“This isn’t going to make me pass out?” Henry voiced his suspicions, standing in the center of the arena.
It was just him and Riker for the moment.
The specter made an iffy motion with his hand, “Depends if you can keep yourself upright.”
Henry frowned, “Shouldn’t I just be training this energy first. I mean what use is it then?”
Riker scoffed, “If we taught you anything else you would become a cripple within the day— now. Call out your Avatar.”
Henry grumbled, but decided to have a little fun with it. He raised his hand in a dramatic fashion and struck a pose.
“Hear my call— [Dimetrodon]!”
Light shined, and an outline of a lizard’s face appeared as a sign in the air. Twisting and morphing for a moment, into a spirit mote, before it ballooned into a form as tall as he was, and nearly twice as long.
Henry went slack jawed, taking a step back, nearly falling on his butt from how drained he was.
The prehistoric lizard stood tall on its fours, almost in pride, its base a fiery orange. A massive fin trailed from its head to tail. Marked with bleed tones of red, broken with deep browns and blacks, that crept to the bone spiked points upon the end of its fin.
“You looked like an idiot.” Riker brought him out of it.
“But- But, that’s a dinosaur!” Henry pointed.
Riker looked on, confused, but the creature almost looked smug. Proud of the distinction.
“You had these creatures upon your world?”
“Well… not anymore. They were a part of an extinction event that annihilated like 80% of all life on my planet some millions of years ago.”
Riker let out a whistle, “What happened?”
“A giant meteor hit the planet.”
Riker coughed into his hand. “We don’t get many of those here. Mostly Obelisks and Monoliths are the only things that survive that kind of fall.”
“And yet the end times are going to hit before the end of my lifetime,” Henry deadpanned.
Riker cleared his spectral throat, “So you're familiar with this creature?”
“Mm-mmm,” Henry rolled his eyes at the change. “Sort of, looks just like a giant lizard.”
There was a low bellow, the dinosaur leered, baring its teeth.
Henry took a step closer to Riker. “Dinosaur, alright?”
The growl stopped, returning to a haughty posture.
Riker laughed, “Man that’s got to be the quickest I’ve seen an Avatar turn on it’s Seeker.”
“Can you just get on with it?” He deadpanned, not wanting this to turn into a Jurassic Park.
“Alright… Alright…” Riker caught his breath, which was stupid now that Henry thought about it. A specter needing to breathe? Ridiculous— “To start, I’m pretty sure Ize already implied this, but— forget everything you know..”
“What?”
“We’ll come back to your slight misconception about the “dinosaur” in time,” Riker said with a smile. “But for now, we must first begin with your own potential, the nature of becoming a Seeker.”
There are three components to a Seeker; Thame, Avatars, and Path. Each having their own styles, types, or dispositions. Coupled with their weaknesses and rules, produced the basis of the world’s powers and nature in itself.
From the moment someone is born, or in Henry’s case, from the moment they manifest into this world, their Thame has already been set. As it is a part of their nature; something that could never be changed— what you have is what you get.
Naturally this is why Riker was offered and accepted being a mentor, for he was the greatest teacher of Yor in their time.
“Wait… you're a better teacher than Velin? I thought he was stronger than you.” Henry was confused, even Dimetrodon came up beside him and nodded his head.
There was a tick in Riker’s eye, “Geniuses often don’t teach very well. And I’ve brought up many Seekers with my guidance and insights.”
“Uh-huh.” Dimetrodon mimicked the sentiment.
Riker had a vein bulged on his forehead— wait, how does— “Would you like to figure everything out for yourselves, or shut it and listen?”
Henry locked his lips, and threw away the key.
“Great now, There are three prevalent types of Thame; Yor, Miasma, and Anima…”
Yor; was life— the living body, the physical form, and the will to press on and live in nature. Miasma; was consciousness— influence upon reality, taking and twisting into forms of harmony or discord. Anima; was synthesis— bending the world with what it offers in order to create something new.
“You know that’s really cryptic. I thought you were supposed to dumb it down for me.” Henry said.
“Why…” Riker contorted himself, “There are too many forms in which Avatars and Thame manifest themselves. So, in order to encompass everything that we know— this is the general guideline we think of, but don’t worry. You’ll know what type of Thame it’ll be, be it Seeker or Avatar from the description.”
Henry was skeptical, “So are you just going to unload everything now?”
Riker scoffed, “Don’t go getting ahead of yourself. You’re nowhere near learning everything.”
“So…”
“Yor— we’ll start with what you have. Luckily its perhaps the easiest to comprehend on how it works.” Riker said, while looking around at all of the equipment.
A light bulb went off in his head, “No…”
“You're strangely quick on the uptake for these things— get to running!”
Henry took a moment to process, before a hand chopped his head. “Ow—!”
Dimetrodon growled, before it too got chopped. It tried to bite the arm, but its teeth went right through the ghostly appendage, somehow. Riker smacked the dinosaur again to a whimper.
“You can hit us but we can’t you?! How is that fair!” Henry protested, rubbing his head.
Riker gained a smile that made Henry shudder, in all of its malefic glory.
“Run,” was all Henry heard before he and Dimetrodon tried to out pace the mad specter hitting their behinds at every turn they slowed.
“OW! Where the hell did you even get a stick?!” Henry looked back.
“Faster!” The stick striking true.
----------------------------------------
The days went, his pouch spent… Maybe it was a bit dramatic, but it was beginning to feel like it. With the amount of hours he was paying at the library, if he were to keep it up for another week or so, another honest meal would become a dream.
It didn’t help that he was awash with dread by the time he arrived, practicing Spells really took it out of him. More so when he actually used them to get at what he needed.
Black cloth was an expensive item to pilfer, it was usually safe behind at least one locked window, and another door. He could pick the door, but the window was a damn pain. It nearly made him collapse then and there from exhaustion, barely having enough energy to carry those damn rolls home, let alone do the sowing of them.
He grumbled long into the hours before he went for a decent meal.
But today he was having none of it. The library had stopped being insightful; when the answers repeated themselves without a hint of promise.
Lazy academics, he thought. ‘The way things are…’ ‘Untold mysteries of the era…’
It was ridiculous. No support, no thoughts, much less proof or experiments conducted. It simply was, while the author went on to describe other works and accolades of some form of documented event of another scholar.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
How the mighty have fallen, Seekers and Scribes alike.
The Age of Incineration; was said to be a time where Seekers sundered far too many Trials upon the world. However, it was how it was described that gave him pause. Greed fueled the era, spurred from the previous one’s jealousies, not enough for the majority to attempt the vices of Seekers but certainly degrading their morals enough to funnel opportunities like sour merchants.
Then there was a point of no return, enough Seekers were enamored with the spur of treasure to cause a blow to the majority. It was said, about half of all Seekers alive— died during the era, with another quarter escaping through the now mythical gates. The ones that were left, at least the one who did anything, were the mad ones. Destroying— incinerating entire communities to get at a whisper of sundering.
The era took countless lives, because of it.
Bringing the Age of Silence, then Resurgence; the previous age.
About a hundred years passed since then, the current time left unnamed. Seeking for a defining event to scribe itself into history.
Faus scoff at the whimsical writing, speaking of another golden age of Seekers returning with the knowledge lost to the ages.
Nothing was every ‘lost’, it was silenced— hoarded by the few. Were people just becoming more naive to the nature of the world?
Faus felt so frustrated, he didn’t want an answer.
He took a breath, in the familiar ruin of darkness. A crease in his brow demanding attention for a final push. Laying upon his back, Faus willed his Thame to the last reaches of the mind. Unconcerned with the chaos, the fog trying to shroud his concentration, the torrent that increased pressure upon his thoughts. He needed to touch the end.
A pause broke everything, Faus could go no further, the flood stood still.
Then, from every corner of his body, Thame began to recede without his bidding, pulling upon all of itself near his mind. Until nothing was left, but a tiny white mote. A second matched to the beat of his heart, echoing in rhythm, overpowering a minute later.
It cracked, burst into a thousand shards, disappearing into his blood. Leaving but a single blue flake that was his Thame.
Anima…
His voice rumbled, growing uncontrollably until he grabbed a pillow and let his laughter free.
What were the chances— oh glorious days! It was beyond his wild hopes, he could walk that same path as he once did.
This time, faster than anyone alive, maybe even dead.
Faus wouldn’t waste a single moment!
----------------------------------------
Traveling through the forest and hills was wearying, dodging the offshoot of patrols and random hunters was exhausting.
The region of Wirstel was perhaps the largest region under the Dudley Dukedom. The Barron House certainly ran a tight hold over their land, he could scarcely imagine what this would be like two years from now.
After the Obelisk was found, this land— the entire Kingdom sought hold of the mines within. Seekers sprouted like grass on the barren field, and with it, the balance of the three Dukedoms and royals collapsed within the month of it being uncovered.
War ignited, and Gregor left the Kingdom after Thomas’s Passing.
It was a Key event, and one of the Trials he was pushing to delve.
Dawn broke a few hours ago, with a gentle coast of fog and mildew. He had been looking towards the mountains for quite a while now. Following just off the path till he came upon the town of Roaren; the mining community that would explode in a few years, both, literally and figuratively.
Gregor looked off to the barren side of the mountain; prone to falling rocks and unstable tunnels. The miners didn’t push forward into the mountain in such a way until their quotas of iron ore were increased, having said to stumbled upon the dark pillar in the process.
They made their discovery through a tunnel. This time, however, he would be the one find glory through it’s front.
He just needed to find that damn entrance.
The day dragged on in the wood, closer to the mountain he pressed until he was facing the sheer cliffs. It was a bit daunting looking up, especially when he should be keeping his head to the ground.
Blasted gulch! Where are you?!
Dusk came as he combed through the uneven terrain. But their was nothing; he couldn’t find even a sign of a crack or caved terrain, let alone the sound of water.
Night fell with a “hoot” and the rise of the moon.
Gregor sighed, frustration bore at the shining celestial object. He should have set up camp an hour ago, leaving to forge timber in the dark was a nightmare…
I wonder if it would be just easier to dig with the rest of them and then sneak off. Gregor chuckled, at the thought. Gathering up what he could nearby, and sparking his flint.
His shavings caught alight and the small pieces of dry wood were placed upon the crackling. Metal poles were quickly crossed just above the fire, a small pot of cold stew was hooked onto the section.
Letting him finish setting up the tent for the day.
He had two, perhaps three more days of rations, before he had to either hunt or stop by in town. Gregor grimaced. Their might not be activity but his arrival would certainly raise some curious eyes in this out of the way place.
The stew let off a gentle steam, while the smell tickled his noise. He let it off the hook, retrieving one of his biscuits and a spoon, the mushroom blend was the most enticing find he had for weeks. It was too damn expensive in town! They were outright ripping him off with the prices those mushroom gathers set.
But it wasn’t the time to get worked up over useless things.
He took a bite of his meal. And revealed in the taste of good food. He frowned at how quickly the stew went.
The fire burned out, leaving but the stars and moon to unearth the darkness. He yawned, retrieving his father’s short sword to his tent. Cradling it as he had for the past few days.
He wasn’t very good at wielding weapons, even in his countless futures, Gregor only was average in the face of his enemies. But it was enough, though his body had a lot of catching up to do to get anywhere, he felt safe— knowing that, in some way, his father was still here, protecting him.
Gregor closed his eyes to the long drawn days, having peace within his hands from a world that sought its ruin.
----------------------------------------
Dreams were fickle things, he didn’t know such things in a whirlwind of possibilities. Always awake, always moving forward to a different path.
The day he returned, when sleep claimed him through infinity he felt nothing. But the days went, the darkness drawn on longer; from a second to a minute, to two. A heart beat echoed every second more, his body drowning in quakes of the rising pulse.
Gregor wanted to say something— anything, but he wasn’t there. He forgot about reality, until he caught an inkling of knowing he fell asleep.
He fought the dream before it could rise the beat further— it was too late, for the flames claimed him.
----------------------------------------
Gregor shot up from his roll. Cold sweat beat his brow, his breath was short, and wild as his heart. He clenched the hilt of his sword out of reflex, the pulses throbbing in his ears drowned the scratches—
What?
He took a breath and listened.
The sound of leather scraping across the ground, the clinks of his canteen. Gregor calmed with another breath, unsheathing his sword and quietly parting the tent flap. The night still greeted him, the noise coming from the side of where he left his bag. He crouched ready, his head peeked with his sword.
Whatever this was he wouldn’t let it cripple him here. He will not let…
A raccoon?
He came into the light, dumbfounded. Gently lowered his sword, a small grin came over him. An overly large rodent was digging through his pack, its hind legs swimming in the air.
The chuckles came naturally.
The black n white rodent tumbled out of the pack in panic. His body shook a bit more. The raccoon looked right at him, its eyes wide, almost paralyzed. Its mouth firmly clamped on a familiar pouch.
“Huh— Wait, that’s not your jerky.” Gregor said, nearly caught off guard by the sight.
The rodent took a second, its eyes darted from the sword to the ration bag. Contemplating its whole life’s meaning, and ran.
Did it just?!
“Hey!” Gregor took chase.
His stride was longer, he was faster. Yet the fat rodent stayed out of his reach. Bouncing over the terrain with ease, unbothered by the package it was carrying. Its head swiveled back almost mockingly it let out a chitter.
A vein bulged on his forehead, he pushed— double time.
The raccoon rushed up a hill towards a giant tree, leaning on a steep slope, its roots half exposed to the sky.
Gregor was near out of breath, tired as he slumped on his knees. The rodent turned back once more, before it scurried to a hole amidst the forest of roots.
“Dammit.” Gregor resigned, trudging up to the collection of roots. Slouching in his failure, he sat upon one of the flatter knots.
The moon was just passing over, maybe in a few hours dawn would come. But he looked on to the forest scape of trees and hills, the mountain of cracked stone right next to him, and thought just how this took a stupid turn. Leaving him to contemplate.
Does he try to forage and hunt or set aside some risk and head into town?
Staving off hunger could only be a day or two without consequence, but he would become tired, his mind would probably get lost on its own, drained slowly, day by day. If his canteens were to dry before then, he could only go into two with a half thought course.
He was so tired. His head was still blaring from the nightmare blaring, he wished he could take a drink and forget any of this ever happened. A crisp stream of water played as if it was real. It built, and built, until he felt the need to pee.
And still, after relieving himself, there was a tease of flowing water.
Gregor was confused, he looked around with not a clue. Until he moved closer to the hole from where the raccoon found harbor.
It was faint, barely a trickle, but he discerned no lie.
Water!
Maybe this was it, the passage he had been searching for. A frowned formed from his lips, to the plan green, brown, and grey. There was no sign of decay or collapse. His eyes wandered to the knotted network of roots and packed dirt. His frown only deepened.
A hallowed sigh released some of the strain, the unknown pressure in his head lifted ever so slightly.
Gregor surveyed the land, and cast a final gaze towards the general direction of his camp site.
He resigned, morning would come and he could deal with everything then.
Losing food. Gaining direction… Honestly, he didn’t know if this was a good thing, or if fate wanted to just play a little more.
The journey back wasn’t anything special; tracking the disturbances left in the wake of his steps. He got to camp within the hour, his pack’s contents in disarray on the ground. But Gregor didn’t care for the moment, the fog in his mind only grew and the want of peaceful sleep was before anything else.
His general instincts of a lifetime not his own, warred. A desire to change and move camp entirely after the chaos left. But he wouldn’t get far from anything, anyone, that wanted to find him, because that was the nature of the world. At least it seemed much too common a possibility— people sticking their nose into things that they had no hope of understanding beforehand.
Though they were fools, he was with them too.
The fool he was, cradling his father’s sword as the world faded. Only this time, without a sheath for protection.