Breaking through the clouds a green tapestry shimmered with dawn’s rays, akin to a celestial being scattering the umbral veil. Turning eastwards the free falling man admired the grand spires reaching to the skies, flowing both north and southwards to the horizons. The Everlasting Spires. Home. Silken cloak flailed with the raging currents, the hood relentlessly slapping its indifferent charge as his thought strayed to the previous night.
The marble was warm to his touch, with utter disregard to being over thirty thousand feet above the sea. “Rise” a regal voice shook the very air. Standing from his prostration the young man hesitated for a breath, he worried for desecrating this holy place. “Do not fear” the very ground thrummed gently, “Approach, little one”.
Half an hour hence the man collapse to the ground, gasping and sweating profusely. “Gather yourself young one” the laughter was barely restrained. In his rush to traverse the giant marble disk, the man had forgotten of the mountain’s elevation. Pristine emerald scales caressed his cheek, the youth unconsciously leaned unto the dragon’s snout. A sudden down draft prelude a crash besides the man, sending him sprawling onto the ground.
“Manners my son” said the emerald green dragon, having to adjust her posture atop the plush cushions.
“Apologies honourable mother” replied the onyx scaled worm as he folded the leathery appendages.
Reaching out to the intruder’s foreleg, the man used a claw as leverage to climb unto his feet. Straightening the ruffled clothes he sat down upon a claw, drawing a curious look from the hulking beast at oddity of being used as an impromptu bench.
“Honourable mother, it would seem that you have overly coddled Calredraxt” said the dragon as his sight roamed back to the young man. Who had waddled further back and was using the dragon’s forearm as a backrest.
“Verily” her tail nudged Calredraxt back to his feet “That is why I had you summoned”. She locked eyes with the man, “Cal, you had turned seventeen a fortnight back”. With the tail’s tip the emerald dragon raised Calredraxt downcast head, “Amongst your kin you have long since reached adulthood. I cannot withhold you within my nest any longer”.
Calredraxt’s mind was all but numb, words of opposition choked within his throat before they could manifest.
“Omriseth, you will take little Cal to the south of Aclesh” she nuzzled the smaller onyx beast, breaking into laughter at Omriseth’s visible discomfort. “The tides are shifting”.
Without preamble the onyx worm grabbed the young man, taking to the skies with a single bound. Hovering above the peak, the dragon brought Calredraxt close to his face “No son of mine cries”. Shivering from the sudden frostbite currents and complete lack of air, the man open his mouth. Before he could reply Omriseth streaked through the night skies, divesting Calredraxt of his last breath.
Individual trees split from the green mass as the man approached the unrelenting ground. His reminiscence was interrupted as he was but a few hundred feet from becoming a red splash amongst the underbrush. Defying gravity the youth decelerated, coming to a gentle landing upon the dew coated patches. Spotting a fallen branch Calredraxt outstretched his arm and in short order the branch skidded across the forest floor to the man’s hand. The bark upon the branch cracked and fell off, the wood twisted with audible snaps as it straightened, steam rising from the shaved timber. In under a minute the man had a staff with a curved head. Now where am I thought Cal.
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The distinct thump of black powder shocked Varius to attention, the holy book almost falling out his hands. Pushing through collapsed goods Varius pushed through the cramp wagon. Exiting the abruptly stalled vehicle, he was violently shoved back within the canvas lined wagon.
“Stay inside Father Peyton, bandits about” shouted the guard.
Another explosion resounded, this time followed by chaotic shouting. Varius righted himself and in a soft murmur he prayed to God, asking for favour and guidance in this time of need. Rumblings of hooves approached from afar, dread now filled the man of cloth. Lars guide me. Why-o-why did his holiness send me to this accursed land filled with these war loving heathens lamented the priest.
Tentatively, Varius peaked from the wagon. A myriad of odour nauseated him instantly, the thick overhang restraining violence’s foulness. With a handkerchief pressed firmly over his mouth and nose, the priest left the wagon. Lines of pikemen stood firm between the trees, forming a defensive line between roads end and the forest proper. And in the distance wagons were turned sideways unto a defensive barrier with crossbow men fast at work between the gaps, harrying the cavalry on the other side. Again the deafening shot tore through the pike line, downing another defender. Dead before he even hit the ground. The iron projectile shredding through mail and plate before bouncing across the road, nearly taking out anothe on the opposing side.
Turning to the source, Varius spied a pair armoured men within the thick smoke. They were clad in tourney thick plate, busy handling the wrought iron tubes as bolts skidded harmlessly across their curved amour. Methodically reloading the oversized hand cannons, the Aclenshen heathens paid little heed to the defenders. War cries accompanied a renewed assault on the pike line. Bandits crashed against the fifteen feet poles, their large circular shields guarding them from certain death. Every fallen comrade in arms seem to do naught but spur the heathens forward, and in short order the pike line failed, breaking into a melee.
Carnage spilt onto the road. Within the metallic clangs Varius fell to his knees, God almighty, my faith has not been as resolute as it should. This meagre delegate pray forgiveness. Lord, I beseech ye, it is not right for good proper Larsians to fall like so many wheat before these heathens. I beseech ye, light the path of your servants, so that we may spread your good word. Silence pervaded and ever so slowly Varius opened his eyes, the scene which greeted him defied logic. All the combatants, friends and foes alike, laid buried within the very ground they once stood. With only their heads poking out, as hellish as it was comedic. Not a word was uttered, but the fear bleach countenances faced the same direction.
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A single figure strode the battlefield, each deliberate step exacerbated by the six feet staff. The dirt caked cloak did little to mask the blue silks, gold embroideries reflecting the mid afternoon sun. Varius urged his legs into motion slowly approaching the lumbering spectre, “Sir Mage” his voice barely a whisper. “Sir Mage!” he repeated with purpose, earning no response. Building the courage Varius placed a hand upon the mage’s shoulder. The spectre turned towards Varius, blood shot eyes stared beneath the hood. The priest nearly ran from fright. Holding fast he repeated “Sir Mage, I offer my thanks for your assistance” in Acleshen this time around “Is there anything my humble self can offer in recompenses”.
“Nahrung” the mage replied.
“Beg your pardon” asked Varius.
“Nahrung…” there was a pause, “Food” finished the mage.
Dumbfounded, Varius stared mouth agape at the mage. “Yes. Food” he said, “Before that, it would seem that my acquaintances were caught in your Weaving”. “Where are my manners” Varius gave a curt bow, “Father Varius Peyton at your service”. After an awkward pause the priest straightened, “Uhm…And what may I call your person”.
“You can address me as Cal, jetzt, food” replied the mage.
The stare off resumed, “If I may be so bold Sir Cal, could you release my comrades as I have your meal prepared”.
Receiving an affirmative nod, Varius scanned the wagons. Spotting movement within the rear folds of one but a dozen yards way he briskly made his way towards the vehicle. Gently, he pushed the canvas flaps aside. A child clung to her parents in fear, the couple though eased at the sight of the priest.
“Father—” started the woman.
“All is well Nathalie, the mage means us no harm” another wrinkle forming as he smiled. “Nathalie, could you prepare a fine meal for our saviour. And Ned let the others know that its safe now” earning a stoic confirmation from the lame man “I must be off now” the priest left.
Returning to the mage, he found Cal unmoved from where Varius had left him. “Apologies for the wait, shall we”. And over the next quarter hour Varius guided the mage as he released the sixty one friendly guards. The instance Cal completed his task the mage went towards the aroma of venison. Varius wanted to accompany the mage, but he had duties to observe.
“How goes it Commander” the priest addressed as he made his way through the loitering guards.
The officer raised a hand, silencing the mass. “Father, we have yet to kill these heathens as you request” the man cursed, favouring his left foot “But my men thirst for vengeance”.
“Heathens they may be, but Herius Lars teaches us to not kill in cold blood. We are God fearing Larsians my sons, do not stoop to the level of these barbarians. Nay, we shall leave them as they are, the Lord shall decide their faiths” Varius finished his sermons.
“You heard the good Father whoresons. Now, those who can stand start digging the graves”, the officer limped towards Varius, accepting the priests assistance. “We are getting to old for this Varius” he added in a lower voice.
“That we are old friend, that we are” said the priest as the two stood in a sombre tranquillity amongst the bustle. “So, what’s the damage” Varius finally brought himself to ask.
“Twenty eight dead, eleven wounded, of which I don’t expect six to survive the night” the old officer had somehow acquired a wine skin. “You have much work guiding these poor souls to our mighty God” added the old man after a substantial gulp.
“Do not blaspheme, Victor” said Varius, though there was little reprimand in his tone.
It was well into the night as Varius brought the funeral to a close. The walk back took longer than anticipated as the wagon train had moved away from the carnage before setting camp. Asking direction to the Leons, the family of three he had entrusted the mage too, he admired the tenacity of these traders. However, part of him knew that the atmosphere would have been far bleaker had one of their own passed.
An hour later Varius arrived at the Leon’s wagon, thanks to the talkative hosts he had taken an inordinate amount of time to reach the spice traders. Hearing the splash of water he approached the woman, busy with laundry.
“How do you fare Nathalie?” asked the priest, “Where is our good mage? I would like to talk to him” the blue silks seemed oddly familiar.
“Asleep in the tent” replied the woman, finally done with the last piece.
“Are those—” started Varius.
“I swear Father, that one has neither manners nor decency” she hung the breeches to dry, “He wolfs down all the food to the tiniest morsels, then the boy just strips to his bare arse. Telling me that his clothes was dirty!” finished the woman dramatically.
“Slow down… wait, did you say boy?” Nathalie’s husband arrived with a stool, of which the priest gratefully accepted.
“Boy be a touch much Nat” said the new arrival, nursing his right leg as he set upon his own stool.
“Maybe, but the mage is nary what I expected” she emptied the buckets of water, “He is very young father. Young and conceited, I trust you Father, but I worry still”. With her task done, she sat beside her husband “Where’s Avidia?” she asked whilst settling in.
“In the tent sleeping” the man caught her wife staring at him menacingly, “I lent the man a spare trouser and shirt after you fumed off”. Seeing his better half unconvinced “Besides, the mage has the tent toasty with his magic. It’ll be like sleeping ‘sides a fireplace” he placated whilst cupping her chin within a palm.
“Ah, the joys of youth” the couple disengaged at Varius’ remarks, the old priest grinning at their embarrassment. “Regardless of his age or behaviour let me remind the two of you that mages capable of such Weavings are not to be trifled with” his sudden shift in tone flushed the colour out the pair. Satisfied that his point was made “There is no cause for worry though, Sir Cal means us no ill. He would not have gone through the trouble of saving us otherwise” Varius added.