From the heights of nearby hills Owen and Gabriel watch the dismantlement of the camp as they run beside each other. Gabriel carries a basket filled with rocks on his back while Owen wears his armor, heavy of leather, chainmail, and plate.
They move in tandem, their synchrony making Gabriel seem like Owen's shadow. The terrain is uneven, filled with jutting rocks and hidden crevices, yet the duo navigates it without ever slowing down. They leap over fallen logs, scale steep inclines, and dash through narrow ravines, always maintaining their fast pace.
After an hour they finally settle on an opened hill. The camp is now a mere spot on the vast landscape, where the individual tents, fires and people are barely discernible.
Owen, with steam billowing from his helmet, remarks, "It seems like you've caught your second wind. Just last week, our run had you gasping." From his belt Owen unsheathes two longswords, of which he tosses one to Gabriel. As Gabriel catches the handle, he unburdens himself of the rock-laden basket. The two take up positions, circling each other, their sword held in front of them.
Gabriel puts on a smile. "Perhaps real combat is the best training," he quips.
"That and almost dying," Owen replies, half-jesting. With a sudden burst of speed, Owen lunges at Gabriel, his blade arcing towards the boy's shoulder. Gabriel deflects it with ease, twisting his body in a fluid movement to bring his own sword down towards Owen's helmet. Owen sidesteps just in time, the tip of Gabriel's sword nearly missing the top of his helm.
Their swords clash in a series of rapid exchanges. Each move is met with a counter, each feint with a parry. The sound of steel against steel echoes in the quiet hilltop, punctuated only by their grunts.
As minutes wear on, their breaths grow more labored, sweat beading on Gabriel forehead, vapor spreading from Owen's armor. As their blades clash Owen attempts to sweep Gabriel's feet with a kick but boy moves back, grabs Owen feet and pushes him backward, making him fall on his back.
Owen's response is instinctive. Rolling onto his shoulder, he springs to his feet, only to be greeted by Gabriel's blade hurtling toward his visage. But with a swift, armored fist, Owen strikes Gabriel in the chest, the force lifting the boy momentarily off the ground and halting his advance. Seizing the moment, Owen's blade darts towards Gabriel's throat, yet it halts mere centimeters from its target, the tension palpable in the stillness that follows.
"Someone is watching us," Gabriel whispers.
Owen turns his gaze to find a young girl at the edge of the forest, coming toward them. Puzzled, he says, "and she's coming towards us, running."
Her attire, unlike theirs, seems light, a robe flowing in the wind as she run. She halts a few steps away, her breath steady and eyes observing them with a mix of admiration of curiosity. "I've been watching your sparring," she begins, her voice clear, "are you adventurers?"
Owen bends slightly towards Gabriel, whispering, "Translate?"
"You are a lost cause, you speak Nilfarian and yet you don't understand a word of the northern dialects," Gabriel quips. He turns to the girl, switching language without a pause, "we're mercenaries, we came down from the north to fight Barne's armies."
She scoffs, "Mercenaries? Impossible. No mercenaries can do that. You must be on a noble quest, and you can't tell me about it."
Suddenly, an older woman, similarly dressed, appears from the forest, shouting, "Return at once!" The girl, with a final glance at Owen and Gabriel, rushes off.
Watching her getting dragged back into the forest Owen asks, "I got the last part but what was she upset about?"
"She thinks we are too strong to be mercenaries."
Owen reflects, "Compared to common soldiers we recruit, maybe. But we're still shadows when measured against titans like Uther, Isabel, or even Thorald and Olvir." Turning on his heel, he gestures towards their camp, "Let's return. We both have a very long day before us."
As they approach the camp, the sounds of activity grow louder. The mercenaries are in the middle of disassembling the camp to take the road. The vast expanse of tents slowly dissolves as their inhabitants take them apart.
Nearby a few of them are loading belongings and resources on wooden carts, ensuring everything is stowed safely for the journey ahead.
Further off, horses snort and stamp their feet impatiently. Their handlers load saddlebags, adjusting straps and reins, making certain everything is in order.
Navigating through the camp, the brothers come upon Yorick, comfortably settled at a makeshift table. Amidst bites of his morning meal, he diligently records the camp's inventory as crates are steadily moved from their stockpile onto waiting carts.
Catching sight of Gabriel and Owen, he quickly fills two glasses with water, pushing them in their direction with a smirk. Letting out a mock-exaggerated sigh, Yorick teases, "With a full day's ride looming, you two decide on hours of running? I'm convinced, you two must secretly be masochists!"
They both grab the water they are offered. Shallowing his glass Owen shoots back, "Nothing your weak, slow body could understand." He turns back to Gabriel, a gesture inviting his brother to follow him. "Later Yorick."
"It doesn't sit right with me, hiding the truth from him," Gabriel murmurs.
Owen motions for Gabriel to assist with the crates, keeping his voice low. "It's not like you're disappearing into thin air. If anyone asks, we'll say you're heading to Palemist to learn from Isabel's kin."
Gabriel casts a wary glance at his brother. "It's not the lie that bothers me."
As Owen works on adjusting a horse's barding, he murmurs, "Think about the day we'll reunite. And succeed. No other option." Spotting mercenaries wrestling with a cart's wheel, he effortlessly lifts one end, allowing the damaged wheel to be removed. Waiting for the new one, he prompts Gabriel, "Tell me again, who are you?"
With a deep sigh, Gabriel recites, "Alden Ashencrown, an only child of Cedric and Elara. My father plays a crucial role in city administration, managing commerce and external trade for the lower sector. Elara, runs the Riverveil Herboristery. We live in the inner city at … 13 Hearthstone Way."
Owen nods, lifting the cart again for the mercenaries to secure the new wheel. "That sounds about right," he says.
Walking side by side towards the remnants of their tent, Gabriel's voice wavers with a mix of determination and uncertainty, "One day, I want to be amongst the royal blades, the legends who stand as the shield of King Barnes and his people."
"You should know their –"
Gabriel cuts in, "Names. Sir Edric, they call him the mountain, the immovable force who held alone King's Passway against Falcrest's massive onslaught."
Raising an eyebrow, Owen teases, "That wasn't in the details mother gave you."
Undeterred, Gabriel continues, "There's also Lady Elowen, known as the Dreadslayer, a nightmare for beasts and monsters. Sir Lorian, the Shadowhunter, foiled countless assassination attempts against the King. Lady Maelis, the chosen of Fulgrim, and Sir Rowan, the kingdom's master strategist and leader of Barnes' forces." Pausing, he takes a breath, his expression turning somber. "Legends in the tales I read, but soon, my adversaries."
Owen chuckles, "Well, if you do mess it up, make sure it's in a way that gives them a thrilling tale to write about."
Gabriel scoffs as he kicks Owen in the calve.
As Katherine supervises the packing of her belongings, her alchemy tools and potions being her primary concern, she beckons Owen over. "Everything is in order?" she inquires.
Owen scans the area, seemingly searching for someone. "Almost done. Just need to find Astrid, then we can leave as soon as everyone departs."
Katherine points towards the dismantled medical area. "She's over there, helping ensure the wounded are loaded up safely."
Owen acknowledges with a nod, "I'll go get her," and disappears into the bustling crowd.
Looking at Gabriel, Katherine gestures for him to approach, leading him away from the commotion of the busy mercenaries.
Katherine takes a deep breath, the weight of their current situation evident in her posture. "I wish you didn't have to go on this dangerous mission," she admits, her eyes glistening slightly.
Gabriel looks away, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know, but if I can help save dad I have to go."
Katherine reaches out, cupping his face. "I sometimes forget how young you are with that serious attitude of yours."
"You …," Gabriel starts, hesitation in his voice. "When you showed us what happened, neither of you mentioned Oliver."
A shadow crosses Katherine's face, pain evident in her eyes. "We have to focus on those still with us. Revenge isn't your responsibility."
Pulling out a small wooden box from her pocket, she places it in Gabriel's hands. "This belonged to my father. I want you to have it."
With curiosity, Gabriel opens the box to reveal a wide silver ring, adorned with elaborate engravings, yet devoid of any gemstones. Katherine lifts the ring, placing it gently on Gabriel's hand, "This will tell you when you're near a mage, or any strong magic, even if it's concealed."
As he slides the ring onto his finger, it emits a soft vibration, subtly repelling from Katherine's proximity. "Thank you," he murmurs, then, after a brief, palpable hesitation, adds, "There's another mage in the camp."
Katherine's brows lift in surprise. "And who might they be? They must already be quite skilled if no one sensed their aura."
"Yorick is using a necklace to hide it. He even burned his hand casting a spell."
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"Yorick?" she whispers with a hint of surprise. "… I will go talk to him when we settle. It would be a shame if he wasted his talent. Thank you for telling me." She then spots Owen and Astrid approaching. "Gabriel, promise me, if you or Astrid are ever in true danger, you'll prioritize your lives, even if it compromises everything."
Gabriel holds her shimmering gaze, his youthful vulnerability showing for a moment. After a tense pause, he murmurs, "I might not always show it or say it, but I love you all, you, Owen, father... everyone."
Katherine's eyes soften, holding back emotions. "I've always known, my love. Now, stick close to Owen. Remember, every new dawn brings us closer to being together again," she says, gently guiding him towards Owen before heading to Uther's tent.
Owen slowly makes his way over to Gabriel, each step echoing in his mind. "Have you said your goodbyes?" he asks gently.
Gabriel's eyes stay downcast, his voice quivering slightly, "Not enough."
Stepping gracefully in front of Gabriel, Astrid lifts his chin with a delicate hand. "We'll be back before you know it," she assures, her voice soft but carrying a note of determination.
Owen motions with his head for them to follow. "Come on," he says, leading them away from the noisy hustle and bustle of the camp. After a few minutes, they come upon a clearing where three sturdy horses are peacefully grazing, their breath visible in the cool air.
The trio silently waits there, the stillness only interrupted by the soft chomping sounds of the horses and distant camp noises. The passage of time feels stretched, the weight of waiting making the minutes feel like hours. Finally, from their vantage point, they see the camp depart. A long caravan of carts, accompanied by mounted figures, begins its slow procession westward, a sprawling trail of movement in the horizon.
With a silent nod from Owen, they each approach a horse. Gabriel hesitates for a moment, running his hand over the mane of his mount before pulling himself up. Astrid and Owen do the same, and with a synchronized motion, the three riders spur their horses into action, taking a path that leads them south, away from the departing procession.
Riding hard until the sun dips below the horizon, they finally reach the southernmost tip of Valkyria, where rugged land met the endless expanse of the sea. Owen signals them to halt at the precipice of a high cliff, a vast port city stretching out below them. The once-proud walls and buildings of the city bare scars of recent conflict, and the remnants of shattered ships could be seen jutting out of the water, their broken masts appearing and disappearing with the waves.
An eerie stillness hangs over the city, the absence of lit lanterns plunging it in shadows. "It's as if they slaughtered everyone and simply moved on," Astrid murmurs, disbelief evident in her voice.
Gabriel ponders, "Valkyria's army is known for aiding in the reconstruction of the cities they retook. And a port, especially one this size, is invaluable. Something isn't right here."
Owen, scanning the scene below, points out a particular ship in the harbor. "That's the vessel meant to take you across the bay. It should have docked no later than last evening, but there's no sign of any movement or life around it." Without another word, he urges his horse to trot along the cliff, seeking a way to go down.
As they approach the periphery of the port city, the first thing that strikes Gabriel is the portcullis. It lays twisted and sprawled to one side of the main gate, bent grotesquely by massive stones now laying around, shattered.
No sentinel pace the ramparts, no banner fluttering in the sea breeze. An oppressive silence hangs over the scene. Yet, despite the clear abandonment, Gabriel feels observed. The empty battlements appear to gaze back at him with unseen eyes.
The horses, as if sensing the unease permeating from the desolate city, begin to balk, their steps slowing to an uncertain shuffle. Their heads toss, eyes rolling wildly as they sniff the air, ears swiveling towards sounds only they could hear. Owen’s mount, usually so steady, suddenly stops, its muscles quivering as it paws at the ground. With a snort, it rears, almost unseating him, hooves slashing at an invisible threat.
Owen wrestles the animal back to control, his voice calm but carrying an edge of firmness as he speaks. "We'll leave the horses here. I'll come back for them once we've secured your passage on the ship." He dismounts with a fluid grace, the clattering of his armor echoing in the city.
Gabriel mirrors Owen's movements, securing his steeds to an ancient tree along Astrid's. As they edge closer to the gate, a chilling symphony of distant sounds infiltrates Gabriel’s senses. His eyelids descend, ushering him into darkness to sharpen his hearing. A sinister chorus arises, the moist, ominous snapping of resistance giving way, the unsettling scrape and gnash of relentless crushing. The sounds crescendo into a grisly finale of splintering echoes. In Gabriel's mind's eye, the ghastly tableau paints itself, a creature of the night, perhaps a wolf, feasting on a bone. The mournful laments of the dying intertwine with the grotesque concerto, spearing through the stillness. His heart races, the realization propels him. "Someone is getting killed," he gasps, and without another word, he sprints toward the source.
Owen is quick to follow in Gabriel's urgent footsteps, but it takes him only moments to notice Astrid lagging behind. He moderates his pace, ensuring he doesn't lose visual contact with either of them.
Gabriel arrives at the mouth of a shadow-swathed alley where only darkness welcomes him, along the muted shuffles of departing movements. Realizing Owen and Astrid aren't by his side, he resists the impulse to venture into the obscured path. Instead, he presses himself against the alley's corner. An eerie hush falls briefly, punctuated soon after by the uneven cadence of limping footsteps drawing near. With every labored step comes a pungent stench of blood and rot, intensifying as the unseen walker approaches.
From the depths of the alley, a figure lurches into the dim night light. It is a man, or what remains of one, his form clad in battle-worn armor emblazoned with the emblem of a winged spear, the mark of Valkyria. His face, ghastly pale, is etched with creeping vines of green that writhe beneath his skin as if alive. One arm dangles grotesquely from his shoulder, the flesh rent at the elbow, oozing dark blood that pools in his wake. As he parts his lips, a chilling display of decay greets Gabriel, black and yellowed teeth, some crumbling away to join the ground.
Gabriel edges backward, drawing his sword towards the man. With each stagger of the man's gait, Gabriel retreats by a step. Yet, his gaze stick to the abyssal black of the alley, where a pair of malevolent yellow eyes fixate on him from within the shadow’s embrace. They are unblinking, predatory, and eerily intelligent.
Memories of a grim fable surge to his mind, where once a predator wrought havoc upon a hamlet. This lone fiend was the embodiment of affliction and decay, a scavenger that skulked the peripheries of ancient battlefields, shunned by daylight. In the recesses of Gabriel's mind, the beast from the story is a living cauldron of contagions, its very essence a concoction of virulent plagues. Each lash of its claws, each snap of its jaws, was not merely a physical assault but a vector for infection, delivering a cocktail of maladies into its prey. And with the passage of time, this creature only grows more lethal, the diseases within it evolving, becoming more potent and insidious.
The clank of armored footsteps breaks the tense silence behind Gabriel, rapid and discordant. He glances to see another soldier barreling toward him, his eyes bloodshot, foam bubbling at his lips. As Gabriel turns, the first soldier’s pace quickens, mirroring the symptoms. Trapped between the two, Gabriel acts instinctively, surging forward in a swift dodge as the second soldier’s hand claws through the air where he stood.
Owen and Astrid, weapons at the ready, sprint toward Gabriel. Suddenly, a blur of shadow and fur leaps out, targeting Astrid. Owen intercedes, blocking the creature's gaping maw with his armored gauntlet. Its face is a macabre fusion of bone and flesh, a skeletal visage of terror. It looms over Owen, but with a ferocious uppercut, he fractures its jawbone. The beast recoils, releasing Owen's gauntlet and disappearing into the shadows of a nearby alley.
The frenzied soldiers come at Gabriel with speed but lack grace, their movements readable and erratic. His sword finds the armor of one, glancing off without purchase. They reach for him with gnashing teeth and wild claws. The one-armed soldier’s attacks grow more sluggish by the moment, his body rapidly deteriorating. In contrast, the other frenzies, dropping to all fours in a beastly pursuit.
Owen grabs a flagged spear from the ground, throwing it with all his might in Gabriel's opponent. The man recoils at the impact, his gaze coming down to Valkyria's flag, pinned to his chest. A guttural plea escapes his twisted visage, his voice a haunting echo of humanity, "Please, … end this."
Gabriel hesitates, his heart tightens, his body taking a step back. He tightens his grip and with a slash, beheads the man. Owen and Astrid rush to his side, his fallen foes motionless at their feet. "Were you wounded?!" Gabriel asks, fear in his voice.
Owen displays his scrapped gauntlet, while Astrid offers a silent shake of her head. Her eyes are wide with confusion and fear as she inquires, "What attacked us?"
"A scourgejaw, … I think. If you get wounded, it will infect you … with that. " Gabriel gestures towards the soldier, whose flesh is already succumbing to the accelerated ravages of gangrene.
Astrid's attention is captured by a subtle motion. She locks eyes with a pair of small, green orbs peeking out from the narrow gap of closed shutters. "Someone's watching us," she murmurs, nodding towards the facade of a nearby two-story dwelling.
They converge upon the house's entrance. Owen raps softly on the wood thrice, his gaze vigilant for hidden threats. A voice, laced with caution, filters through the barrier. "Were any of you bitten?"
"None of us," Gabriel responds firmly.
"Can you promise that?" The voice presses.
"We do." Astrid confirms.
With a groan of old hinges, the door edges ajar, revealing a woman in the aperture. Shadows hang beneath her eyes, signs of a sleepless night.
They all enter, closing the door behind them. The woman moves a chest behind it, obviously too light to hold even a man. Inside Gabriel sees people sat or laying on the ground, men, women, children, and a soldier along his two-handed hammer, all shivering in fear.
Owen whispers him words to translate, Gabriel asks, "What happened in this city?"
The woman gestures towards a modest table, presenting cups of water. Gabriel, with caution coloring his tone, murmurs to the others in Nord, "Don't drink." They remain still, and the woman proceeds with her tale.
"Chaos unfolded last night," she begins, her voice a whisper of dread. "Madness seized the soldiers and townsfolk at the gates, in the port. They turned feral, attacking without warning. We barricaded ourselves inside, but at night they were sounds of terror, shrieks, pleas for mercy, the horror of people taken by something monstrous. At dawn, the soldiers… they were no longer men but wild creatures, slaughtering anyone in sight. We've been trapped, with nowhere to flee."
Owen murmurs quietly to Gabriel, who nods subtly before posing his question, "The ship that arrived, either yesterday or today, have you heard anything about it?"
The woman merely shakes her head, unable to provide an answer. The gruff voice of the soldier fills the gap, "They docked right before the chaos erupted. The captain got turned, but I caught a glimpse of the crew. They were taking refuge in the remnants of the old garrison."
A man's voice, laced with accusation, cuts through the tense air, "Before you fled." The words weigh heavily on the soldier, who deflates, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
Owen's hand finds the fabric of Gabriel's shirt, a subtle gesture beckoning a clandestine huddle. Owen states, "I felt its strength, its nothing I cannot kill. I'll hunt it down and you stay here until I come back. Then we'll get the remnants of the crew to get you south."
"Not a chance," Gabriel answers. "We won't let you go alone," Astrid joins.
A furrow creases Owen's brow, his mind racing for arguments that might dissuade them. Yet before he can formulate his plea, Gabriel's interjects, "You can't stop us, and even if you could speak with them and convinced them to keep us, they couldn't."
"I could knock you out," Owen quips, frustration simmering in his tone.
"And what? Leave us defenseless while you're away," Gabriel retorts swiftly.
Owen exhale as he motions the woman to clear the table. Delving into his satchels he retrieves three vials, their glass exteriors adorned with intricate designs. As he arranges them with deliberative care, he elucidates, "They are some of mom's finest potions. This one will stop many poisons before they affect you, this one can cure most illnesses, and this one will heal even deadly wounds." He slides the anti-toxin vial towards Astrid and the restorative potion to Gabriel. "We each keep one on hand," he says firmly, "If one of us is stricken, we can aid them." His gaze fixes on Gabriel, inquiring, "You've read tales of this monster, haven’t you, Gabriel? How do we track it down?"
Gabriel shifts his gaze, a distant look in his eyes as he dredges up the tale from memory. "According to the legend I read, it was cornered in its lair, driven to hide from the light of day. We’ll know its den by the stench, the creature hoards its victims there."
Owen thinks, shaking his head. "If we wait all night, we'll be too tired. And it might have killed the crew by then."
Astrid continues, "Then we hunt it in the city, but it means we'll have to kill the guards that attack us."
"We can attract it, but one of us will need to be a bait," Gabriel proposes, after a second, he adds, "I'll do it."
"I don't like it. Mom is going to kill me if you get eaten," Owen quips.
Gabriel retorts, "Then don’t let it happen."
The soldier rises, grabbing the handle of his hammer, and joins them. He speaks Valkyrian, "I want … I want to kill it with you."
Switching language Gabriel asks him, "Did you understand what we just said?"
"I didn’t need to, everyone would recognize strong adventurers when they see them," the soldier answers, his gaze down.
Astrid adds in Nord, "He should know his way around the city, which would be helpful."
"Then tell him he's welcome to join, but we can't promise to protect him," Owen orders.
Gabriel turns to the man, "You are welcomed to join, but we cannot guaranty your safety. How should we call you?"
"Gareth."