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Glen
I’ll take that as a yes.
(Aftermath IV)
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Clink.
Came a mysterious sound that broke the silence. Metal hitting metal softly.
Gold striking gold.
Glen gasped and opened his mouth to suck air in desperately, heartbeat erratic, mouth tasting equally bitter and sweet, with a touch of mint, of all fuckin’ things, still left on his hurting gums. He opened his eyes as well, the ceiling a burgundy red above his head, impossibly high, a very light blue pattern decorating its edges and the painted eye at its middle. The bed was grand, the mattress soft and the sheets made of white satin, with a thin red detail at the rim. The young man lurched upwards, kicking everything away, dizziness making his head swirl and felt something touch his right hand, where his ring was.
He tried to raise said hand, limbs still numb from his slumber and what was apparently a coin left in his palm, looking like a squarish beautiful Eagle, slipped through his fingers and dropped on the floor.
Clink.
The coin went solving a mystery and started rolling away.
Damn it, Glen thought fully confused and jumped from the bed to run after it. The little shiny thing rolled with purpose on the grey marble tiles, reached a door and went down three steps, with a still drowsy Glen right behind it.
Oh, for slovenly fuck’s sake!
The speedy coin raced down the long hall, the walls decorated with frescos, the art hauntingly beautiful as much as familiar. From detailed scenes of life’s pleasures, hunting and romance, boisterous dances and carnivals, to exotic pets like leopards and the sinister cousins of Dragons, the Wyverns. The colors garish and vibrant. Creative and sensual. Where had he seen this art before? Glen wondered, as he forced his sleeping legs to hurry up and catch that darn slippery coin.
The latter burst out of the double doors serving as an exit, bounced on the tiles of the wide path leading away from the palace he’d awaken into, green grass on both sides of it, with marble columns set on regular intervals decorating it and headed straight for the tall granite temple shaped like a flattop pyramid, remarkably maintaining its speed.
Glen wasn’t going to let it go.
Clenching his teeth stubbornly the young man gave it his all, quickly cut into the lead, until he was but a step behind and almost got it before they both reached the many steps of the temple, the columned entrance large at their end, the head of a beast engraved at the transom, all too freakin’ familiar and the coin still leading, hit the first step and lost most of its momentum.
Clink.
It launched in the air with what was left, reaching almost to his face and Glen caught it with his left hand, the skin on it a dull grey and the veins showing underneath.
What in all hells happened here? He wondered, not remembering this particular injury, but having no answer at the ready, Glen opened his fist to admire the precious find instead. There was no Eagle on it. The coin heavy, the intricate details on the rim there, but the rest of it bland. He bit on it to make sure, almost breaking a good tooth in the attempt. It was gold. It was like the coins, he’d found back home, but there was no Eagle engraved on it.
Why?
Where did you come from? He asked it very troubled, but then he heard noise coming from inside the temple and realizing the coin wasn’t about to tell him its life’s story, he rushed up the many steps to enter inside, a journey he’d done before, wanting to see who it was.
A couple minutes later and ten strides inside the huge main hall of the temple, the walls bare, the roof high over his head, he paused rather disappointed. Also even more confused, since having awaken fully now, all that running after the coin helping, Glen realized he’d absolutely no idea, where in Luthos arse he was.
He had an idea and a memory, but that couldn’t be.
Glen heard someone walking behind him, sound of boots on the tiles coming from the entrance. It stopped his pondering on this fresh mystery, hands patting on his sides frantically trying to locate his nasty injury and failing, another oddity, since that was the last thing the young thief remembered.
Where the hell… Glen thought bewildered and twisted around, only to see the impressive Issir warrior clad in heavy chainmail, coming towards him, gait nigh determined, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Hey… fella,” Glen pleaded a little apprehensive, and absent another plan, tried to get out of the way fast as he could; but alas the man continued head on, like a carriage with no breaks let loose down a steep slope. He reached him before a dumbfounded Glen could avoid him and as the young thief flinched expecting a hilarious collision, the man went right through him and into the center of the temple, leaving him behind doubly stunned.
And feeling a tad violated.
Luthos cock caught in a vise!
Glen opened his mouth to admonish the intruder, though still uncertain on what about, the experience too bizarre and otherworldly to all, but a drunken sailor; saw him stooped amidst the wreckage at the center of temple, searching frenziedly for something and closed it back up again.
The temple was in ruins, a fact he’d completely missed at first. Somehow they’d walked onto another floor above the main, part of the wall missing high over his right shoulder, the gaping hole huge and letting the sun pour in.
That explains why everything felt so familiar, he thought, attributing his mistake to still being drowsy and confused. Glen approached the well-armed Issir to see for himself, what it was he was looking for and inquire given the opportunity about that trick he’d pulled on him earlier.
Hell of a dodge, Glen decided and clearing his throat, he choose the polite way. The young man had learned that from Crafton and a life of crime.
“Dear Sir, wow…” Glen started in common. “Ahm, allow me to say, ahm that… was one hell of a trick.”
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“Ah, found ye,” The Issir said pleased, talking to himself, as if he hadn’t heard him.
And Jinx says, I’ve bad ears!
“Hey, mister…” Glen tried again, stopping next to the older man, but it was pointless, the stranger couldn’t still hear him for some reason, or other; so he moved back a little to give him space, when the man got up holding his dagger.
Glen’s dagger. Or one that looked just like the one he’d found. The young thief reached for it on instinct, found it still sheathed on his waist and sighed deeply in relief.
How many of those darn things are there? He wondered, as the Issir turned the onyx-black blade this way and that, greed in his eyes turning to worry, when the light dimmed around them. Glen looked up towards the hole, expecting to see the sun hidden behind heavy clouds, saw nothing of the sort, the blown apart opening twice as big, but did hear something coming down all right, the wind picking up and blowing on his face.
Something huge, it made the floor dance and crack under their feet, when it landed. The tremors shook the walls and debris exploded all around and even on them, a tremendous ruckus followed by the distinct flapping of wings and the disconcerting smell of sulfur.
The Issir warrior recoiled in terror, stumbled again through a stunned Glen in panic, eyes ogling at something stirring in the dust cloud that’d filled the ruined temple’s large room, as he tried to get away. The young thief stared at the figure emerging from the haze, now lit by the sun coming in, more curious than scared, although he was plenty scared as well.
It was a man.
Not much taller than Glen, slick black hair combed back nicely, over a tanned Lorian face with nothing striking on him really, other than his large eyes that is. The sclera all black alike the night sky, no visible iris and the pupil an elliptical bright emerald green.
Fine, the eyes were plenty striking.
Wow, Glen thought with a shiver. That’s weird as fuck!
“It wasn’t my doing!” The Issir moaned sounding desperate, apparently thinking the exit was too far away, to make a run for it.
Why he believed that, Glen didn’t know.
“Part of it was,” The man said calmly, in perfect common. His voice a raspy baritone. “Perhaps, the biggest part.”
“Nay,” The Issir argued turning around to face him. Glen noted he was taller and more muscular than the weird ‘Lorian’ with the sore throat. Also armored and had still the dagger in his hand. “You’re wrong. I’ve no magic worth a lick, no power but the strength of my will and the skill of my sword. This… isn’t my doing,” He showed him the blade. “Nor this is mine.”
“It is not,” The second man agreed.
“My fight was wit her,” The Issir continued, finding his composure. Glen was impressed. He looked scared to death not a minute ago, could see the fear still lingering in the warrior’s eyes. Glen couldn’t fault him for lying his arse out, the freak with the nasty eyes was creepy as all hells. “I lay no claim in the lands of Eodrass!”
Lith had talked about something similar at one time, he recalled.
“What do you seek then?”
“What I won fair.”
“What you won,” The strange ‘Lorian’ droned, his voice gravelly, but also cultured in a weird way. “Was a throne.”
The Issir nodded, apparently content with the latter and glanced at the ceremonial dagger in his hand. Flipped it once expertly and sighed. He then let it drop on the ground, next to another gaping hole, almost as big as the one on the wall. This part of the room Glen also remembered well.
Which made the whole experience he was a part of, quite ridiculous.
What is this crap?
“It was what I wanted,” The Issir said simply.
The strange man scoffed at that.
“A throne you’ll have then, as long as you can keep it,” He decreed and the Issir bowed his head respectfully and retreated, the fear still in his eyes, towards a staircase Glen didn’t recall climbing up.
The strange ‘Lorian’ walked to where the dagger had fallen and stooped nimbly to pick it up. He moved confidently to the opposite wall, from the one that was destroyed and stopped next to an open armoire, still having weapons in it, under Glen’s curious scrutiny. The man kneeled and pulled a small strongbox from behind it, opened it carefully in turn and placed the dagger inside. Closed the lid and pushed it back behind the armoire to hide it, before rising up, an unsettling smile on his odd face.
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I need to get out of here, Glen thought not feeling comfortable keeping company to this weird misshapen man and started walking towards the staircase the Issir had disappeared to earlier, minding not to make any sound. Of course, the fact that these people couldn’t see him for some reason, was bloody helpful, on top of being extra creepy, but still he took no chances.
“Nenderu,” The man announced out of the blue, raspy voice like rattling chains murdering the relative silence, his hands crossed on his chest, head bowed low and staring at the pile of debris scattered on the wrecked floor. Is he fucking talkin’ to himself? Glen paused and looked back to listen. “Turlas and sweet Ovinet.”
His voice carrying a sadness that was palpable.
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“No one should lose a child,” He continued that impromptu monologue, a touch of rage in his guttural wordings. “The culprit’s blame cannot be absolved. Nor ever forgiven.”
Glen let a breath escape his dry lips, the fact that he was standing inside the temple at Oakenfalls clear to him now. It was the same, only less damaged, not as ruined by time. I hadn’t waken up after all, he decided sadly. This was a memory, or a vision of the past. A thread connecting, or more like revealing to him the dagger’s story.
A dream even.
It wasn’t his.
Glen had arrived here, long after all these events had already played out.
Why would I have such a dream though?
“You’re almost dead,” The man replied, deep hoarse voice startling him out of his gloomy thoughts. Glen let out a gasp of bewilderment realizing, he was staring right at him now, those freakish eyes pitiless.
His answer another shock.
What?
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“You can see me?” Glen inquired, putting a hand on his leg to stop it from shaking. Dead?
Eat a bag of dicks, ye freak!
“All the time,” The man replied, after an awkward pause, as if he could hear him.
“Then why not show it earlier?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“His story was written. No point disturbing it. You’re following different threads of time.”
Glen blinked, not really understanding, what he was talking about.
“Are you a god?”
“Are you Luthos fool?”
“That’s not an answer!”
“Yet, it very much is.”
Glen breathed deep once, then let it all out flapping his lips alike a horse, while thinking about it.
“How bad is it?”
My injury, was his meaning.
The man had the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, hearing his question.
“There’s that self-serving vagabond swimming to the surface.”
“Hey, you don’t know me!”
“Best thief,” The man recited, as if from memory. “Nothing to pride about.”
The words disturbingly familiar.
“What magic is this?” Glen asked uncomfortable with how the conversation was going.
“I’ve told you many a times,” He replied, hands clasped behind his back. “And as many times you’ve forgotten.”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Glen countered, narrowing his eyes. “Nor have I ever talked to you.”
The man sighed, smacked his lips once and stared at the frescos on the wall behind the young man. Glen turned his head to see for himself, saw nothing in the drawing, but excellently represented and artistically augmented male and female fully unclad Zilan, being naughty with themselves and cast a glance at the solemn man a little embarrassed.
For five minutes, almost total silence fell inside the devastated room. Every second awkward, each moment dragging and Glen’s anxiety increasing. He glanced at the armoire to get his mind off things, not remembering it whole, when he’d stumbled upon the dagger.
Was there a forgotten weapon inside? He thought, interest piqued. Something valuable, perhaps even legendary?
The man sighed and turned his black eyes on him.
“You’re disturbingly shallow. So much so, it might even be a skill.”
Glen narrowed his eyes.
Was that a fuckin’ insult?
“Are ye goin’ to answer me? I have time to waste,” He snapped, all fired up.
“No you don’t,” The man replied. “And I’m waiting for you to decide.”
“Decide what?”
“What do you seek?”
This was a trick question.
Deflect.
“What do you seek?” He turned the query on him, with a smug smirk.
“Vengeance,” The man replied simply, the word reverberating on the empty room.
“What’s stoppin’ you from getting it?”
“I need an instrument to implement it.”
There it is then, Glen thought, big smile on his face.
“Someone like me.”
The man blinked and gave him a look of real surprise. Then he burst out laughing, the sound of rocks coming down a mountain more like, thunderous and terrifying, it made the whole structure vibrate to the point of collapse.
It lasted but few seconds, his neutral expression returning immediately after.
“Of course not. That is ridiculous,” He replied, sounding almost insulted.
Glen blinked, taken aback.
“Wait,” He scratched his head, genuinely troubled. “What am I doin’ here then?”
The man smacked his lips, but Glen could tell his patience was running thin.
“You’re almost dead,” He explained, again. “In order for you to survive, someone must die in your place.”
“When you say die…”
“It’s a spell. How things work.”
“Right. Can I think about it?”
“You’re running out of time.”
Glen cleared his throat.
“Can I pick an animal instead?” He haggled.
“If you were a hog yes.”
“So?”
“You can’t.”
“Can I ask for something else?” He countered, not wanting to give up.
“You don’t wish to be saved?”
“I want that, very much,” Glen replied quickly, to get it out of the way. “But, I can also help, with yer problem?”
The man shook his head, almost at the end of his wits.
“Luthos noticing you, was the only thing you had going. It was a prank on me. Finding the dagger, dragged your sorry arse through the finish line and kept you alive barely,” He paused and grimaced, before continuing. “You won’t remember any of this anyway.”
“I still have the dagger,” Glen insisted, unwilling to let go of the opportunity. If this was a god, any fuckin’ god, beggars shan’t be choosers, he wasn’t going to leave him without a good deal. If it was a dream and he was delirious, then he had nothing to lose. “And you still need someone to help you.”
“I have Ovinet’s offspring! What need have I of you?” The man growled mightily and Glen almost had a heart attack. He felt piss trickling down his pants, but kept his eyes straight and his face indifferent, hoping the man wouldn’t notice. Thankfully, Glen had riled him up too much. “Uvrycres,” The man rasped, a deep frown marring his face.
“Where’s… he?” Glen probed carefully.
“She hid him, sensing the end was near.”
Find a kid, Glen thought. Bah, I’ve done harder things.
“I’m plenty good at finding hidden stuff. I’ll take that quest, on top of you saving me, for a prize.”
The man was staring him almost disgusted at his stupidity.
“You have no idea, what you’re talking about. I’m not particular in charity.”
“I found your dagger,” Glen countered. “Luthos might help me again.”
“Well, it wasn’t mine,” The man replied, sounding skeptical. “Though it’s made of a kin’s soul.”
“Bone,” Glen corrected him.
He blinked once more astounded at his astuteness, Glen hoped, low-key wishing he’d kept his darn mouth shut.
“You presume to counsel me boy?”
Or not.
“All men make mistakes,” He countered unable to help himself, with one of Emerson’s expressions and the ‘Lorian’ with the freakish eyes stood back, as if he just realized something that should have been apparent from the start.
“You pitiable fool,” He said, hoarse voice coming out a terrifying whisper now. “What you see, isn’t all of me.”
No reason to hold back now.
“Where’s the rest of it?” Glen queried, feeling a lump stuck at his throat, but the man had moved away from him now. In the blink of an eye, he was standing twenty meters away on the far side of the room, right under the gaping hole and though his head barely reached the lower end of it, everything turned a shade darker. As if the sun was blocked and the opening closed. There was that smell of sulfur in the air again, the rustling of wings and the scratching of sharp talons on the polished marble floor.
Fuck me.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” The voice said and dark became a pure onyx black.
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There was vomit in his nose.
It had clogged everything up.
More in his mouth, pieces of rotten flesh mixed in and blood. Glen puked everything out, retching multiple times, his eyes stinging and only stopped, when he toppled and fell from the cot, landing on the stone floor with a loud thud.
He shook his head, wiped some of the stuff from his mouth, then did the same for his hands using the floor and looked about the room with swollen eyes. There was a torch burning on the wall, the place tiny, three meters by two and the cot he slept on, made for a short kid. Everything was made of sturdy rock. He stood up and almost went back down, his knees shaking and weak.
What the fuck, has happened to me?
The blade, the pale-faced son-of-a-goat…
Ah.
He spat something nasty to the rather messed up and stinking floor, still in way a better condition than the bed, or his puked on clothes, just as the wooden door opened wide and a short girl came in, wearing a dress that sported a disturbingly low cut at its front. This girl had breasts the side of melons, ripe and mature enough to give every wench in Bayspel a run for her money.
Wow, Glen thought, fully uncomfortable, but not enough to look away.
“Lord Reeves!” The girl said a deep blush painting her cheeks. Her voice had a huskiness in it, quite unexpected as well, as much as disturbing. “You’re… ehm, up.”
“Well, yes…” Glen started, pausing when a bearded kid walked in and stood next to the girl, a deep frown on his face.
The mystery revealed.
Creating a ton of questions in its stead.
Like what the holy slovenly fuck…
“You’re dwarves!” He shouted accusingly, pointing with a finger, then chuckled like a madman, fully relieved. “I thought you were a kid haha!” The bearded dwarf snorted at his outburst and shook his head right and left a couple of times, before turning serious again.
“Of course we are. That’s me wife, Buveala. Put some pants on, milord, if ye please. Yer cock is showin’.”
Glen looked down to check.
Yep, the man was right.
“Sorry,” He apologized and turned around quickly to find his pants, taking care to avoid the puke puddles.
“What happened? Didn’t expect ye before lunch,” Buveala asked her husband, while he silently got into a pair of pants, too large to be his. He was missing all his stuff and had no idea where the hell he was. That is, other than some disturbing bits and pieces of a nightmare he’d rather forget.
“Ostruki Graycloak dropped dead an hour ago,” The male dwarf explained and Glen almost tripped over his own feet at the news.
Surely not, he thought, but then his eyes located the Wyvern’s Tongue at the head of his bed and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
Luthos, this is all yer god darn fault!
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“Milord?” Buveala asked.
“Yes!”
“Can you walk?”
Was this a trick question?
“Yes?”
She smiled, a grown woman’s smile.
“That’s wonderful! A piece of good news, to counter the bad.”
“I’m sorry for yer loss,” Glen said stiffly.
“Bah, Ostruki was an old goat,” She explained. “And it got nothing to do wit yer lordship.”
Glen licked his lips, tasted vomit on them and scrunched his nose at the foulness.
“I’ll have a bath barrel prepared,” Buveala offered readily and with a wink her husband missed, she turned and sashayed away, which was equally disturbing and arousing to the young former thief.
“Thank you,” He croaked and looking at the aforementioned husband, the dwarf eyeing him all suspicious, he added. “I’ll repay yer kindness.”
The male dwarf snorted at that.
“There’s no need. Master Fikumin traded for it, milord,” He explained.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
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