A cloaked figure makes his way over the crest of a gentle hill in the wilds of Stel. His cloak snaps taught in the wind, giving him a larger-than-life appearance at the top of the hill. His boots press into the dew-kissed grass as he continues to traverse the rolling hills of this realm. His cloak, once a proud emblem of the Royal Army, now hangs limp at his back without the caress of the wind, ragged and edges frayed from countless harrowing battles and his present wandering. A subtle glow emanates from his fingertips, the remnants of a spell cast in passing to light the dim surroundings before dawn’s early light. He is alone, save for the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. The arcane arts he practice are his solitary refuge, a constant companion on a journey with no destination. “Focus,” he mutters to himself, pausing to draw a sigil in the air. The lines shimmer, casting a faint light that fades as quickly as it came. Magic bends to his will, even as he feels his purpose eluding him like smoke through his fingers. With a heavy sigh, he presses onward, Stel’s beauty lost to eyes searching for something unseen.
---
The temple in Brookhaven stands as a beacon of hope, its white stone walls reflecting the moonlight. A place of tranquility, quiet retrospection, of divinity. This night, however, the temple is anything but tranquil. Shouted chants, the crackle of divine magic in the air, and the screams of a gravely wounded man echo out of the temple. Inside, Savi’s hands move with a practiced precision, the divine energies within her pulsing in response to the man’s bloodied form on the altar. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth, now reflect a steely determination; every drop of her training summoned to this moment. Her peers stand beside her, frantically chanting invocations to their gods, weaving their magics through his body. Never before have they seen such a mangled form still cling to life, though his simple attire and physique leaving no doubt to the hardships of his life should tell the clerics that he is no ordinary woodsman.
“Stay with us, woodland warrior,” Savi implores. The room is silent except for the rustle of robes and the whispered chants of her fellow clerics as his condition worsens. The clerics focus their energies into a near-total cloak of divine light, an onlooker may have wrongly believed that their one of their gods had decided to grace this temple with their presence. As their collective power flowed over his body, Savi feels his pain, a tapestry woven of despair and confusion, which only serves to bolster her focus, pushing her beyond any level of healing she had exhibited before. As the man’s breathing began to stabilize, Savi collapses in relief, having spent nearly all of her energy bringing him back from the brink of death. Her companions fall beside her, hardly even able to stand.
“Those beasts… they are roused…” his voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper, his eyes clouded with pain, frantically searching the ceiling for some unseen sign. Dragging herself to her feet again, Savi reaches for the man.
“Rest, warrior of the wilds,” she whispers, pressing a cool hand to his forehead. “You’re safe within these walls.” Her words are gentle, but her mind races with questions about his cryptic warning. She knows beyond all doubt that his wounds could not have been inflicted by any mere woodland beast. Monstrous aberrations have been seen in the wilds before, giant men, winged snakes, goblins, and far, far worse, though none had been seen where this woodsman was recovered from in decades. Her heart flutters, visions of massacred innocents flashing before her, visions of a past and a future that seem all too connected to her now.
Candles flicker in their worn sconces, casting shadows across the temple’s healing chamber where Savi bends over the mysterious man’s prone figure. Her fellow clerics encircle them, hands clasped, again murmuring incantations that hang heavy in the air, thick with divine essence. The scent of sanctity and blood mingles, grounding Savi in the reality of their task. “Stem the flow of blood,” she commands, her chest rising and falling with a ragged catch as his breathing begins fading once more. She places a hand over his heart, feeling the erratic drum beneath her palm, willing it to find its rhythm again. One of the clerics, a man with lines of worry etched into his brow, nods. “The bleeding slows,” he says, voice hushed but hopeful. Their combined magic weaves through his body, stitching flesh, sealing wounds wrought by unknown claws, teeth, barbs, and gods know what else.
“Good,” Savi breathes out, allowing herself a moments’ respite to believe they will pull him back from the brink. Hours pass, marked by the slow march of stars outside the tall windows. His pallor shifts, a hint of color returning to his bone-white cheeks as the sky begins to lighten. Savi’s shoulders ache with tension, her mind weary from constant vigilance against the night seemingly intent on taking this man from the realm. As dawn breaks, he stirs once more, his eyes fluttering open. There is no remnant of the panic that was present during the night, as if the morning light grounded him. Savi leans in, intent on his word.
“Dark… deeper in the woods…” his voice is still a ragged thread, woven with pain and urgency. Savi reaches for a skin of water, bringing it to his lips, but he pushes it away, forcing out a dire warning.
“Goblins… they gather. Fiercer… smarter…”
Savi’s heart clenches, her fears ignited once more despite her efforts to remain calm. She brushes damp hair from his forehead, her touch a quiet comfort. “Rest, my friend. There is time enough for worry when you regain your strength.” The room seems to hold its breath, silent once more as he slips back into the grips of unconsciousness, his warnings echoing in the solemn silence of the temple. Savi stands guard, the dawn’s light washing over her, the appearance of a guardian angel, sure to defend this unknown man against any peril.
---
Emeric’s boots scuff the cobblestones of Brookhaven’s square, a dull echo against the murmur of the village stirring to life. The sun, barely cresting the horizon, casts long shadows that seem to reach for him. He pauses, a prickle of unease tickling his spine. Something is amiss in this place, an intangible thread of dread woven into the crisp morning air. He shakes off the feeling, attributing it to old war instincts that refuse to slumber. His gaze sweeps the area, noting nothing more than villagers setting out wares and children darting between stalls. Yet still, the disquiet persists, a whispering omen he cannot decipher.
“S’cuse me, sir,” a voice calls from behind him. Emeric turns, his gaze meeting a young child fidgeting behind a basket of vibrant apples. “Wouldja have a apple, sir?” The desperate twinge of the child’s voice is all too familiar to Emeric. With silent nod, he tosses a silver coin to the child, taking an apple to enjoy in the morning light. Without a word, the child runs off out of sight to safely secret away his spoils. Emeric continues through the square, his mind momentarily removed from the unease he felt. After a long night’s travel, he makes his way to the corner inn, ready to collapse on the first lumpy straw mattress he can find.
Stepping through the doorway, he is taken aback by the number of patrons present in the inn. The room quiets as he enters, an unfamiliar face, with eyes tainted with a deep black swirl from his use of the arcane. Murmurs swirl around him, yet he walks with a purpose to the inn keep, all too used to this reception.
“Doan get too many o’ yer folk round here, mage",” the inn keep drawls, his voice heavy with suspicion. “Got a reason for yer stay?”
“I don’t mean to cause a scene, sir,” Emeric begins, raising his hands in caution. “I’m just passing through these parts, in need of a place to lay my head.” The inn keep pauses, sizing up this stranger. “Weren’t so long ago we had some attacks round here. Doan go causin’ no troubles, y’hear?” Emeric returns a curt nod, sliding his coin across the counter, wordlessly receiving a key in exchange. His footfalls, a steady rhythm, are now the only sound piercing the silence in the room as he makes his way to the stairs, every head turning with him. No sooner than he gets to his room does he shrug off his cloak, tug off his boots, and fall onto the bed, asleep before he even came to a rest.
- - -
Savi’s figure, slumped against the column beside him, is the first thing he sees when he awakes. With a groan, he begins to rise, and Savi’s eyes fly open. “Wait, wait, don’t push yourself. Do you realize how close to passing you were? We had to fight through the night to even return you to a half-recognizable form, don’t go pulling yourself apart again!” Her voice is ripe with concern, giving him pause. “Where do I find myself,” he begins, eyes wary of this stranger. “You’re in Brookhaven, this is the temple I serve. Like I said, we fought through the night to save your life, you were brought to us so mangled I would’ve believed you fought a dragon bare-handed.”
“Then I must go,” he begins forcing himself to his feet once more. “No, you mustn’t,” Savi returns, her hands rising, weaving through the air, calling his mind back to sleep. “You must rest, for now. I just pray that once you regain your strength, there is enough time to prepare for whatever darkness you have seen approaching.” Laying the stranger to rest, Savi feels more uncertainty than ever. What could have been so pressing that he needed to leave so soon after returning from the brink of death? Has she doomed her homeland by not waiting to hear his message? Shaking herself from her doubts, she sets off through the temple gates, into Brookhaven’s busy midafternoon market. Approaching a familiar face in the herbalist in Brookhaven, Savi smiles, warmth once again filling her features. “Liora, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she says, warmly greeting her friend. “And you, Savi, look a sore sight to my eyes. What troubles you, friend?”
“Have you yet heard of the woodsman brought to the temple in the thick of the night? Mangled nearly beyond recognition, we fought through the night to keep him from the brink. Exhausting, more so than any case I’ve seen before. Worse yet… he brings ill tidings…” Savi trails off, her eyes darkening slightly. “Never mind that now, probably just the babblings of one coming back from the grasp of death,” Savi continues, forcing a smile onto her face once more. “Well, if anyone knows the inner workings of the injured or dying, it’s certainly you and the other clerics. How you manage to keep your head on straight after something like that will always baffle me. I’ll stick to my herbs, if it’s all the same to you!” Liora’s voice is steady and sure, hiding her concern with a thin veneer of reassurance. “Anyways, what’ll you be needing today?”
“Near everything you have, I’m sure. Treating that man took all we have, both physically and our magics. Have you managed to forage any more feverflute yet? It works wonders for common afflictions.”
“My son is out in the forest right now, I’m sure he’ll have some with him when he returns. How about I bring it up to the temple when he returns?” With a nod and a smile, Savi takes the bundle of herbs from Liora, turning to the rest of the market once more. Across the square, Savi catches a glimpse of another unfamiliar figure. A tall, slender man clad in a tattered cloak, leaning against a vacant stall, looking out over the crowd with the watchful eyes of a wary heart. Approaching slowly, Savi extends a hand in a gesture of goodwill.
“The past day’s been very strenuous when it comes to newcomers, stranger,” Savi calls out, her voice tinted with curiosity. “You going to accost me like that innkeeper, lady?” Emeric returns, his brow furrowed with caution. “I may be a mage, but I’m no threat to your town,” he continues, standing straight off the stall. “Now, I’m not accusing you of anything,” Savi fires back, “I’m just noting how curious it is that two interesting strangers wash up in front of me in one day.”
“Can’t say I know your other friend, then. Just passing through.”
“Surely one of your art has a reason for just passing through, wouldn’t you say? There’s too much power behind your eyes to be simply wandering.”
“There’s a dangerous air here, even if I were meant to be here, I wouldn’t stay long.” Emeric concludes, shoulders tensing once more as he is reminded of the uneasy feeling he had when entering this town. “Dangerous is right, the other man in this town now, he didn’t walk in as you must have. Half-dragged, half-carried in the dead of night, mangled, and near dead. Couldn’t tell you what did with any certainty, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Savi says, noting the tension Emeric feels. “Might be you’re feeling remnants of whatever did this to him. Could be it’s something arcane in origin, or could just be the instincts of an old soldier.” Emeric recoils slightly when Savi mentions his service in the Royal Army.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“An old soldier finds worry even in the streets of his hometown, cleric. Not to mention the recurring conflicts in the realm, of course I’d be concerned. Anyone would be if they’ve experienced the horror of battle. But could be you’re onto something, maybe something deserves more attention, whatever did this to your wounded stranger. Has he given any indication of what did this to him?” Emeric begins walking towards the temple, beckoning Savi to join him, clearly taking an interest in the story she is relaying to him. Savi quickens her step to catch up to the much longer strides of Emeric, explaining the brief words of goblins in the forest the wounded man gave her. “I can’t make much sense of it, no one has seen goblins around here in nearly a decade, I thought. Surely the town guard and the Royal Army would have seen goblins amassing in the forest, even if they’re trying to keep hidden?”
“You’d be surprised what the Royal Army is incapable of, cleric. And even more so, what they are capable of. They’re human, just like us. You’d do well to remember that before you rely too heavily on them.” Savi falls silent after Emeric’s warning, recognizing the pain it comes from.
“Before we enter the temple, who are you truly? You have a depth of power in you, I can see that. You wear a cloak of the Royal Army, yet you speak ill of their forces. What has driven you to who you are, mage?”
“I was a caster for the Royal Army. I have since left my service. I wear the cloak to remind myself the nation I personally serve, to this day. I am known as Emeric. And who are you, cleric?”
“Savi, a cleric, as you clearly know. I was brought up in a small village around here…” her voice trails off, fragmenting slightly, a pain Emeric knows well. “I serve the gods in this temple in order to save those I can, and ease the suffering of those I cannot. Luckily, the man brought to us last night could be saved, though he seems in a hurry to undo all that work…” Pulling open the gate to the temple, Savi beckons Emeric inside, ready to uncover whatever mystery the woodland stranger has for them.
The door to the temple swings open with a groan, betraying its overused hinges, a sign of all the souls brought here for aid over the years. Emeric steps through the threshold, his senses sharpening to the mingled scents of incense and blood. Savi leads him past rows of pews, her robe whispering against the stone floor as she walks. They reach a secluded corridor, leading to a dimly-lit recess of the temple. Reaching the entrance to the healing chamber, Emeric peers inside, seeing an imposing figure lying prone upon a cot, swathed in bandages. “Here he is, Emeric. As I said, he was dragged here from the edge of the forest, barely clinging to life. I caused him to return to sleep, he was trying to leave far too early for his wounds to allow. If you’re ready to speak to him, I can attempt to awaken him again.” Emeric nods shortly, eyes fixed on the figure on the cot. The bloodstains on his attire betray the severity of his wounds plainly, and Emeric knows he is lucky to be alive. Savi’s powers of treatment must be significant, to have pulled someone back from death in that condition.
As Savi weaves her spell to awaken him, Emeric’s eyes, dark pools reflecting his years of arcane study, meet the deep green eyes of the woodsman for the first time. In silence, Emeric waits for the stranger to bring himself to a more alert state of mind. “Force me to sleep ‘gain and I’ll bash your head in,” he mumbles, glaring at Savi. With a shake of her head, Savi dismisses his statement, “you were trying to kill yourself, fool. If anything, I saved your life again, and you should be thanking me twice over.” The stranger’s chest rises and falls with labored breaths, contemplating Savi’s words.
“I thank you. Name’s Keyon, now please, let me get going.” Keyon’s introduction leaves much to be desired, but Emeric’s mind is focused on his urgency more than anything else. “Keyon, I’m Emeric. When I entered this town, I felt a dangerous air around me, and I can’t help but feel it is somehow connected to you. I beseech you, tell us what happened, be our counsel on this danger, and perhaps we can help you,” Emeric reaches out a hand in greeting. Batting it away, Keyon responds with disgust. “My concern is for the land of this realm, people like you just care about their next coin from the crown. Leave me to my home, and I’ll leave you to your war games.”
“Keyon, I see you have your differences with the Royal Army, but please, Emeric is no longer in their service. He told me as much, and even expressed his own disillusionment with their methods. Surely you aren’t so different, please heed his counsel,” Savi pleads, her fear for the warnings Keyon gave overflowing, her eyes betraying her desperation. His eyes soften slightly, looking between Savi and Emeric, searching for any hint of deception. “Okay. I’ve seen goblins. Many goblins. They’re gathering, organizing, deep within the forest. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’m sure you haven’t either,” he responds, finding sincerity in the two before him. Keyon winces, touching his hands to the deep lacerations in his chest. Emeric’s fingers twitch, feeling the familiar urge to weave healing spells, but he refrains. This isn’t his place of power. Keyon’s lips part once more, a hoarse whisper betraying his fear for what’s to come. “They’re plannin’ something… something big.”
Despite the mistrust hanging thick in the air, the hair on the back of Emeric’s neck stands on end. He knows the signs of impending conflict, has felt the prelude to war simmering beneath the surface of strained peace. The goblins’ aggression could be a harbinger of greater threats looming over the horizon. “Your warning will not go unheeded,” Emeric assures Keyon, meeting the woodsman’s gaze squarely. “I have faced their kind in battle before.” Keyon reaches out to grab Emeric’s hand, the effort taxing his strength, “it’s not like before. It’s worse. So much worse.” Emeric nods, a silent vow forming. He will stand with the realm once more, lend his arcana to their cause, and perhaps reclaim his purpose once more. Together, they must uncover the truth behind the goblin menace - a truth that may yet alter the fate of the whole of Stel.
- - -
Emeric stands at the temple’s threshold, watching Savi move with purpose amongst the aisles of herbs and potions. She pauses, sensing his gaze, and meets him with a mix of concern and determination etched into her features. “We need more than just our word and Keyon’s,” she says, her hands never ceasing their work. “Others must have seen signs, felt tremors of unease.” She freezes, suddenly, the bag of alms in her hands falling to the floor. “No-” she barely manages, before running out of the temple, Emeric chasing behind her. “Savi! What’s happening?” he calls, seeing the darkness of the forest drawing near ahead of them. “The herbalist, her son, he’s in the forest looking for stock right now. I need to find him, I won’t fail her too,” Savi’s voice catches in her throat as they race into the forest. “Do you have anything belonging to them, however remotely? I may be able to detect his presence if he is near,” Emeric begins tracing a sigil in the air, his hands moving swiftly, his years of experience shining through. Tossing him a back of dried plants, Savi draws to a halt in front of Emeric, “this is a bag I just received today from her, will that work?”
“We’ll have to see, Savi.” The light of Emeric’s spell illuminates the trees around them, with the leaves falling around them seeming to be suspended for a moment, as if on invisible thread in the air. Suddenly, the debris on the ground swirls around Emeric, twining around his arms, flowing through the sigil he drew in the air. His eyes wide, the darkness within them swirling as he channels his magic, Emeric extends his arms to either side, and the leaves and twigs encircling them shoot into the forest ahead of them. “This way, he must be near to us,” Emeric shouts, pulling Savi behind him. Following the stream of natural debris, the pair come to a large clearing in the forest, seeing a young boy gathering plants carefully, pruning them at their base and gently placing them in his sack.
“Eldon! What herbs are you finding today, I’ve been hoping for some feverflute from your mother for weeks now!” Savi calls out, shoulders lowering in relief having found the child safe. “Savi! Mommy tol’ me to find some fer you while I was out! Didn’t find none yet though. Did you come to help? Who’s that man, what’s he doin’ here?” The child calls out to Savi, eyes bright and wide with the excitement only a child can have. Running towards the pair through the waist-high grasses, Eldon looks like a floating head, and Savi can’t help but release a laugh. The stress of finding him, and the tolls of the night of treatment finally get to her, and she doubles over, hardly able to control herself.
“What’s so fun-” Eldon begins, but his voice is suddenly cut off as he disappears into the grasses. “ELDON?” Emeric calls out, as Savi quickly recovers from her fit of laughter, after seeing the child she was so concerned about disappear. As Emeric runs closer, Eldon pops up again, calling out “I tripped… mommy’s tellin’ me to be careful, I s’pose that’s smart…
“You gave us a good scare there, kid! You ought to listen to your mother some more, hear?” Savi reaches Emeric and Eldon, grabbing hold of the child and walking with him back towards Brookhaven. “You know there’s danger in the wilds, kid, wolves and other beasts are everywhere!”
Reaching the outskirts of Brookhaven once more, Savi sends Eldon on his way to see his mother. “You tell your mother to wait to send you into the forest again for a little while, okay Eldon? She can talk to me another day about it.” He nods, and runs off with his sack towards the village market, where his mother surely still is. “Now then, is Lady Elara still the Lady of this village? She’s been in the Queen’s court for years now, surely she could be a valuable ear for this danger,” Emeric turns to Savi, the concern for their situation resurfacing once again. “Agreed,” Savi replies, her voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within. “Lady Elara has the ear of the Queen, her influence could well rally the support we need.” Emeric nods, pulling the edges of his cloak closer to him as they return to the temple. “She will listen. I’ll write a message for her court, inform them of the coming danger. But as Keyon is familiar with the forest, maybe we should set out to gather information about the goblins’ movements. I know the workings of court and the Royal Army too well, and they won’t truly act until it is too late.”
“Time is a luxury we don’t have, you speak true.” Savi’s eyes harden. She steps into the temple once more, the decision clear. “We will scour the forest with Keyon once he recovers. If the goblins are amassing, there will be signs. We must go carefully, if what he says is true, they are cunning creatures now.”
“Nature speaks to those who listen,” comes a gravelly voice from behind them. Keyon leans against a pillar, his face still pale but his eyes alight with fierce resolve. “I may not be at full strength, but I know those woods better than anyone.”
“Aye, your guidance is invaluable,” Emeric concedes, offering a nod of respect to the woodsman. “We depart as soon as you are well enough to travel.”
“This realm needs me now,” Keyon insists, pushing away from the stone support with a grimace. “I’ll lead you to where they struck last, and we’ll set camp there. I’ll be well enough to continue after that.” Savi interjects, her voice firm and filled with empathy. “I’ll keep you stable, Keyon. My healing arts work quickly, and now that you’re moving on your own, it won’t be long until you’re in fighting shape. But remember, we can’t afford to lose you to recklessness.” He grunts in acquiescence, his stoic face softening for a moment in gratitude towards the cleric. The trio goes their separate ways for the night, preparing for the journey the morning will bring, knowing their lives may be put in peril before they rest within civilization again.
Emeric awoke with the morning light, readying himself for the new day dawning. In the temple, Savi stirs from a fitful sleep, disturbed by dreams of destruction to come. Reuniting with Keyon in the entrance hall of the temple, Savi wordlessly retrieves her belongings and prepares a few ration packs for the journey ahead. The grim nature of their task casts a heavy shroud of doom over the pair as they prepare for the day, waiting for Emeric to rejoin them. As the door of the temple creaks open once more, Emeric calls out “Lady Elara has been informed of the threat, are you two prepared for this journey?”
“As prepared as we could be, I suppose,” Savi responds, the tension in the air so thick it can nearly be seen. Together, the trio step out of the sanctuary’s calm into the morning light. The village square bustles with life, oblivious to the shadow encroaching upon them all. They navigate through the throng, their purposeful strides leading them beyond the confines of cobblestone and thatch. The wilds embrace them with its verdant arms, the air rich with the scent of pine and earth. Emeric leads with Keyon at his side, each step taking them deeper into the forest’s heart. They move with the hunter’s silence, attuned to ever rustle, every whisper of wind through the leaves. “Here,” Keyon murmurs, pausing by a swath of trampled underbrush. “This is one of their paths. They’ve grown bolder, less cautious.” Emeric crouches, examining the ground. Broken twigs, disturbed soil, faint tracks, all telltale signs of goblin passage. “They’re organized,” he muses aloud, piecing together the evidence before them. “Coordinated movements, strategic strikes. It’s unlike any goblin behavior I’ve encountered.”
“Which means someone - or something - is guiding them,” Savi adds, her gaze sweeping the shadows that dance between the trees. “Let’s find out who, or what, that is,” Emeric says, rising to his feet with renewed purpose. The three exchange a look of mutual understanding, their unspoken pact sealed. With a final nod to each other, they delve deeper into the thicket, senses alert. Emeric’s magic at the ready, Keyon attuned to any disturbance around them, prepared to warn the others, and Savi’s divine authority prepared to provide sanctuary.
Their cause is clear; to find the source of the evil threatening their land, and put a stop to it before it is too late.