Chapter Twenty-Two: Auspicious Guests II
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The raven croaked, twitching as it jumped about the featureless cage. Biting at it's metal walls with desperate contempt, a futile one. A new name, his identity danced at tip of Ceron's tongue, formulating the fabrication of his character, a consistent story, a believable one not an outright lie. Strained truths, omission was the vice of any third observer after-all. Neither was Asriel suitable or his true name, it would behoove himself. Painting a target on his back with no sensible justification. Pity the fool, mock the arrogant and stone the deluded. To fetch Asriel's quarry, and sow the seeds of thy future by relics of old--
So, Ceron found himself acquainted with the scrolls laying fore him, one a rough map of the surrounding land marking Freywyn at it's center with wetlands to the east, mountains gouging a dividing hook to untamed wilds. A sprawling forest accounted the rest. A bare map, non too detailed or explicit in its purpose than general lay of land. The second scroll was the difference, from Asriel's account in his venture toward Freywyn and Ceron's own recollection to the foreign landscape.
It was as if fissures had erupted, swallowing land and regurgitating the new with it, changes not done by merely the passing of time. Where endless valleys of rocks and dunes had been, forests now lay as to how mountains formed atop past oceans of sand was neither told. As by Asriel's account it had been like that for fathers before him... The truth would reveal itself in time, Ceron got up from the scrolls, walking about his rented room with a certain stillness, the raven had yet to eat. Not that Ceron had forgot, due to the nature of his reasons, it was a requirement for it to fast willing or unwilling.
Corvids, a lineage of birds ravens specifically belong too. Most desiring flesh and plants, as such are known omnivores. Good thing too, as Ceron mused not desiring to force-feed the bird as intent was paramount for the ritual process. Birds may not have complex thought, or scribe all that well; still the raven will be driven by its hunger, it's raw emotion would suffice. Unwrapping the mage's heart, eyes of the goblin half-breed Ceron tossed them toward the bird with haste which it greedily gobbled, it's feathers tinged with blood.
Two lives converge, paths intersecting an arrow to strike each concern with one release. Asriel' past will in turn set fourth the stage- Ceron to lead the mercenary band for his misdeed of summoning a demon, much as to investigate the area he had been uncovered and sow debts owed. Who had buried his prison remained a mystery... But. 'While Freywyn, with mages to scorn bled-dry my tower, who's the say all is flayed before me? A network of tunnels ran for fields and valley's worth. Had it all gone to ruin?'
...
Cast bygone visions of lost ability-- My mind all to but crumble, I will not wilt to lay rotten as all fore me is devoured. With haste I grabbed due all my possessions, the raven had feasted, satiated more than any pig at full mass. It still' croaked, gurgling me for more. Wiping blood with a rag and tossing it to the crackling fireplace, I left the quaint room, the edging darkness cast down the hallway as no candle had yet been aflame the sun not arisen. Darksight lit the unseen and precarious boards at each creaking step.
It was silent, side the raven flapping its wings and my own footfalls, the inn dwelled on deep slumber, I had paid my share, fetched coin enough for a night in a more established dwelling than usual. A good rest, a well made bed was principle of a good day. Fog hung low, clutching those who walked among it, kin to a snare it had enveloped me before I realized. However it was not enough to hinder me, so I trekked my way back through numerous alleys and cobbled stone arches. Parting a glance to the shifting figures in my purview, quietly as men and more exchanged glances with no words spoken. A manner of folk, whose deformities would constitute an exorcism, much the scrutiny now lacking or forgotten. Let troglodytes be, a matter the unsightly to deal by themselves. For none had rapport of a mage.
In the distance revealing itself to me, sullying my mind were tendrils coiling, piping toward mine make. Had given the chance I would rot and cut the infection here and now, lay a fire of brimstone to each thieving hand that no time could cure. But I could only settle to wallow, set my rage to a later date to be met. For this body of mine had neither the ability or influence, just a fallen boy whose debts weighed heavy and a past murked ill. But long as I take breath, as I step forward to the horizon and see beyond, nothing will hinder me. My meagerness but a fleeting image, till I emerge from a cocoon to slew all before me. All that defies my intent, those who glorify themselves in my work.
The obscured shifted, as torchlight split the fog an orange hue blazing and the clacking of hooves. A mare pulled carriage divided the road, came to a halt before me. "It's a bitter morning, awful cold to walk lonesome sir.' The coachman spoke, through a ragged scarf, but heard nonetheless.
"Fancy a ride to your accommodations?"
The sudden arrival tugged my doubtfilled heart, made refusal linger on my tongue. But the cold dew and fog irritated enough to sway my absent-worry, "I seek, no shelter but to leave these confining streets to the western gate..."
"Daring a journey at this hour? Leter, to your acquaintance.. I can take thee." The coachman, Leter extended his arm fetching a bowl, "That be, you don't mind.. Some company on the way." As the man shook the bowl, I tossed a coin landing it in. Fleeting as my coin seemed, it would replenish in time a mundane worry I couldn't hang on. But-- It was truth, I held no wealth I once possessed. The carriage was open, turning to the back hazy silhouettes of people too in tow. A large figure whom seemed endowed with a large blade, and another hooded figure clutching themselves in defiance of the cold. Than last, at the forefront an aged man with a beard touching the floorboards and a greeting smile.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Well met" I spoke, nodding to the passengers and leapt on finding comfort by rotten boards. Soon enough the cart went under way, through the twisting turns of Freywyn. The Light of hearths and maglight, powered crystalline lamps lit the morning darkness, as fog faded releasing it's grip around me. Like a rising tune the clacking hooves brought with them a waking of the people, bustling into a rising crescendo of activity... A far off bell sounded, and thrice it ended signaling start of a new day.
'The cur Jasper, I had seen him butcher a child in cold blood to satiate his twisted nature. The lot having less reason than a mule, you need to be careful.' Asriel had been lively relatively speaking-- Much he could. Though I had same to worry about of a descending dragon than some child-murderer. 'Fret them not they all end thy same.' Those that prey on the helpless, taking lives of women and children are a paltry existence.
Tending to my thoughts, I had inadvertently stared down the old man. Turning to the horizon I felt his unease settle, neither company seemed to strike conversation. Not I would rather it either-way, silence sometimes spoke more than words alone. I eyed him briefly in my periphery, stubby calloused hands cracked and dry. Despite his graying hair held a muscular build, lastly smelled of soot. A tradesman, or someone who worked in the forge... Further back the cloaked figure remained an enigma in the dark, just thin gray hands clutched their billowing cloak, across from them a mammoth of a man sat. His frame wider than any door, wearing a cowl that whipped back in the wind, a bald head scarred from burn wounds. A sword sat upright next to him, too big by any sensible means, just a reflection of strength he possessed.
The far off walls seemed closer, the ride continued on for a multitude of turns to briefly pass another checkpoint; not unlike what I had crossed before, an ominous sphere hovering with a contempt I could only gleam, from mine own reflection as we passed its measuring gaze. The familiar and foreign blended, an amalgamation of the memories edged at my mind as Asriel's recollection filled the cracks. My idle fascinations turned into incorporeal, afterimages a mirage of a past, my fractured mind had issue to resolve, bakers turned golem constructs of my design, the two story inn we passed melted down into a fortification of enchanted stone. Laying beneath my feet, the clacking of hooves and all passerby' the brickwork sliced. The road divided into an elaborate network of tunnels, like a interconnected fungus scouring every inch.
Sentient undead inquisiting the nature of the mana, a relief from the erosion that dwelt in the hands of nations driven by the obstinate and opulent. I cast my blade upon them long after they'd deemed ire upon me, a sickle of flesh since seemingly of my birth. But it was a tale old, a matter not I could conjure any potion to remedy-- History was paved with truth of those who lived for the dead had no tale to give.
Had the Phoenix of Al'Goth still reign? Sarieth and, his band of knights last to quell a fiend so vile, unquestioning of their own worship. At least my once dominion in shambles stood, the mages of Freywyn all too keen.
Of what I've seen.
..
The far off walls encase me like a fish in a bowl, my feeling of obstruction and weight I felt all around. As the ride continued onward, the fellow passengers had opened up as the sun had peaked over the horizon's edge as if stirring a fire within. The old man before me, Leif was the first to abstain, off to his place of work towards a billowing forge. Having spoke of melting weaponry, the harpies had brought and ultimately died with days prior. Coincidentally enough, the pair in the back had relation to harpies as well, the man neither revealed his name nor partner but told of his deeds having contractual obligation to defend the walls with his life. His identify that of a forced hand, his duty bound a history he did not disclose. However he had come this morning to track any remnants and cull them.
I remained silent for the remainder of time I was left in accompany. As my contemplation stopped, did the wheels cease. The west gate lay in sight. And the figures of Ironscall, and a particular Elf named Lin.
...
A single night was time to grieve, an opportune cover or a restful sleep, it was however not enough, to scourer informants of a illusive figure an enigma they knew not. Carrion sought service, to not find his weakness the identity of the man was almost enough for Jasper to forfeit any gain and kill the man soon as they past the gate, into the dangerous wilds where any peril could befall. For the dead and monstrosity dwell. The name was an alias no doubt, but the man still remained as if conjured from smoke. Even beggars had history, it was an unnerving lure.
'The informant had no ability to lie, his life hanged on every word not by some obligation, but a writhing worm one that had slithered up his ear, to take occupancy inside.' Jasper found himself in doubt, but the coin lining his pocket swayed, for what more could be had in an ancient ruin? Damned old-work seemingly crop up every week, the ground beneath churning passages long past birthed from cave-ins and surface turmoil-- Or from something clawing its way out. Had he the location, Jasper would already have men ahead seeking the path, the object this Carrion would procure. To let go of all riches side one, would it not give credence to its value? To let it all be tamed to worthlessness in it's presence...
"He' has arrived..." Que spoke, the ragged voice one strained to listen. The old coot, Jasper himself had little understanding of, despite working together for more than five bitter years. His personal side remained clouded, yet the man's cunning preceded him. Barring no vice made him a perfect advisor. You'd have more luck strangling a cat and have it shit gold than finding five men free of addiction. Carrion had come parting from a carriage, bidding farewell too a large man he seemed to be an acquaintance with, he had not shown his face. Or in fact any part of his body, it stirred Jasper's cautious blood. But he had worked with the kind to veil themselves too scared to face a challenge head on. But the rat bastard paid good and that seemed enough.
But not a sliver to risk death over. Not in the least beget to folly, for Carrion would lead his own demise. But the shrewd always had something, a weapon or ace to save one's life at moments peril. Lest, 'I misjudged him--' Jasper doubted it. The way Carrion carried himself it was not something a greenhorn could reproduce. Lowly may he be.
Jasper in kind had his own livelihood, to sully his emotion and gut was in poor-choice far often feelings of apprehension are something your subconscious already knew. Carrion arriving from nowhere, with unknown backing and origins loose as fog made trusting a man whose face remained masked a hard thing. Jasper had laid due preparations the concern not unfounded.