Darris didn’t know what to think when he opened his eyes to the night sky. He was flat on his back with cold and wet mud under him. He was on dirt, not the cold stone of the ruined temple. The next thing he noticed was he still couldn't see out of his right eye. He felt his face; a hole was where his eye would’ve been. Then he noticed his skin. Rather, what was left of it.
His body was partially decayed. Bits of skin were torn away, revealing corroded muscle and colorless veins that no longer flowed with blood. He was a walking corpse. Although he was at least alive… if you would even consider being undead ‘alive’.
Darris sat up. He was in a graveyard. Oddly fitting. No other undead were around, just a plethora of graves all surrounding him. He slowly stood up. He could move freely, regardless of the fact that his blood no longer ran through his body and despite the limbs broken by the devil. Next to him lay several of his belongings from his home, or from his bunk in the guildhall. Things he had certainly not brought to the temple.
A small lockbox whose lock had rusted away to nearly nothing.
A hand drawn picture of him alongside his mom, dad, brother and sister. An arrow pointed to the girl, at the other end it read ‘me’. Darris smiled at his sister’s drawing.
Then there was a pen, covered in dirt that stuck to it. On the side, in fancy lettering, read ‘for fame and honor’; the motto of the Fame Guild.
Next to the pen was his guild badge. A small circular piece of cloth with two silver stars pinned to it, signifying his rank. It was tattered and decayed, but the silver stars still gleamed through the grime.
He picked up the lockbox and pulled it open, the rusted lock crumbling with little effort. Inside was a well preserved, but still weathered gray-scaled photo of him, Trent, Isak, Elrik, and Tempest. The first photo they’d taken once squad 12 was formed. And, to Darris's knowledge, the only one.
Under the photo was a small golden necklace. He remembered it as a gift from Tempest. He gave it to him for his birthday. His first birthday since joining the guild. Possibly the only one now, he figures. The golden sword charm dangled from the thin chain. Without thinking he unclipped the chain and put it around his neck. The necklace was surprisingly warm for having been locked away in a box.
Darris closed the box after retrieving the necklace, the memories of his friends still too raw to ponder any longer.
Lastly, there was a weathered dagger staked into the mud to the side of his grave. Trent’s dagger he’d given to Darris. The dagger had not worn at all in the time it was placed there, but it was flecked with dirt and dust. The swirling blade of the dagger gleamed with an unusually cold light, while the two smaller bladed prongs that stuck from the hilt guard gave off a malevolent shine. Across the wooden hilt was the number 12 written in elvish script, the engraving perfectly clear of grime and debri.
Darris picked up the dagger and tucked it within his tattered shirt, shaking off the goosebumps the dagger gave him and explained it away as delusion.
In front of where he’d woken up was a gravestone, partially crumbled over so many years. Some sort of flowering vines have been cultivated in front of the grave, which have spread to constrict the slab of marble. With a swipe to move the tendrils aside, the carvings were clear enough to read.
Darris Grimhul
8th of Star’s Passing- 24th of Celestial's Passing
522-546
“An honorable hero, blessed by the heavens. May he rest in the gardens of Elysium.”
A faint smile spread across Darris's face. He had been hailed as a hero for what he’d done in life. Then a voice spoke from behind him.
“Are you done gawking at your own grave?” The voice curtly asked from behind him.
Darris quickly turned around to see a figure sitting atop one of the gravestones in an impatient manner. His skin was pale gray, with the look of a man who had lived long enough to have become jaded to the world. He wore oddly fine clothing, as if he were dressing for a funeral. The irony of the thought wasn’t lost on Darris. However, it wasn’t very well kept, as if he had just been exhumed as well. Darris couldn’t help but lightly smirk at the thought of the man attending his own funeral. He wore a black vest lined with silver trimming. Over it was an ostentatious black coat with multitudes of symbols and sigils lining the sleeves in a mix of gold and silver. Over one of his shoulders was an emerald green cowl with golden silk along the edges. The bright green mantle brought back painful memories of the gem-studded lizard’s bloodthirsty smile.
His eyes were the same emerald green color, not helping Darris’ attempts to hold back the flood of memories. Darris focused on other parts of his face: His ears came to a dull point away from his head, his hair was smooth and black as coal, and his face was wrinkled with a thousand scowles. The locks of his hair reflected the silvery moonlight from the sky, as if it were a mirror made from shadows.
“Who are-” Darris was cut off when the figure spoke again.
“Svalken.” He said calmly. His voice was deep but smooth, invoking the thought of a fine cigar in Darris’s mind. His voice flowed softly, as if he had never raised his voice in his life. “I’m the reason you’re a walking corpse.” He spoke as if it was a normal thing to say. Darris half-expected the man to flip out a matchbook to take a long drag from a cigarette.
“You resurrected me?” Darris asked.
Svalken just rolled his eyes, somehow already tired of Darris’s existence. “Clearly.” He said with a soft sigh. He got off of the gravestone and gingerly stepped a foot onto the muddied grass as if he wasn’t sure what it was. “I needed a student and you were the only thing in this graveyard worth anything.” he explained. “Fancy headstone as well, figured you for royalty. Glad you aren’t. I would hate to deal with a snobbish child.”
“Uh… thanks?” Darris said, filing yet another question he had to the to-do-later bin. “A student for what?” He asked, stumbling to his feet like a new-born calf.
Svalken scratched the back of his neck. “Oh yeah, that’s important.” he mumbled, more to himself than to Darris. “You’re a Reaper.” He said, like it was the most self-explanatory statement in the world.
Darris paused for a moment. “What's-” He began, but, once again, Svalken cut him off with utter irritation. “Why must I explain all of this to you?” he sighed.
“What a Reaper does depends on what cycle they’re a part of.” Darris opened his mouth to speak but Svelken spoke again. “its like a group… or a faction.” he answered. “You and I are a part of the Sympathy Cycle. We cause harm to people who’ve harmed others.” he explained.
A brief silence washed over the two. Darris slowly digested all the information he’d been given. Then he was just left with one question. “Why? If that’s what we do, then why not join a guild?”
Svalken’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He sighed; a long aggravated and exhausted sigh. He cursed under his breath, debating whether it’ll be worth it to just return the kid back to his grave. “How do I put this?” He asked himself. “We steal souls from dead things to fuel our own power.” He said.
Darris's eyes widened. “We’re necromancers?” He asked hurriedly.
Svalken glared at Darris with actual offense. “Don’t tie us in with those imbeciles. They know nothing of souls or life force. All they do is animate the corpses of creatures. To call a Reaper a necromancer is an insult. its like comparing a basilisk to Bahamut” He spat out with utter and complete disgust.
Darris blinked a few times. “Oh… so then how do you use souls? And what powers?” He asked.
Svalken sighed once again. “Hold out your hand.” He grumbled.
Darris tilted his head. “How would-”
“Just do it.”
Darris held out his hand, palm facing the sky.
“Imagine a weapon. Any weapon, but preferably something you’re familiar with.” He said.
Darris thought for a moment, concentrating on visualizing a suitable weapon. He found it nearly immediately, for he’d used the exact blade a thousand times. Then a heavy but familiar weight formed in his hand. He opened his eyes to find a simple scimitar in his hand. Just like the one he used to wield.
Svalken’s eyes narrowed. “A bit uncreative. But anyways, that’s called a soul armament. All reapers have one. A weapon they can call upon at any moment in case they need it.” He explained.
Darris gently swung the scimitar a few times. It was just slightly heavier then the scimitar he used to use, but it felt like it was weighed to be perfect for him. The grip was even molded to perfectly match his hands. It felt better than the one that was specially made for him when he became an official member of the Fame guild. “What else can we do?” He asked, looking back up at Svalken.
Suddenly the weight in his hand disappeared.
Svalken rolled his eyes. “You need to concentrate on the weapon to keep it with you. Otherwise it vanishes. You’ll need to know that when in a fight. Unless you feel like dying a second time?” He’d said, almost as if it were not rhetorical. “As for your question: You can’t really do anything if you don’t have any souls stored up. And, since you just woke up from a six-foot deep mud nap, you don’t.” He said, before suddenly glancing off into the distance. “‘Less you want to start your new life with a crime spree.”
Darris's brows knit as he took a step to see what Svalken was referring to. What he saw next made his jaw drop.
It was Vanderin; the town he’d grown up in. Lanterns lit the dusty streets which rivers of citizens flowed across, even at such a late hour. The small bar in town, the Rusty Cup, still had the lanterns lit within it, shining like a lighthouse beacon to any lost citizen who came across it. He remembered so many things from his childhood, which only served to make his heart ache.
Then he looked across the town to the rolling fields of wheat, which seemed to have nearly doubled in size since he’d last been there. Despite their size the crops weren’t fully grown, only a few months from being right to harvest.
Then his vision drifted over to his old home. For a moment he didn’t recognize it. It was no longer a small hovel, but a modest house that rivaled that of the tavern itself. It had become one of the largest houses in town. Although to be fair that isn't saying much.
The longer he looked about the more it began to dawn on him how much bigger the town had gotten. Many new buildings had been built along the edges of where the town used to be, while ones that had existed so long ago had either been replaced or expanded into new ones.
So much progress in the time he’d been gone. Then a thought shot through his mind like a bolt of lightning. “How long have I been dead?” He asked, turning to Svalken with urgency in his voice.
“Considering your gravestone is accurate; over 200 years.” He calmly replied.
Darris's eyes widened. “What?!” He shouted, making Svalken flinch slightly. Several thoughts crossed his mind in mere moments. How much has the world changed? Was his family’s bloodline still alive? What had happened at the Ziggurat once he’d died? After all there Tempest had called for more skilled adventures to clear the temple.
“The ziggurat! What happened at the Ziggurat!? There were demon’s everywhere! They swarmed us..! Did the veteran adventurers wipe them out? Was the summoner killed!?” He frantically asked in the span of a single breath.
Svalken looked at him with wide and intensely analyzing eyes, like a scholar who had just found the discovery of his lifetime. His gaze slowly lit up with awe, before quickly shifting back. “You were there at the Ruination? The exact spot?” He asked, his eyes boring into Darris’s mind.
“The… what?” Darris asked.
For the first time Darris actually saw Svalken display actual emotion. Svalken sighed, like the discovery wasn’t anything new. He looked slightly sorry for Darris as he spoke. “That… ‘problem’ at the ziggurat was never solved. It just got worse. Much worse. Demons and Devils alike began flooding into the material plane. Then they began tearing everything apart, even themselves.” He said, then corrected himself. “Especially themselves.” Svalken’s gaze hardened. “A new Ruin was formed; ‘The Ruin of Hades’ as people call it.”
Svalken looked away. “Then how did your body get here? No one has been able to get within a mile of that temple without getting slaughtered.” He asked, more to himself than to Darris.
He sighed. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter now-”
“It does matter.” Darris shouted. “What's happened to Sige? How many people have died? Is the Fame guild still active? Are we safe? Is this town safe?” He asked, once again in a panicked frenzy.
Svalken was silent for a moment, then chose to answer the question he knew. “This town is safe, its all the way across the continent from the ruination. The fiends haven’t ventured past the Earthen Spine” He explained. “Wonder how long those mountain fortresses will last.” He mumbled to himself.
He glanced at Darris, noting his worried expression. “We’re fine. The fiends can’t get this far west. Even without the line of strongholds, it would take them a very long time to trek through those treacherous crags” He said, beginning to walk toward the town. “Now. Let's go check into that tavern.” He said, glancing back at Darris.
He stepped toward him and set a hand on his head. Suddenly, Darris felt a cool wave flow over him, like the flowing stream of a mountainous river. He felt off, and look down at his body. His skin had color, becoming flush with life. Hisveins seemed to flow with blood, and his wounds had healed completely. “You healed me?” Darris asked in amazement.
“No.” Svalken curtly remarked, as if it were obvious. “its an illusion over your body so you don’t look like a corpse.”
It was at that moment that Darris noticed he still couldn’t see out of his right eye. Still missing. Slightly disappointed, but still happy to venture back into his home town, Darris and Svalken walked into the bustling street.
* * *
The Rusty Cup had definitely gotten nicer since Darris was a child. The once old and splintered tables and hard wooden stools looked to have recently been replaced with more polished and comfortable furniture. The walls, once lined with torches, now had been traded for lanterns.
The tables were littered with the many citizens of Vanderin. Some enjoyed a calm, late meal after a long day of labor. Others were loud and inebriated after a substantial payday. All while others looked tired, only eating a small meal, as if soon they had to get back to work any moment.
No one batted an eye when a fancily dressed dark elf and a boorishly clothed teenager walked in; too deep in their cups or too encapsulated with worry. Without a word Svalken took a seat at one of the tables, prompting Darris to sit across from him. Not a moment later a young barmaid walked to the table, notepad in hand. The barmaid had an unusual presence for one in her position, and Darris couldn’t help but give her his full attention. She had dark hazel skin and brown eyes with black curly hair, and spoke to the pair with confidence and gusto.
She flashed a warm, pleasing smile. “I am Enrolst Mathinnil; I will be waiting your table.” She greeted the two of them, glancing at both of them, but never in the eyes. Or eye, in Darris's case.
“Just seared lamb, and some ale.” Svalken glanced at Darris. “Two chops actually, and a room for a night.” He ordered.
Enrolst quickly wrote down the order, flashing them another smile. “I’ll have that out quick.” Darris felt like she felt familiar, and the gears began to turn in his mind. She turned to leave, but Darris interrupted her as he came close to a realization.
“Are you related to Elmer Mathinnil?” He blurted out, speaking before even he knew what he was asking.
Enrolst turned back, her eyebrows knitting as she stared at him with suspicion. “Um.. Yes, actually. He was my great great grandpa. How did you know of him?”
Darris opened his mouth to speak, but it was that moment he’d noticed his predicament. Elmer Mathinnil had been a friend of his before he left to join Fame. Him, Isak, and Darris had all been in the same friend group in town. They had all thought of becoming adventures one day, but Elmer had left before either of them had and they simply lost contact with him.
A slight but noticeable solemn expression fell upon Daris's face. “Was he an adventurer?” He asked, turning in his chair to face Enrolst.
She thought for a moment. “I believe he was at one point. But then he retired when he lost his leg. He died of old age not long after I was born.”
“Oh, do you know how he lost his leg?” He asked. Enrolst just shrugged. “I think he’d said something about demons, but that's all I remember.”
Darris turned away as the blood, or what was left of it, drained from his face. “Oh. ..that's all. You can go now.” He said, trying not to look back to Enrolst. She stood for about half a second before walking away, slightly shaking her head in confusion.
“He was my friend.” Darris faintly whispered.
Svelkan looked to Darris, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. “its been over 200 years. Humans don’t live long.” He said nonchalantly. “He lost his leg because of me.” Darris said with a quiver, raising his knees up to his chest in the chair.
Svelkan rolled his eyes. “He lost it from a demon. I don’t see how that's your fault. Even if you died fighting some.”
“its my fault that demons have overtaken Sige.”
“You’d’ve died regardless. You can’t stop a Ruin. Even I can’t. The fiends would’ve flooded through anyways. There were many many portals all over the area.” he said, momentarily pausing to think. “It doesn’t matter what you did or what you do now. You died and you would’ve died no matter what. Just be glad you had enough of a body left for me to give you a second chance.”
Darris sighed, putting his legs down and setting his head down on the table.
Stolen story; please report.
“Try to just forget about it. It'll be better for both of us.” Svalken suggested.
A few moments later Enrolst came back with two plates of seared meat, setting them down in front of the two customers. She began to walk away, but paused and turned to Darris. “By the way, this might be an odd question, but is Gregory Grimhul your cousin? The one who works with Mr. Jhinarr? You look a lot like him.”
Darris leaned back slightly. He thought for a moment. His bloodline seemed to still be around, even 200 years later. He nodded slightly. “Um.. yes. He’s my cousin. Technically. I’ve been gone a long time, and its a distant connection.” He answered, trying to keep his answer vague. He was part of the Grimhul line, so it wasn’t necessarily a lie.
Enrolst took a half-step away from Darris, putting a bit of her hair behind her ear. “Oh, in which case, tell him to stop by sometime. Thanks.” And with that she turned and walked away. Darris watched her as she left.
“Quit ogling the bar wenches and eat your food.” Svelkan said, already taking a bite of his meat.
“I wasn’t staring!” Darris said quickly, a warmth spreading across his cheeks.
Svelkan just nodded sarcastically and said. “Sure.”
Darris looked down at his food. It was nothing fancy. Just the cooked leg of a lamb. The food was the same here, even 200 years into the future. He picked a piece of meat from the slab in front of him. As he expected it was hot, but not enough to burn his hand. Then he shoved it in his mouth and ate it. The meat warmed the inside of his mouth, and his lips. However, only the left side of it. He’d almost forgotten that half his face was no longer there. Nothing but his skull. He was a corpse after all, it was a wonder his nerves even functioned. Then he swallowed, then felt nothing. He felt the meat fall into his empty stomach, but nothing. He didn’t feel hungry, or satiated by the piece of meat.
“Considering I'm undead, do I even need to eat? Or sleep, or drink or anything?” He asked.
Svalken looked at Darris, then to his food. He rolled his eyes, more at himself then to Darris. “No, or breath actually. But you can still feel anywhere you have… had… nerves before. So everywhere but the side of your face pretty much.” he said, then he leaned forward and pulled Darris's cooked lamb back to himself.
Darris looked down at his hands. The illusion over Darris's body made him look alive. Made it look like blood still coursed through his veins. Made it look like he still needed to eat. And drink. And sleep. And breath.
Darris stood up from his chair. The chair grinding against the wooden floor with a splitting screech. He then turned and began walking toward the exit.
“What are you doing?” Svalken asked, more annoyed than concerned.
“Just going to look around.” Darris answered.
Svalken rolled his eyes and took another bite of his lamb, followed by a sip of ale from the mug at his side. “Be back soon.” Was all he said before Darris left into the streets of Vanderin; the town he lived in 200 years ago.
Darris didn’t really have an idea as to where he would go. He just needed to walk around. To scour his former hometown. To feel the wind on his skin. To feel alive. Despite the face he was nothing more than a corpse with its soul still caged in its body.
He’d seen undead before. They weren’t necessarily rare, albeit it was frowned upon to bring something dead back to life.
He vaguely called a memory to his mind. Squad 12 had gone on a mission to clear out a random abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere. Apparently someone had stumbled upon it and saw a few undead within it. He ran and called the nearest guild, Fame.
When they had arrived, they came across many zombies that came from nearly every room and swarmed them. However, the undead weren’t hostile. In fact they were all dressed as servers and retainers of the mansion. Whilst none but one of them could speak, they all served their duties of keeping the mansion clean. At least, as clean as about 20 undead with generally limited motor function could.
There was even a ghost of the royal they had once served. A young woman who Darris had forgotten the name of. When she had suddenly appeared from a picture frame, Trent had screamed and nearly fallen down the stairs that were behind him.
In the end, they had left the mansion of undead without any bloodshed. They told Fame that the area was off limits to anyone and declared the mission a success.
Darris then stumbled upon the town center. A large fountain had been built within the square land of pavement. Many benches layed neatly across the area, placed near some small trees that had been planted around for shade during the particularly suny evenings. The square was lit with many lamps across it, only leaving small motes of shadow near the edges and between buildings.
The lamps, at least when Darris was first alive, were a rare luxury. Having been named a permanent source of light due to its use of a magically burning flame that didn’t need oxygen to stay alit. However it seemed they had become more of a common occurrence in the past 200 years.
Darris only spotted two people around the square at that hour.
One drunk laid across one of the benches, passed out cold. He looked like one of the less fortunate farmers that made nearly a quarter of Vanderin’s population, although Darris wondered how that number had fluctuated in the time he’d been gone.
Another person, a girl nearly Daris's (former) age, was sitting on the edge of the fountain, her back to the water, reading a book.
Darris stepped forward, stopping at the edge of the fountain, on the opposite side of the girl. Within the dark water of the fountain’s pool Darris saw hundreds of glistening spots. Many copper and silver coins had been tossed into the watery pool, light from the lanterns flickering off of them like stars through a night sky.
Darris bent forward and stuck his arm into the water. It was cold, as he expected. However he noted that the water seemed to flow through him at many points, rather than around him. After all, he was nothing but corroding flesh underneath the illusion Svalken had placed upon him. He pulled his arm from the water and scanned it up and down. It felt wet, he could feel the water dripping down his arm and sticking to his skin (or what was left of it). However, the illusion that was cast over his body was unchanging, it still looked perfectly dry.
Then Darris reached up an arm to the right side of his face. His arm hit something hard and sturdy, his skull. He tapped his fingers against the rough surface that protected his brain. He could feel the soft impact across his cranium, but he couldn't feel his finger on his own head. Then, slowly he felt the large hole where his eye would’ve been. Hesitantly, as if reaching into a hole that could have possibly housed a large snake, he stuck his fingers inside his eye socket. It was an odd feeling, rooting around in one's own head, literally. He tapped the inner side of his skull and felt the vibrations run through his head, it made his left eye tear up. He blinked a few times and pulled his fingers from his head.
He looked down at his reflection in the rippling water of the fountain. With the illusion, he looked nearly identical to what he had in life, excluding a few small things that Svalken didn’t know just by his corpse. Such as a small birthmark that rested below his jaw.
He glanced around and eyed the girl once again, who had yet to glance up from the book she was reading. Her hair was brown, long, and smooth. She was generally slim, with skinny arms. Then Darris noticed the pages of what she was reading. The pages were scattered with arcane runes with in depth descriptions for all of them and what they were. Darris knew little of the arcane, however he wasn’t void of the knowledge.
“What sort of runes are those?” Darris asked, gesturing to the page of the book.
The girl quickly turned around to face Darris, somewhat confused as to why someone had suddenly asked her a question. She scanned Darris up and down, as if assessing if she should answer. Then she spoke. “its cyromancy.” She answered.
“Ice magic.” Darris clarified, nodding slightly. “What are you reading?” He asked.
Keeping a finger on the page, the girl flipped over the book to the cover page and faced it to Darris. On the cover was a silver rune that simply looked like a circle that was cut in two by a line cutting across the sides of it. In fancy lettering above the rune it read Talnor’s guide to Runecraft. Below the rune in smaller read the author’s name: ‘Nivor Talnor’.
Darris's brows knit on his forehead, at least he assumed they did through the illusion. “Who’s Nivor Talnor?” He asked. “Is he a strong mage?”
The girl tilted her head and just glared at Darris like he’d asked if grass was green. “He’s the most powerful sigil mage on the continent. Do you not know about the Arcane Triad?” She asked.
Slowly, Darris shook his head.
The girl just scoffed, setting her book down. “They are a trio of powerful mages who live in Sighreshi.”
Darris nodded in understanding. Sighreshi had been around since before he died. It was the capital of Sige and had supposedly been built upon the ruins of the Icaryian’s kingdom. However the name of such a place had been lost in time.
“And Nalvor is part of them?” Darris assumed.
The girl nodded. “He is.” Then she looked at Darris and stuck out a hand. “I’m Susain by the way.” She said with a light smile.
“Darris.” He said, shaking Susain’s hand. Her hand was staggeringly warm compared to Darris's.
Susain pulled her hand away and rubbed it with her other hand. “Your… hands are cold.” She said, more confused than worried.
Darris looked at the water in the fountain. “Well, I just stuck my hand in the water there… so-” His voice trailed off.
Susain nodded, but didn’t seem to believe him completely. She then stood up and dusted herself off. “Well I should probably get going, its late after all.” She said, looking up into the night sky.
Darris followed her gaze up to the stars. The same sight he saw when he’d first woken in his life. “I wonder what my family are doing.” he mumbled to himself.
“Huh?” Susain asked, grabbing a small satchel that had rested near her feet.
Darris looked back at Susain. “Oh, nothing. I didn’t say anything. I should get going too. It was nice speaking with you.” He said, granting the girl a slight wave.
“Yeah, you too.” She said with a light smile before quickly turning around and walking into the darkness.
Darris sighed and began walking back the way he’d come. He cursed himself. Why had that encounter been so awkward? Why was he constantly nervous? He mentally slapped himself in the face. “I really need to get a hold of myself.” He mumbled.
Svalken was still sitting at the table; feet up on the table, just as he’d been when Darris had left. Many of the patrons had left, they were the only ones there except for a table or two.
“Took you long enough. I began to think you’d gotten killed.” he said. Whether he was being sarcastic or not, Darris couldn’t tell. “The room is ready by the way.” he said, getting up from his chair. The plates and cups of ale had been removed from the table and cleaned. However a small bit of dirt rested at the edge of the table where Svalken’s shoes had rested.
Svalken walked up the stairs at the edge of the room. It led to a long hallway with many doors on either side.
“Which is it?” Darris asked, glancing from one door to the next.
Without answering, Svalken walked up to a door halfway down the hall and opened it. The door creaked open, nearly getting stuck halfway open before Svalken pushed it again and it opened completely.
Within the room was a small nightstand with a mirror hanging above it. Unlit candles had been set upon the stand for light. A chest for one's belongings rested at the foot of a singular bed, only barely enough for a single person.
“There’s only one bed.” Darris noted. “Where-” he was cut off by Svalken, who laid across the bed with a groan.
“That's because only one of us needs any sleep.” He said, laying his head back on the straw pillow, putting his hands behind his head for extra cushioning.
Darris bit his lip to calm himself. “What do you expect me to do?” He asked with a sigh.
Svalken shrugged. “Anything as long as you don’t cause any trouble. Then I'd have to find a new student.”
Darris stepped up to the next of the bed, glaring down at Svalken. “Student? You haven’t even taught me anything. I hardly know what a Reaper is, or how to use souls to do anything. The only thing I've done is summon a scimitar once.” Darris ranted.
He was silent for a brief moment as the words Darris had said settled. Svalken sighed and rose from the bed. Without speaking a word he walked toward the door, then he stopped and looked back. “Come on.” He ordered before pulling open the door with yet another creak.
“Where are we going?” Darris asked, following behind him.
“Graveyard.” He said, a slight bit of annoyance in his voice.
“What?” Darris asked. “Why? Are you going to resurrect someone else?”
“Do you want to learned something or not?” Svalken asked, turning around to face Darris. Darris just bit his lip and crossed his arms. Svalken took that as compliance and continued walking.
The air had somehow gotten colder with the breeze that had settled over the grassy fields that surrounded the town. The fields swayed like waves of water over the hills, forming a line of silver that moved across the landscape as the grass reflected the light from the moon.
The graveyard rested uptop one of the hills. It had once been surrounded by a steel fence but it had been well worn with time. Portions of the fence had been bent to the ground or even demolished completely.
Walking through what used to be a gate, Svalken stopped next to the first gravestone he came across. Someone named Andrew Slurvaum.
“Why did you bring me out here? How is any of this going to help understand souls?” Darris asked, gesturing to the graves in front of him.
“Just shut up for a minute.” Svalken said, kneeling down and setting a hand in front of the grave.
Suddenly, Svalken’s skin began to exude a thin silver flame from his skin. As the flickers of flames curled up into the air it began to take form; many forms. One was of a laughing goblin who evaporated as quick as it had appeared. Another was an ogre who let out a guttural roar before evaporating. Then the fire suddenly burst outward from Svalken, then stopped appearing all together. Svalken then rose to the ground and took a few steps back.
“What was-” Darris was cut off by a sharp ‘shh’ from Svalken.
A second passed. Then another, and another. Then Darris noticed a light buzzing in his ears. As if a fly was flying about right next to his ear, sending the vibration of the sound into his head. Suddenly, something broke the surface of the earth in front of the grave. A corroded hand clawed its way up, followed by an entire arm, then another hand that moved the dirt away. Soon the animated corpse of a human tore its way from its rest within the earth. Its jaw was slack; its eyes glazed over lacking the former intellect it had when it was living. The corpse wore simple work clothes, however they had all been torn to rags on its decayed skin.
Svalken turned and walked behind Darris. “Kill it.” He ordered.
Darris turned to ask who those words addressed, but he got his answer soon when the walking corpse stumbled forward and swung a limp arm at the warrior.
Darris easily moved to the side, beginning to make space between him and the zombie, however his head still faced Svalken. “You want me to kill him?” He asked. “How?”
“You summoned a blade earlier, didn’t you?” Svalken said.
Darris stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and imagining his scimitar in his hands. He then felt a weight in his hands. However, he then felt something strong but limp across his face. His eyes flew open as he stumbled back from the zombies flailing arms. The scimitar fell from his hands and disappeared as it hit the soft dirt.
“I feel you’d know to not close your eyes in a fight.” Svalken called, leaning against the gravestone of the newly risen corpse. “You can imagine the blade in your hand without closing your eyes, right?”
Darris let out a frustrated grunt as he began imagining the weight of his scimitar in his hands again. His concentration was snapped when the zombie lunged forward and tried to grab him, however he quickly ducked and manuvered around the corpse. Darris grunted again. ‘How is thinking about a sword harder than drawing it from a sheath?’ He asked in his mind.
He took a deep breath and tried to relax, stepping back from another of the corpse’s flailing arms. He tried not to focus on the corpse, just imagining it as if it were a simple object in his path, not an enemy. He concentrated on his empty hand as he ducked below the zombie’s arm and stepped behind it. Then he felt the familiar weight of a blade in his hands.
Without a second thought, Darris turned and swung across with the scimitar that had appeared in his grasp. Just as the shambling corpse turned to face him, a sharp blade cut through its weak flesh and through the bones of its neck. The corpse’s head flew from its body. The headless body fell to the ground in a heap, the head following a second after.
Darris looked to Svalken with a smirk, but the dark elf just nodded back at the corpse again. Quickly, Darris bared his blade at the corpse again, half expecting it to begin moving again.
Then the body began exuding a golden mist, similar to the mist that came from Svalken only a moment earlier. The mist began in its chest, and began floating up into the air, getting higher and higher. The mist began to form a humanoid. The one he’d just killed. However it didn’t show a zombie or corpse, it showed the person when they were alive. A farmer tending to his crops and laughing with his family. He had a daughter that he hugged and swung about in his arms. He had friends he worked with and got along well with.
“Grab it, it won’t be there forever.” Svalken shouted.
Darris slowly reached out and touched the shaped mist of the man. Suddenly, the mist flowed toward him and began to flow into him, being sucked into his skin. Darris heard a hearty laugh in the back of his mind as the mist disappeared into him. He felt invigorated. As if he’d had a full meal, a good night's sleep, and a fine drink.
“There… Now you can say I showed you something.” Svalken said, getting off of the tombstone he’d been resting on.
“So what do I use it for? Is it just with me now?” Darris asked, the blade in his hand fading away.
“Well you can’t really do much with a soul like that. It’ll hardly do you any good.” Svalken explained.
“How? its still a soul.” Darris retorted.
Svalken sighed. “Do you really think the soul of a poor farmer,” he gestured to the headless corpse. “Is the same as the soul of a great dragon.”
Darris nodded in understanding. “How exactly could I know how valuable something’s soul would be?”
Once again, Svalken sighed, taking a seat atop the gravestone he’d just gotten off of. “As something grows in both age and experience, so does its soul. It becomes more potent and valuable to a reaper. Think of it like food. If its poorly taken care of and made by a lousy chef, it won’t taste great. But if the food is made by fine ingredients and made by a chef of royal renown, the food will be delectable.” Svalken explained.
Darris blinked a few times. “What?” He asked, having understood nearly nothing of Svalken’s explanation.
Svalken cursed under his breath. “If something is hard to kill, generally its soul is valuable.” He shouted in annoyance.
“Well… what could I do right now; with only one soul?” Darris asked.
Svalken, once again, hopped off the gravestone. “Not much.” He said. “But mainly two things.” He held up two fingers. “First off, you can coat a weapon in the soul to inflict the pain of the soul onto whoever you hit.” He put down his first finger. “Second, you can encase yourself in souls to protect yourself from harm, although they are pretty flimsy so be wary of that.” Svalken explained.
“Like a soul barrier.” Darris said. A single phrase sped into his mind. The summoner who had conjured the fiends into the material plane had mentioned a soul barrier that was around himself.
Svalken’s eyes narrowed. “Yes actually. A soul barrier.”
“Do you know someone named Xarturim?” Darris asked immediately.
Svalken’s eyes knit. He glared at Darris, and he glared back at him. An odd fury grew in his eyes. The Svalken looked away. “Never heard of them. I don’t know a ‘Xarturim’.” Svalken answered.
Darris just sighed. Why would it matter if Zvalken had known Xarturim. He was probably dead by now. Dragonborn only lived about 80 years; it had been over 2oo since he died.
“That man’s soul was golden. He looked happy.” Darris said, glancing at his hands. The illusion from his body had faded, giving way to the corroding skin and open bone. “He seemed like he had a peaceful life.”
Svalken just shrugged. “All I saw was him yelling at his wife and beating his daughter.” He said.
Darris glanced at Svalken, a look of concern upon his face.
“Everyone sees something different when they look upon a soul. Sometimes it depends on the circumstance of the death, but largely it depends on who is looking. They all see a different side of someone. You just tend to see the happier side of people.” Svalken explained.
“Oh…” Darris said, nodding in understanding. “What do you see?” He asked.
Svalken was silent for a moment, staring down at his hands. “Regret.”
“Well I’m going back to that inn. You may not need sleep but unlike you, I’m alive.” Svalken said, getting up and starting toward the town.
“Wait, what do you expect me to do?” Darris called out at the Drow. Svalken stopped and turned to Darris. “Take advantage of your needlessness to sleep, eat, and drink. Practice using that soul. The single soul of a farmer will do little to nothing to help your strength grow, but with it you can at least practice using the basics of a soul.” With that he turned around and continued walking.
Darris watched him walk away in silence. The light breeze made his silky black hair reflect the moonlight onto Darris’s face. Now alone, Darris felt the weight of his blade in his hand. He glanced down and looked at the fine steel blade. Finally taking in the intricacies of the craft of the weapon. A weapon he's apparently made within his mind. A weapon bound to his soul.
The handle of the blade was wrapped in fine black leather, fitting Darris’s rotting hand perfectly. The handle guard was a thin piece of circular metal that seemed melded to the thin blade of the scimitar itself. The blade was polished steel, the stain of rotted flesh from the zombie he’d slain moments earlier had disappeared, granting the sword a look as if it were just crafted from a master craftsman.
Darris flipped the blade and tested the scimitar’s sharpness with his thumb, rubbing it across the edge of the blade. Immediately, his thumb was cut, a thin streak of black blood flowing down his hand and onto the dirt below him. The blade was most definitely sharp.
Then Darris glanced over to the nearby rusty metal fence at the edge of the graveyard. Then a smile crept across his face.
With a brief spin of his blade he walked toward a singular pole at the edge of the fence. It was dented here and there but it looked sturdy. “Time to test its durability.” He muttered, pulling back his blade.
With all the force he could muster, he swung forward at the dented fence pole, angling the blade ever so slightly up. A loud metallic clang pierced through the sky. Darris’s arm was pricked with pins and needles as the recoil from the blow flowed through his arm. He looked down at his scimitar to see the damages. Any basic scimitar would’ve been dented or bent even a little by a blow such as that. However the blade was completely undamaged, safe for a small amount of rust residue from the fence across the edge of the polished steel.
Then he looked at the fence; his eyes widened.
The part of the fence he’d struck was completely dented to the side, bending the entire pole. Regardless of its wear a metal blow from a scimitar wouldn’t have done that, especially not with a faulty swing like Darri’s had made.
Darris looked at his weapon once again and wiped away the dust from its edge. The blade looked brand new once again.
A smile tugged at the edge of his lips as a question arose into his mind. The weapon in his hands was magical. It would explain its immense durability and master craftsmanship. It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch due to the fact that weapons bound to someone tended to themselves be magical. He’d known someone in Fame who’d been able to call a spear to his hands with a simple thought. He never really considered it, but Darris had never wielded any sort of magic before. He never studied the arcane like Tempest, and he wasn’t naturally birthed with magic like Trent. Magic equipment was a commodity given to people in Fame of only Stage 3 and above. If you had one below that, it wasn’t from the guild.
Then another thought flew across his mind. He glanced to his hand where a silver ring lay wrapped around his finger. He’d nearly forgotten he had it.
Sending his weapon away with the flick of his hand, Darris took the ring from his finger. It was still as polished as when it rested upon Tempest’s hand. On the inside of the ring, the infernal markings persisted. On the front, however, something had changed. The once vibrant white gem in the center had faded away into a clear pearl.
Darris sighed and began to place the ring on his finger when something caught his eye. A singular streak of golden mist emitted from the ring. Then the golden streaks grew more numerous, accumulating above the ring.
From the mist formed many images, nearly too small to make out. At first Darris thought the images were a result of the rolling mist, but then as it grew larger he began to make out the movements.
He saw a group of hooded people fending off a large beast with a multitude of spells. Then it flickered to a large city that Darris recognized as Neshni, the home of the Fame guild. Then the image flickered once again to a ceremony where a figure was being honoured with a badge of the Fame guild. As the scene flickered again Darri’s mouth went dry. He saw himself, alongwith Trent, Isak, and Elrik facing a strange device that flashed for a brief moment before fading away. A device that had captured a moment none of them would forget. The scene flickered again. Now to a time where squad 12 were enjoying a nice meal at a tavern; Darris being gifted a golden necklace as his friends hovered around him, just as ecstatic as he was at the gift. The scene flickered again. He saw a campfire with all of squad 12 around it, all talking and laughing. They all rested in a crumbling stone hut. The final moment of peace any of them had had before they entered their deaths. Finally the scene flickered into nothing but golden mist.
The mist grew larger as more of it exuded from the ring. The mist flowed ahead of Darris before finally taking form, starting from just below his hand, as if helping him hold up the ring that now felt like it weighed 100 pounds.
From the mist formed a hand that aided his hand in holding the ring. Then it began to form the arm, then the sleeves of a robe. Then the torso of someone. Then their legs, and a tail along with the rest of their body. As Darris glanced up at the face, tears came to his eyes.
The horned face of Tempest stood in front of him. A calm smile across his face. His body was made entirely of golden mist, nearly transparent.
Darris opened his mouth to speak but the soul put a finger over his mouth to stop him. its form was cold, it only felt as if a soft wind had pressed against his lips. Darris and the soul locked eyes. Tempest just smiled and took a step forward, moving through Darris’s arms and hugging him.
Darris shivered as the cold form of Tempest wrapped around him, then he faded into mist and began sinking into Darris’s skin. Darris felt a wave of invigorating energy flow through him. The energy flowed through him like a jolt of electricity. The power he’d gained from the farmer was nothing compared to that of Tempest. He recalled Svalken’s words; “As something grows in both age and experience, so does its soul. It becomes more potent and valuable to a reaper.” He’d said.
Darris looked down at his hands, he felt stronger, his reflexes had sharpened. He felt stronger than when he was alive. Maybe if he’d had this strength when he was alive he would have been able to fend off the Ice devil with the help of Tempest and Isak.
His thoughts were cast away as a voice that wasn't his own rang out in the depths of his mind.
“its been too long Darris, we have much to talk about.” The voice of Tempest rang through his head. However it sounded distant, as if he were speaking to him through a thick fog.
Darris smiled. “We sure do.”