A man in white coat and hood was walking along the roads between a dense forest of buildings and houses. It was a common sight in Redne, a trading city east of Arcadia Empire, bordering the Kingdom of Borgia.
At times, the hooded man looked up towards the crescent moon and the stars twinkling over the night sky. Almost all lights were out. So, he relied on the light beaming from the his three-edged magic trident, a cleric's weapon to see the way and walked on, no need to find an inn for the night.
The cleric sported a mustache and a trimmed purple beard. The wrinkles of his face signified his maturity, as well as hints of exhaustion. Added a bundle on his shoulder, it was obvious that he has travelled a long way on foot. He walked in an almost rhythmic pace, attuned to his years of long journeys.
The cleric's purple eyes gazed sharply and cautiously. His ears suddenly caught sounds of a fight and cries for help from a distance. The cloaked cleric rushed at once to the scene and saw people just standing there. It turned out that the fight has just concluded.
Curiosity drove the cleric to approach. Sure enough, judging from their rowdy appearances, the men there had the worst of intentions and just commited the basest of deeds. In short, they were robbers preying on helpless victims.
Without a doubt, the purple-bearded man grabbed his trident tightly with both hands and charged forward. He yelled, “You won't get away with this, evildoers!"
Surprised, the rowdy men and women quickly turned to face the incoming enemy. The cleric thus exploited the chance, whipping and thrusting his trident dexterously. His trident danced like fireflies, followed by screams of death.
Yet, the purple-bearded cleric's assault became more violent. The supposedly-merciful clergyman gave no mercy to whoever resisted him.
Suddenly, the trident thrust got blocked by a double-edged cleaver. The cleric gasped and stepped back, keeping a safe distance from his opponent. His sharp eyes recognized his foe in the dimness.
A tall figure appeared, wearing a leather vest adorned with fur tassels on the collar, exposing his slender and broad chest. He also wore padded leather boots covering his lower thighs all the way to the toes. Aside from his brown pants, his clothings were all lighter and darker shades of grey.
Taking a closer look, the cleric saw his opponent's face much clearer. He was a blond, his hair looked spikey like tall grass yet baldened on the left side. The baldness seemed to be caused by two big scars stretching from the back of his head towards the socket of his missing right eye. He left his right eye socket unpatched on purpose, perhaps to remind his followers of his might and authority. Clearly, he was the leader of this band of robbers.
The leader emitted a thick aura of cunning, ruthlessness and sleaze, even more so when he grinned. "Well, well, look at this intruder, a wild beast charging into our deadly snare."
“You’re pretty strong." The hooded cleric concluded his quick observation. “But pardon me, I have to meddle. It’s my duty to exterminate predators like you."
The scarface's grin widen. "Predators, I like that. I am Calhoun Cavendier the White Wolf, leader of the Viperwolves Gang. You might want to remember that name as I'm about to send you, old man to hell!”
“'Tis quite an offer. However, I, Nigel diMessina prefer heaven. It is you who must repent or be condemned in afterlife!"
“Not if I get rid of you first!” Calhoun slashed abruptly with his cleaver.
Nigel swung his trident to block, yet his weapon was shoved aside and he was off-balance for a split-second. As his balance recovered, the cleaver blade was rushing toward him.
Adroitly, Father Nigel inched backwards, avoiding the deadly strike. Suddenly he thrusted his trident backwards, hitting the belly of a bandit sneaking on him with a dagger.
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In a single breath, Nigel leaped forward, aiming for the leader. Without respect to chivalry, the bandits charged at once, ganging up on the lonesome foe. Father DiMessina immediately sank into the crowd of men.
Nigel roared like a lion, triggering an explosion with his inner energy, flinging the attackers away. The bandits were now lying on the ground, cramping and unable to get up.
Only Father Nigel was left standing. He briefly teetered after summoning so much force, then stood stoutly again. It took him a second to get his trident ready.
Then, a wolf-like howl suddenly echoed.
Nigel turned around towards the source, once again welcomed by the assault of the double-edged cleaver. He was forced to block with his trident handle.
Calhoun grinned. “Got you!”. His other hand suddenly grabbed the cleaver handle and rotated it. The second blade slashed vertically towards the cleric's neck.
With honed reflexes, Nigel quickly edged aside. His neck successfully avoided severing as the slash only grazed his left arm. Nigel screamed in pain. The energy of Calhoun’s secret move had successfully penetrated his body force field.
Forcing himself, Nigel parried with his trident and took a step back. Suddenly he jumped up high and thrusted his trident downwards multiple times with high speed. This Diligent-Spirited Assault special move rained down like the beams of light and carved wounds and grazes on Calhoun’s body. The bandit leader dogded left and right laboriously, even forced to roll on the ground.
As Nigel landed on the road, Calhoun seized his chance and fled. “Curse you, Nigel! We Viperwolves will get our revenge!” he yelled.
Nigel was about to give Calhoun chase when suddenly the wound in his arm throbbed. The pain as though stung to the bone stopped his steps. The cleric realized that the rest of the surviving Viperwolves had made their escape. Were his wound not severe and he was not exhausted, he surely would had been going after them.
Something more important came into the cleric's mind. He rubbed the pearl on the tip of his magic trident on the wound on his arm and casted, “Vitali!" His wounds were rapidly healed, thanks to the Healing spell.
Nigel then approached the victims on the wrecked, robbed horse carriage. There were two passengers One of them was a man lying face-down on the road, covered in blood.
“May Vadis embrace your soul," Nigel whispered.
And then, the cleric's eyes were fixated on the second passenger, a woman leaning on the carriage wheel. He came quickly to her side, then touched her bloody nose.
She was still breathing.
“Madam, can you hear me ?”
Slowly, the woman lifted her head. Her pretty face and green eyes looked so pale, covered in her messy brown hair.
“Y-yes….” she replied. “Please….”
Nigel immediately casted, “Viavitali!”
The light of the Great Heal spell shone from the tridenthead, reaching to where the woman’s heart was. Then Nigel realized, the woman appeared to be carrying something.
“It’s…. useless…” the woman stuttered. “My wound… is too severe… Just save…. my baby…”
Nigel glowered. With the last drops of her strength, the woman showed a cloth bundle on her lap. A face was visible inside it. It was an adorable, innocent little baby.
Nigel's jaw dropped even lower when he sees the baby's pointy, leaf-like ears. He quickly turned his attention to the mother, who in fact possessed the same ears.
“Y-you are… !” he stuttered
The woman nodded weakly, “Yes, we are elves…. My name is Lucianna Bouvignon… and the other one there… was my husband… Barmas Istravel… Please…. take care of my child… Don’t waste anymore effort…. on my broken body….”
Lucianna was right. Her wounds were too many and too severe. Nigel’s magic wasn’t strong enough to heal a dying body. Nigel pulled his hands from his patient and stared at the soon-to-be-orphaned baby
“Father… please… I want to… be with my husband…”
Understanding her intention, Father Nigel hurriedly carried the male elf’s corpse, then gently rested him on the carriage by his beloved wife's side.
Slowly, Lucianna looked at the deceased elf’s face and said, “Barmas, my love… Look, our daughter is safe…. Vadis has sent…. this cleric... to save us… even if it was too late. Wait for me, I will follow you… soon….”
Again the dying female elf looked at Nigel, surrendering her baby in the bundle to him.
Father Nigel embraced the little hapless creature. He realized Vadis had bestowed upon his shoulder a new mission. He said, “I and my fellow priests in Monastery of Saint Ambrosius shall raise her with utmost care, Lucianna. You need to worry no more, and rest in peace.”
Lucianna smiled in relief. ”Aah, how fortunate! I thank thee, and thank our god, Vadis…”
She then gazed towards her adorable daughter, so calm as nothing had happened. The mother reached to the bundle.
“Farewell, my beloved daughter,” said Lucianna. “Grow well… give a good deed... for this world… Never forget… that you are…. an Istravel… and your name is…. Maven.”
Lucianna’s head bowed, her hands sprawled down. The woman was rested on the chest of her husband’s corpse, breathing her last. The sound of crickets broke the silence, as if it was a requiem for the lovers' soul departing towards the afterlife.