In the heart of the bustling Reaon Kingdom, a tavern was alive with revelry and merriment. The air hummed with laughter, clinking tankards, and the harmonious tunes of a group of minstrels' lutes.
“Yo Alaric! Another cup for me and my newfound beastman friend over here!!”
“Oy, we need a table full of drinks over here too!”
“Don’t forget about us, Alaric!”
Amidst the jovial chatter, the bartender, a seasoned individual named Alaric Benom, swiftly maneuvered behind the counter, pouring and serving drinks with keen precision amongst the thirsty crowd. He wore a simple brown bartender outfit, including an apron. His messy red mullet and strapping face attracted many, despite only being seventeen. As he catered to the boisterous patrons, a humble smile etched itself onto his face.
However, outside the bustling tavern, in the dead of night and silence of the surrounding streets, a lone man stood. He wore a dusty gray mantle, carried various arcane rods on his back, and a large, gray worm-like creature coiled around his shoulders. The shadows seemed to not only conceal his features, but even follow him as he stepped forward.
As Alaric returned behind the counter, drying a glass mug with a cleaning rag, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the enigmatic man at the entrance. Preparing to greet the new customer, an unsettling sensation washed over him. A sensation that would soon be justified as the man took his first step into the tavern.
Once one foot stepped inside, a subtle ripple of magic unleashed from the point of impact, unseen by most. Alaric though was an exception, mentally raising his guard in response.
At the same time, one of the arcane wands on his back began to glow, and one by one, the patrons slumped in their seats. Lively chatter faded into soft snores, tankards slipped from drowsy fingers, and a peaceful silence soon settled in the tavern. Only Alaric was untouched by the spell, his gaze fixed on the one behind it all.
The stranger moved without even the slightest hint of hesitation among the slumbering revelers, as if he was some ghoul. He exuded such a menacing presence that Alaric subconsciously stepped back towards the liquor cabinet, bumping into it. The resulting ringing of glass bottles ominously chimed in tune with the approaching stranger.
Stopping in front of the bar, the man spoke, his voice deep and determined. “Once I get what I need, I’ll leave.”
Alaric dipped his head in nervous consideration, his fiery red eyes burning through the bangs of his hair. “So you need something from here—or rather, from me... Why else would you put everyone else to sleep.”
The man didn’t respond, only reached into the collar of his black shirt beneath his gray mantle. Revealing to Alaric a worm-shaped mark on the left side of his neck, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and placed it on the counter. Sliding it further, the man took his left index finger and traced a sigil above the paper, as if the air was a blank canvas. The action prompted the piece of paper to unfold itself, making a symbol appear upon its surface: One big circle with another orb-like object in the middle. A tail-like protrusion sprouted from the bottom right, with a six-pronged star and another star in the middle finishing the symbol.
It was a symbol Alaric tried his damnedest to forget. The Soul Divination Council's Insignia.
A long pause settled in the tavern, a pause eventually broken by a stern Alaric. “How did you find me…” He growled through gritted teeth.
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“Skarlet... A common friend between us, you could say."
"Skarlet!?" Alaric thought to himself, shocked at hearing that name. Thinking about it some more, he straightened back up. “The Soul Divination Council… You want information…”
“All the information you have.”
Alaric clenched his teeth as he tried to muster the courage to respond. Yet, even though he hadn't heard of, or rather, avoided them for years, he could still faintly feel their grip over his very soul.
The mysterious man, with an accompanying set of goals, noticed and reassured Alaric. “It's alright. There are no listening ears around here.”
“How can you be so…" Alaric started to say before pausing. His senses then and there recognized the weird tension in the air around him. "I see, this odd pressure—Soul Amplification: Extension...!”
“You know about Soul Amplification? Hm… Seems I was right to seek you out—Alaric Benom.”
“Tch... Look, I used to be a child assassin trained by an organization beneath the Council. Metaphorically… and literally.”
“The Nightstalkers... Black cloaks.”
“Yeah..." Alaric sighed, trying to calm his nerves enough to speak. "It was a miracle I even escaped from that damned group. Anyways, when it comes to locations, they have multiple. Labyrinths, fortresses, and bases, all of which they can move via the Soulful Technique of one of the chairmen. There are five chairmen in total, and the four main factions of the Council, the Nightstalkers being one of them, serve under them. Other than that, I have nothing short of unconfirmed rumors at best, misleading facts at worst.”
“I'm fine with any other information you can provide…”
“I… I don't… Fuck… Look, I may have heard where one of their bases might be—North-East from here, where the Aserian Ocean is. I've heard talk of a mysterious island sometimes seen in the middle of that vast ocean, blocked by a thick haze. Whoever tries to investigate it—never come back.”
Another awkward and long pause filled the air. Alaric’s brow furrowed as he tried to study the man’s obscured face out of morbid curiosity. The only thing he came up with were more questions though.
Finally, the cloaked man slid some neatly folded bills onto the counter. “Thank you, my friend.” Escaped his lips before he turned, walking towards the entrance of the tavern.
“Holy—This is an absurd amount of money! Most could never make this in their lifetime!" Alaric thought before looking back up at the departing man, gritting his teeth once again. "There’s no point in me asking why you want to meddle in the business of the Soul Divination Council, is there?” He blurted out, causing the man to stop in his tracks.
As the moments between mere seconds seemed to grow larger, Alaric sensed an increasingly thickening tension in the air. Brushing it off as typical discomfort in an awkward moment at first, he soon realized it was something else.
When the man turned around, a gray, ghost-like aura soon started to spill from his entire body. The aura cast a faint glow around him and caused any loose clothing to levitate, including his hood, revealing only a glimpse of the man's ebony-toned complexion and dark lips.
Alaric stepped back in shock. “What the hell!? This pressure! H-How strong is he!?”
“The Soul Divination Council are messing with things that they cannot control—Things that will cause a disaster for us all. A war the likes of the Holy Catalyst War a millennia ago may ravage the entirety of Eranovum in due time." The man said, the aura he expelled slowly fading in intensity as he continued walking. "I will try my best to stop it before it takes place, but I very well may be too late and the wheel of fate has already been set in motion...”
Exiting the tavern, the man vanished without a trace, swallowed by a sudden gust of wind, leaving behind only haunting words that echoed solely for Alaric to hear. “Be warned, Alaric Benom. For when someone takes the dare to love, they also take the risk to bear the ‘Curse of Hatred’. Especially when those who so callously destroy and take from others are the most ignorant of this consequence…”
One by one, the patrons of the tavern groggily sat up from their forced slumber, all of them none the wiser. As the whispers and questions started to pour in, Alaric could only stand there, contemplating such a foreboding encounter. “That worm thing on his shoulders, the mark on his left collarbone, not to mention that tense soulura pressure… He… There’s no way he’s a...!”
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Next: (Chapter 6) Enohay Village