade of the willow.
“There you are,” My brother William said with a sigh. “Father’s home, he’s called you to the house.”
He held out his hand for me. I slid the ivory flute into a wooden case lined with satin that hung on my belt. I grabbed his hand and swung into the saddle behind him. We rode across the pasture, jumping several fences and scattering sheep as we raced towards the fortified manor. A small wall went around the manor which was almost a castle in its own right. We dismounted and William took his horse into the stable. I walked towards the manor and my older half-brother Anders held up his hand looking me over.
“You can’t go inside sweaty like that,” he told me. “Mother would have a fit.”
I sighed but nodded and ran to the river around the back of the manor. I stripped out of my shirt and trousers, wading into the water and rinsing the sweat off of me. Even in the heat of the end of summer the water was icy cold from melting and flowing down from the mountains. Lady Elin would not be happy to see her husband’s bastard in her hall on the day of his returning from the frontier. I usually spent my time in the barracks or on patrol with the militia as part of my etheric conditioning. But, Father had requested my presence, so I would be there.
I pulled back on my shirt and trousers. Walking back to the house, I nodded to our household guards, and they bowed their heads respectfully. Even if I was a bastard, I was still my father’s son. I stepped into the shadows of the main house and into the great hall. My five other half-brothers were all there along with my four half-sisters.
My father was a bear of a man. I hadn’t inherited his massive size and brawn, resembling my mother more. A dark memory passed through my mind as I remembered her, the thunder of a storm echoing in my memories. My father turned to me, a bearskin cloak making him resemble a bear even more than his size. His smile broadened when he saw me, but I could see his wife’s face twist into a scowl behind him.
“Cain!” my father shouted and wrapped me in a hug.
“Father,” I said.
“I’m sorry I missed your seventeenth birthday,” he said, sitting down. “But I come bearing gifts.”
“You shouldn’t be wasting money,” Lady Elin admonished him.
“Hush Elin,” my father said, a frown briefly crossing his normally jovial face. He turned back to me. “I promised you when you were seven that I would make you into a Warden and I intend to keep that promise.”
“The cost of a relic should have been spent on your real sons,” Lady Elin snapped, it was clear this argument had been had more than once.
My father apparently decided to not even engage with her this time as he passed a wooden box over to me. I took it and pulled back the latch, opening it reverently. Even the worst of Relics would sell for at least a year’s wages, and my step-mother wasn’t wrong that the money could have been spent on equipping my brothers. Or on my sisters’ dowries. I opened the box and looked at the sword, it’s broken blade only about as long as my forearm. It would have been a magnificent sword when it was first forged.
“What element is it?” William asked our father.
“Mist,” my father said.
I felt a twinge of disappointment but quelled it. To be given any relic was a gift most would never receive.
“At least you were sensible in not spending your entire fortune on it,” my step-mother huffed and left the hall.
I held up the dagger-like blade. Its crossguard was pure silver with several nicks across it, scarring what must have been an exquisite work of art when it was created. The blade was titanium. That was likely why it had broken but also meant it would be a powerful relic, especially with the silver cross-guard and hilt. Half the hilt was ivory of some type, a top tier material for the creation of weapon relics. The pommel stone was polished black jet. The hilt was fairly long, suggesting that this must have been a hand-and-a-half sword, a bastard sword. I suppose there was some irony in that. Examining the edge, I noticed flecks of diamond had been added into it during forging, further boosting its power as a Relic.
“I know it’s probably not the type of Element or weapon you wanted,” my father said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “But after buying William’s relic we still haven’t fully recovered; I would have had to wait several years to get you a better relic.”
“Even this must have been expensive,” Anders said furrowing his brow. “I know we don’t have much in our coffers, how did you afford this? It’s a Mist Relic yes, but it looks well made. It should have sold for at least several Dragon Cores.”
“Superstition,” my father said. “You know how soldiers are, the man who killed the djinn that made that Relic died right after, they think that’s bad luck. His widow just wanted to be rid of it. That, along with its broken blade and element, made it a deal I couldn’t pass up. Especially for how high quality its skills must be given the craftsmanship.”
“Thank you, father,” I said. “It is more than most would ever receive from their fathers.”
“You’re still my son,” my father said. “Tonight, rest, tomorrow we ride out to the convent to bind you to your Relic and find you an aspirant to marry.”
I nodded and he turned to his other children, bringing out other gifts for them, though nothing so nearly costly as a Relic. I stood by, my fingers running over the ice-cold metal of the Relic as I watched my half siblings and listened to my father’s raucous laughter. I was with them, but still apart, a barrier always between us.
Servants brought in a feast they had hastily prepared. Stuffed roasted quail, sweet rolls, a hearty beef stew, and fluffy buttery bread were all laid out. I sat at the end of the table trying to avoid my stepmother’s eyes.
“What news do you bring from the front?” Anders asked.
Father sighed. “Some idiot lords decided it would be a good idea to cross the border and go raiding Carsway’s town and villages. Most of them died fighting the Wardens there and the rest we caught when they tried sneaking back to their castles. They’re being shipped off to Emerald to stand trial.”
“What will happen to them?” William asked. “They are Wardens, not direct servants of the crown.”
“They own lands and titles here,” Father said with a shrug. “That makes them under the King’s authority. He’ll probably have them executed to keep war from breaking out with Casway.”
“The Church will allow that?” my brother Finley asked.
“The Church has no love for Wardens that go around killing other Wardens, and those Wardens did swear oaths to the king so he has the authority to judge them,” Father said, shaking his head. “If the King didn’t execute them, they probably would; we have enough trouble fighting the djinn without adding Wardens who act like Warlocks into the mix.”
“What will the Caswains do?” Anders asked.
“There will likely be some financial repercussions and blood debts to be paid to surviving families,” father said. “That is a matter for the King to deal with though, not us. Tell me, how have things been here?”
“Same as always,” William said with a sigh. “Just a few Imps and Beast spawns. The most exciting thing was when a Soldier came out of the Fog Land to the south.”
Father raised his mead horn. “May all our days be like that,” he said.
“It’s alright for you,” Anders said. “You’ve been stationed near the mountains and the Fog Wall; you have lots of high tier djinn to fight and level up from.”
“And many people die,” Father said, his jovial tone turning serious. “Our life is not a game or a privilege son, it is a duty and a responsibility; we are the shield that stands between humanity and the djinn. We exist to serve, not the other way around.”
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The feast continued with father telling stories of all the djinn and fell beasts he’d battled that had descended out of the Mist of the mountains. His stories were all full of danger and adventure, and probably extremely exaggerated, but we loved them all the same. Night fell and I slipped out of the main house carrying the relic with me. I didn’t know its name yet but lay on my bed holding it to my chest.
I dreamed of my mother teaching me to play the flute. I heard her laughter, and that of my twin, as we played in the fields outside our home. The memory was a kaleidoscope of colors and emotions. I woke with a pain in my chest, my lungs tense from the pent-up emotions. I was grateful for the dream though, it got harder and harder to remember their faces with every year that passed.
Pulling on my shirt, pants, and boots, I exited the barracks where I stayed with the House Guard. Slipping into the kitchen, I took a bowl of porridge with bits of bacon sprinkled into it and ate hurriedly. Returning to the barracks I packed up my things. I placed my flute into my bedroll, rolling it up to protect it from taking any damage. It was all I had left of my mother to remember her by.
Slinging the pack over my shoulder, I stepped outside where the horses were lining up. Anders was staying behind. As my father’s heir, it fell to him to protect our home while father was away. Anders walked up to me. “Well Cain, the day has come,” he said. “You’re going to officially be a man when I see you next.” He pulled me into a hug and felt his muscles tighten around me. “Be well brother.”
“You too,” I said, squeezing him back.
My sisters looked at me and then at my step-mother. She had no words for me, turning and going back inside. My sisters crowded me and hugged me. Their golden blonde heads of braided hair were a stark contrast to my own dark hair.“Goodbye Cain,” they said.
“It’s time to go,” my father said.
I pulled myself into the saddle of my horse then we rode in a column out of the courtyard and onto the road. I looked back at the home I’d spent the last six years of my life living in with mixed feelings. Turning back around in my saddle we rode on until it was out of sight, past the trees and hills. Far to the south I could see a valley filled with fog. It was only a small patch of Fog Land but that was where the majority of the more powerful djinn in this region spawned. After tomorrow it would likely be my duty to keep those numbers down until I finished my apprenticeship to my father and paid him back for the Relic.
I’d had trouble getting the sheath for my new weapon to sit right. Its hilt was heavy and without the full length of its blade it just didn’t feel right hanging on my hip so I kept worrying it would slide out. I kept fussing with it as we rode. There were a few farmsteads here and there, but they thinned out between here and the Convent. I’d only been here a few times even though it was a mere day’s journey away.
My father shouted and our procession came to a halt. He dismounted and looked at the ground. Pulling our horses off the road we dismounted as well and went to where he examined the ground.
“What is it?” I asked the youngest and most inexperienced of the group.
“Bandits it looks like,” William explained to me the closest in age to me. “See the wagon marks veering off into the grass towards the forest.”
Father looked towards the trees scanning the horizon for threats. Finally, he shook his head.
“If they are here, they aren’t close. We’ll tell the Wardens at the Convent and let them send out a hunting party in the morning,” he said.
We remounted our horses and continued the journey. Towards sunset the walls of the Convent came into view. The convent was built on top of a hill like a fortress, with a wall around the outlying village and the forest cut down around it for fields and pasture. The red brick of the convent rose at the center. I dimly remembered seeing large castles on the way to my father’s home after my mother’s death, but the sheer size of the building still amazed me.
The gates opened to let us in and stable hands took our horses away as we enteredthe convent grounds. The Mother Superior came to greet us. A tall, elegant woman, she wore the black dress and veil her role dictated but it couldn’t hide her stately beauty.
“Welcome Wardens,” she said. “What brings you to our church?”
“My son has a relic to bond to. I also wish to have a Weaver assigned to him from among your aspirants,” my father said.
The mother superior studied my father and me. “He is your son, why are you not arranging a marriage between him and another noble house? I recognize you, Sir Jason Lanceren, you are a respected Warden and war hero. You should have no trouble securing him a bride.”
My father looked down in shame. “He is my bastard son, his mother was a Caswain Weaver.”
“I understand,” the Mother Superior said. “I am Mother Leora; I welcome all who are not touched by corruption and mean no harm to our church. We shall meet in the sanctuary to begin the binding.”
My fist tightened almost imperceptibly, but I released it, taking a breath and remembering my mother’s words to me. ‘Never let the words of others determine your actions Cain, their words define them, your actions define you’. I forced my body to relax, ignoring the looks the local Wardens and guards cast at me.
We followed her into the church. Even though this convent was far from the capital and its splendor, it still had been built with care and reverence. White marble floors and carved wooden panel walls with soaring buttresses, the glint of gold and silver leaf worked into the carvings. In the central chamber of the church rose an altar made of granite.
Mother Leora beckoned me forward and bade me kneel before the altar.
“What is your name?” she asked me.
“Cain Le’meer,” I answered.
“Lay out your Relic on the altar,” she instructed me.
I set the broken bladed sword on the granite and Mother Leora picked it up examining it. “A Mist Relic,” she said. Noticing my expression, she smiled. “Do not be embarrassed young man, the prejudice against the Mist element is a mere product of man; in truth they are no weaker than any other type.”
The extended her hand out for me. “Give me your hand Cain Le’meer,” she said.
I held out my hand and she ran the edge of the broken sword along my palm drawing a deep cut. She placed the Relic down at the edge of a basin carved out of the granite of the altar and picked up a pitcher of holy water.
“By the water of the world and the blood of your body we call forth your spirit,” she intoned holding my fist over the basin as blood dripped down and she slowly let the water flow and mix with it. “do you Cain Le’meer in the sight of your brothers in arms and the Church swear to serve the Voice, to purge Corruption from the world?”
“I do so swear,” I answered.
“Do you swear to not waver in courage, to be a shield for humanity and a bastion for civilization?” she asked again the vows, something I had heard spoken once before when my brother William had taken up his relic at our local perish.
“I do so swear,” I answered again.
“Then by the will of the Voice whom we serve and washing of the waters and your blood you are knighted,” she said submerging the broken blade into the mixture of blood and water and pushing my hand in as well.
Her grip was like iron as sharp pain shot into me through the cut on my palm and I tried to yank my hand back. She gave no sign of struggle as she held me in place and in a moment the pain was gone the water clear as crystal all traces of my blood gone. There was a blue silver sigil on my hand, the unique mark of this Relic. As I looked at it the mark projected a square of blue light as the Voice spoke to me for my first time in my life.
Core Level
1
Experience to Next Level
0/10
Relic Name
Relic Element
Relic Type
Achlys
Mist
Dagger
Name
Cain Le’meer
Hit Points:
Hit Point Regen:
1 per minute
Armor Points:
Armor Point Regen:
1 per minute
Might
Agility
Endurance
Will
Senses
Clarity
5
6
5
6
5
5
Ether
Corruption Level
39/39
0/39
Trait
Tainted Power: Your statistics increase by 1% for every point of Corruption in your Etheric Core.
Primary Passive
Secondary Passive
Mist Sight: You can see through the Mist without impediment, it is visible to you only as vague haze in the air.
Mist Walker: You have immunity to the effects of the Mist able to breathe freely within it with no hindrance.
Mist Skills
Ghost Walk: Masks all noise made for 30 seconds in a 5ft radius around the wielder.
Cost:
3 ether
Mist Blade: For 10 seconds attacks with your Relic pass through 1” of material.
Cost:
7 ether
Fog Form: Body and worn equipment becomes intangible making you Immune* to all damage for 2 seconds.
Cost:
5 ether
Moon Skills
Lunar Smite: A sword of silver light extends out from your blade for 1 second dealing Moon damage equal to your current Core’s charge.
Cost:
4 ether
Celestial Healing: Closes wounds across a single creature’s body restoring Hit Points equal to your current Core charge.
Cost:
10 ether
Wind Skills
Hurricane Step: Move up to 100ft in 1 second as your body and all your equipment is turned into wind.
Cost:
1 ether
Cyclone Strike: Deals Wind damage equal to half your Core charge to all creatures within your weapons reach.
Cost:
6 ether
I could only take in everything at a glance at first. My relics name, the number of my skills, my etheric core. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and read over the character sheet more carefully. Only someone in my party would be able to see the character sheet and even then, only parts you let them see. The Voice let us decide how much of ourselves we were comfortable sharing with others. I had seven skills, two away from the maximum of nine. My ether core was high for a man but would be on the low side of what a girl would need to qualify as an aspirant Weaver.
A bell toned in the distance and my brothers and father all turned to look back the way we had come. Mother Leora’s calm expression subtly changed, taking on a look of worry.
“What is the bell for?” my father asked.
“It is the town’s alarm bell,” Mother Leora said. “We are under attack.”
My father unslung the greataxe from his back. “Then they chose the wrong day to attack your town; my sons, with me.”