1
The Marewoods were filled with a thousand sights, a thousand sounds, and a thousand scents, prime among them the smell of decaying leaves. There was, beneath the smell of rotting plant-life, the distinct aroma of water-life from the various rivers and streams that carved their way through the impossibly large forest, and beneath that further a smell that reminded Amice of why humans avoided the Marewoods the way they did: death.
Only two days in and they had passed over twenty corpses; monsters, mostly, as well as animals so large and fearsome as to be no different than monsters themselves. In either case, the corpses had been fully or partially eaten, or else left to rot in its entirety.
“Will you tell me what we search for?” Amice asked, not for the first time. Aelfred said nothing, as was his custom, and Idmaer merely grunted, leaving Ormar to answer her.
“What? Have the woods frightened you?” he teased.
“Not yet,” she replied. Off to the left, some hundred yards behind trees and rocks, she detected another corpse. Larger than all the ones before, it was reptilian in nature, with sharp scales for skin and jutting teeth that curved upward and downward from an elongated jaw. The area surrounding it had been demolished by battle. A fight over territory, she imagined, though she could not imagine what had killed it. The reptilian monster was large, taller than her own horse and thrice as long at the least, yet it possessed no claws of its own, merely its massive jaws. Yet long lacerations marked its body from head to tail; claws, or talons, long and sharp as swords.
“There is nothing in these woods to fear,” Ormar said.
Except for you three, she thought.
It was an odd thing to travel with people who frightened you, she had come to realize. An odd thing, and not something she enjoyed. Silently she apologized to the men who once served her.
Beyond the corpses, the Marewoods possessed about it a charge of mana that polluted the air like an invisible smoke. Her skin tingled constantly, the feeling growing worse as they entered further into the heart of the woods. Whatever the source was, it was what her captors sought.
By midday they found the source.
She was the first to notice. The smell of smoke, followed by the high stench of sweat and moldy clothes. Sound came after and, slowly, a vague image of a camp and its inhabitants, the details blurred.
Her skin prickled painfully as they closed in, like a thousand needles plunging into her flesh.
“A fucking strong one,” Idmaer said.
Ormar nodded. “Damn strong.”
As the image sharpened she saw him. A hulking beast of a man near ten feet tall and covered in enough muscle for twenty men. It was him. There was no doubt. Alden.
The four entered the camp to looks of mixed curiosity and contempt. None moved to stop them; they all recognized the symbols that marked her captors as Vigilants, and none empire born would dare interfere.
None except their leader.
The horses shied away from his giant form as he approached, and Amice’s skin was lit ablaze by painful prickles.
He ignored the Vigilants in favor of Amice.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I am.”
He grows stranger still, she thought. It was not so long ago that she had left his side. Now he was unrecognizable by appearance, a new man entirely. And yet he was the same. She couldn’t explain it.
Alden turned to the Vigilants, apprehensive. Was there fear in him, she wondered? If there was, Alden did not show it in his face, nor in his heartbeat, which was slower and stronger than it was before. Had he conquered fear, or did he not realize their strength? Neither, she decided, after watching him for a time.
“I am Sir Alden, in service to Baroness Sylvana Titemore. I apologize for the lukewarm welcome, but my men are weary, and truth be told we were not expecting visitors this deep in the woods.”
“No need for apologies, it is no issue. It is not often that those we visit expect us. Ah, but I am ahead of myself. I am Ormar. With me are Idmaer and Aelfred, and we are Vigilants of the Empire.”
“If I may be so bold, what is it that has drawn enough attention for three Vigilants to make an appearance here?”
“I suspect you know already,” Ormar said, and Amice could see it was true. He was comfortable with their presence, unlike his men. Unlike herself. He knew why they were here, and was eager to see the results.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
2
He almost hadn’t known what to make of it. He had smelled them first, the stench of humans intermixed with the smell of blood and dirt and nature. Something he couldn’t have done before his enhancements.
Then he heard them, their voices a faint rumble that grew clearer with every step, the whinnies of their horses distinct against the background noise of birds and river water. It was then that he heard Amice’s voice, and then that he decided to merely wait for them to arrive.
Lastly he saw them, and wanted to run.
Ormar
Age: 33
Health: 23,000/23,000
Mana: 1,200/1,200
Stats
Strength: 1,756
Intelligence: 150
Wisdom: 143
Dexterity: 300
Agility: 1,262
Endurance: 1,573
Luck: 122
Charisma: 65
It was incomprehensible. Over and over, Alden scoured the numbers on the screen in front of him and could not make sense of what he saw. He only knew one thing: if they were intent on killing him, they would have already.
But what eased him most was what he saw after he dismissed the screen. Threads, thousands of them, twisting and entwining themselves together like a spiderweb that covered the entire camp. And the color of them, a purple so delightfully different from the black he had at first suspected, was a promise. Of what, he did not know, but he could feel it in the pit of his being.
Meeting them would serve him well.
“I suspect you know already,” the man named Ormar said.
Alden nodded. “To a degree. Merely suspicions, in truth.”
“Ah, that is good,” Ormar said, dismounting from his horse. “Suspicions are our trade, and you, Alden, are a very suspicious man. It was not long ago that you were a doctor’s aide in Addens, and then a common soldier. One who fought heroically against a foreign invasion, even going so far as to kill a knight, and losing only a hand in the ordeal. Then, of course, you traveled east and met yet another foreign knight, yet this time instead of killing her you convinced her to defect, and then after that you make your way to Coalben were your men are slaughtered in battle while you are prisoner, and to top it all off you kill yet another knight, one even stronger than the one you convinced to defect.”
“You were shorter, too,” Idmaer said.
“That as well,” Ormar said. “It is quite the list of achievements. And though few may know it, achievements are of keen interest to us Vigilants.”
“Are they now? Would you be looking to recruit me then, perhaps?” Alden asked.
“Quite right,” Ormar said.
Is this what the purple threads were for, he wondered? A spot among the Empire’s Vigilants?
“It is not a formal offer,” Ormar continued. “Nor should this discussion be mistaken as an offer to join the Vigilants. As far as that issue is concerned, you have already been denied.”
“Denied?”
Ormar nodded. “The Vigilants are composed only of those who have shown a…discreet manner of behavior. You have not. But we are not the only organization serving at the Emperor’s beck and call, and His Eminence offers a multitude of opportunities for those of great talent.”
“And if I were to deny this opportunity?”
“You would never reach your full potential,” Idmaer said. “Whatever you can become on your own is only a fraction of what you could become with our aid.”
“But it would come at the cost of increased oversight, I imagine?” Alden asked.
“More than you have dealt with under Sylvana, yes. Still less than you would face under other nobles, however.”
Alden did not need to think on it. “Then I shall refuse. I gave up my freedom to become a soldier, not knowing what it would mean. But my service has granted me the privilege of experiencing some small degree of freedom once more, and to be blunt I have become enamored with it. Not so much that I would desert the Empire, mind you, but enough that do not intend on extending my service to Sylvana longer than necessary.”
Dangerous. Foolish, even. Those were the only thoughts that came to mind after the words were spoken. Yet there was no look of dissatisfaction or anger from them, as he’d expected. Instead, his words seemed to bring them a sort of joy or clarity, as if his words were the final piece to some unsolved puzzle Alden could not see.
“Then a different offer,” Ormar said. He stood close to Alden and motioned for him to lower his head, his next words a whisper. “You will have freedom from Sylvana and more besides, if only you do as we ask.”
“What?”
“The Maker’s Mark. You have heard of it from Amice, yes? A powerful thing, but veiled in uncertainty. Uncertainty is a dangerous thing, especially to an empire, and so the Vigilants have been tasked with finding the Maker’s Mark. Only, we do not know what it is. A sword, a stave, a tablet, a book, it could be any one of those or more besides. What we do know is that Hilvan’s Oracle will be Grensfield. And, that you will be going there to besiege it.”
“How…?” Alden started, silenced by an upraised hand.
“Do not look so surprised. Secrets are our domain, and few secrets are kept from us. The Maker’s Mark is one of those few. So, when you besiege Grensfield, we ask only that you find this Oracle and discover what, and ideally, where the Maker’s Mark is. Do this, and you will be justly rewarded.”
Purple threads twisted together again and again, the strands of the web they formed growing thicker and thicker, becoming ropes of purple promises. “I accept,” Alden said, and the Vigilants smiled as one.
The Maker’s Mark
Discover the Secret of the Maker’s Mark
Requirements: Discover the Secret of the Maker’s Mark and aid the Vigilants in their mission.
Rewards: 100,000xp, creation of the Relations statistic, +1000 Relation with Drygallis Empire, +2000 Relation with Drygallis Empire Vigilants, ???.