He forced an arm to the trunk of one of the mighty sentinels, enough to lean his back to the pillar, letting his weight fall upon it. He took long, deep breaths, digging his fingers into the bark. Half in desperation, half in utter rage. The brittle exterior of the redwood bent, but did not break. Come on. Focus.
The night’s sky created tall shadows in the Bloodwood. Watching. Judging. The only reprieve was the light of the sister moons; Matua and Dannia. Faint rays scarcely found their way to the forest floor. The path ahead was warped in both shape and direction. The forest trees remained the only constant amongst his blurred vision spinning everything around him.
He let himself sink against the trunk, propped up against the base of the sentinel. Pulling off his dust mask, he gasped, taking in heavy breaths. Sweat mixed with the sting of blood dripped down his battered face.
The mask fell from his grip. Fumbling in attempt to reach for it, he dug his gloves through the packed dirt with futile efforts. Grazing his palm across the surface, he searched the forest floor. He exhaled. The silence was deafening.
Not a creature in sight, even the flora seemed sparse to none. Must be close to the edge of the Bloodwood. The trail was easy to see at the least, a hardened dirt path wove through the trees, and at this point the sentinels were sparse compared to the dense formation they held near Andescion.
The spinning gave hint of slowing with each deep successive breath. There was more light finally as well. The faint rays that guided him before, now nearly lit up the forest floor.
However, the only audible presence was the ringing in his ears that made his heart beat faster, reminding him of the cold rough texture of Andescion stone. He rubbed his chin gently, cringing from the stinging touch. Would not want to tear open the wound again.
He closed his eyes, proceeding to try to slow his breath further. When they opened, they darted across the field of view searching for tracks off the trail.
Pulling off a glove, he gradually lifted a palm to the back of his head. The scenery of the ceremony spun around him once more, to oblivion with that whole damn city. Warm to the touch, fingers shaking, the crust of blood that formed where Ellec had struck him flaked off. He groaned with frustration.
The ringing droned louder, coming down upon his senses in militaristic fashion. It drove him up, on his feet. I have to get away.
He staggered onwards down the trail, if this even is a trail, completely devoid of thought or reason.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His dust mask, gloves sat neatly against the wall of the table. Though he kept the black cherry cloak on while he sat.
He rubbed his freshly trimmed chin, gently, the sharp pain is finally gone for the most part. His back propped up against the wooden booth, neck resting just above the headrest.
Deltanis sat in solitude at one of the back booths of the Quicksands Tavern. His head hung over the Bourbon Barrel Mead, grasped with one arm bent on the table, holding at the pewter mug. He spun it slowly, caressing the blood red liquid to each edge of the lip before letting it settle down again.
Nearly finished with the buttered steamed beans, lightly blanketed with roasted almonds, he lingered, savoring the last few bites to mask the smell he knew he bore. Any meat would have done wonders for the ever-starved stomach, but the last of his coin had been spent on the beans themselves.
The double doors to the kitchen slammed open, bouncing off the hard wood walls. Another barmaid carrying out food, but every time, the loud clamor made Deltanis flinch. A favor I will one day repay in kind, Ellec. Deltanis reached to the back of his head with his free hand, wincing again from where the bump had formed. Still bruised even this many weeks later.
The chaos of that night plagued cryptic clouds through his mind. Some of it was clear as day. From walking to the ceremony, the wrath of the wyvern devouring one of the other Deathwalkers; Libel Felrose, even the surreal encounter with the warrioress. Though now knowing she was a ranging captain of the Devote, it made sense. Other parts of the night however, remained a bit more jaded. After he was blindsided, dragged from the epicenter, timing became more… obscure.
The beatdown after sent shivers down his spine, falling down upon his knees before the northern gate. We’ll hunt you down by daybreak should we find any scent of you near this city. Staggering through the Bloodwood, the cross of the desert was a complete haze. The next full recollection was waking up in a ditch outside this new city. What was it called? More clouds again, stumbling through the city of Arenite – Arenite, yes, but how did I get here, why was I left to live…
The spiral of thought dropped the reality of the situation into darkness, Deltanis found himself completely absorbed. The subconscious swirling of the mug drew incrementally slower, bringing the mead to a standstill, until the kitchen doors blasted open again, and the room came back to focus harder than a bucket of ice-cold water in the pre-dawn wake.
In front of his booth was a different barmaid. It was the fiery-haired Kalissa that brought the food. This one was maybe one and seven meters, with silver-blonde hair jaggedly cut at the shoulders. Garbed in a striped light blue top, with light leathers from pants to boot. While Deltanis was analyzing whether or not to confide any of this thought spiral with her, her interest was apparent in taking the plate away.
She stared between the plate, to him, “You good here?”
He eyed the few almond slices that remained in tiny puddles of butter drying up on the plate. Without looking up from the plate, “You can take it.”
She sighed, taking a seat across the booth from him. “Are you ready to accept my offer now?”
A slight hint of persistence, or rather stubbornness, shaped in the lines of his face. “I’ve come too far to take your sympathy.”
Her face drew hard, her voice carried in parallel fashion. “You’ve come to meet your end, have you? You’re certainly out of coin by now. Will it be the ‘Daughters’ that catch you stealing? Or Duharrae’s sandstorms that capture your foolhardy path?”
His wooden fortress burned beneath her questioning, the stubbornness faded to defeat. Before he could give reply, she cut him off – “Do not play the victim here, Deltanis.”
He met her gaze sharply now, but she continued. “I am not ‘handing’ you coins out of sympathy. You will earn them for tasks we need done here. You Andescions’ think you’re the center of the realm, when in reality you’ve been shut out for more cycles than I care to count.”
He took another swig of the mead. She is not entirely wrong.
She pulled the mug from him, sliding it towards her side of the table. “Whatever it is you have or had planned, will fall to the flames unless you alter your course. Give me two turns of the moons and you will have learned more than anyone that walk within Andescion walls.”
She chugged the mead, sliding the mug back to his side with a quick flick of her wrist. When he eyed the empty mug, she flashed a quick grin in turn. He sighed, “Ok Lance, what do you have in mind.”
Lance rose from the table, gathering the plate, mug with haste. “Herkimer shards.” With that she briskly walked back to the kitchen. What?!
The back of the carrienx was already absorbing warmth from the rising star of day. The surrealism of the night had begun to fade. Exhaustion had started to set upon Deltanis in place of the awe that had him wide awake not many moments prior. Hills of sand littered with glowing crystals, glittering like stars in the moonlight. All to vanish by the break of day…
At his side swayed the leather bag of Herkimer shards, the crystals colliding into each other softly in tempo with the carrienx light steps. Though I believe I may be sitting with similar swaying movements.
Approaching the sight of the stables, he dismounted, gathering the reins in his hand. The feline looking creature eyed him curiously with those massive orbs for eyes. Quite an interesting creature you are.
He pushed open the double doors to the red tiled floor of the Arenite Stables. The room was still mostly dark with beams of light barely piercing through the windows yet. Still early enough I may find rest after this.
He glanced around the room searching for Celia, though she did mention he would most likely not find her on the morrow.
Guiding the carrienx back to the pen, he unfastened both the reins, saddle, putting everything back in its place. Locking the pen gate, he took one more look around to make sure he didn’t miss anything, then headed back out to the streets of Arenite.
The strength of day grew stronger with each stride. His body tried increasingly more to awaken, as if I hadn’t been up all night.
Muttering to himself, “Meet at the forge by daybreak,” a closed fist around the leather bag of shards in one hand, he made his way down the street. Wonder what can be so important about these shards that sleep must wait… Though with how quickly they disappeared into the sands, Arias only knows what these things actually are.
There were few people wandering the streets at this hour, though the flow of traffic grew the closer he got to the city’s inner walls. Beyond the walls guarding the inner city, a fortress peaked out at the center, with pillars of intricate granite wrapped in rich green vines winding all the way up. Quite the greenery for a desert. Large ivory banners with a strange sigil in the center hung from the parapets. Perhaps the symbol of the ‘Daughters of Duharrae’ Lance spoke about.
Along the inside of the inner wall, he found a forge with the same sigil from the fortress painted on the door itself. What have you got me into, Lance.
With barely one knock on the door, the door swung wide open before he could attempt a second. Peering inside, the main room was dark, with faintly lit sconces symmetrically spread amongst the walls. Six anvils spread out in circular fashion around a center table. Each fanning out to a stone furnace between two stations. Lance stood silently beside the doorway while he walked in.
Wait a second. This is all too familiar. He passively walked up to the center table, keeping his gaze on the storefront itself. Daggers, short swords, knives on display for sale. For far more coin than I had to spare.
Deltanis turned back to Lance who had now laid a white linen cloth on the table. Without looking at him, she gestured an open palm. He handed her the bag of shards.
Watching her spread the crystals out across the cloth, “Do you run this forge?”
She continued sorting the crystals meticulously, without looking up from her work, “Me? Goodness no.”
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Lance began placing the larger pile of shards into a leather bag she had with her. Deltanis stood next to her watching. “So why bring us here?”
She tied off a smaller pouch with the lesser pile, handing it to him with a smile. “You wish to afford those daggers do you not?”
His hand froze when he instinctually reached for the bag she had offered. Confusion both plain, apparent, “We could have gone to any forge for weaponry, why here?”
Lance pressed the pouch into his hesitant hand. “This forge is run by a ‘Daughter’ herself, easily the best in all of Arenite.”
Eying the pouch, “There is no – “
She took out another small pouch, tossing it to him. “This is payment for your work. And there will be more where that came from should you bring me more. A few more runs, those daggers will be good as yours.”
Another run tonight? As if the words were plain on his face, Lance elaborated. “The shards will not appear every night. Only after a desert storm. I will alert you when there is work to be had, but I’m sure we can find other uses for you.”
He held both pouches in one hand. Perhaps this is not all in vain after all. “What are the shards used for?”
Lance walked over to the counter, placing the larger bag of shards behind it. “All in time, Andescion. Know they are precious, that they will serve you in time soon enough.”
She gestured to the far back door past the anvils. “Now, I have arranged for your sleeping accommodations in the far back room.”
He followed Lance while she led him over. “Get some rest because this evening there is someone you should meet.”
His hand pressed against the open door, he stopped mid-step. “And whom might that be?”
Her back was already to him by the time Deltanis turned to face her. She was walking past the anvils when she called back to him, “You will find out soon enough.” She stopped to face him one last time. With that same grin she offered the day prior, “I told you to give me two passing’s of the moons, did I not?”
He nodded to himself, turning back to the doorway. What is in this for you I wonder.
Pushing open the thick wooden door lined in steel accents, revealed another orange-tinged faintly lit room. Multiple beds stacked in twos lined the room. Sleep crept into his veins just on the sight of them.
He took a seat on the closest one, beginning to unfasten his armor pieces. He placed them one by one on top of the chest at the end of the bed. At the corner of his eye, he caught sight of some armor pieces on the chest next to his. Rusted to oblivion. Within moments of laying down, sleep came.
The waking afternoon brought a light rain, with a sky full with promise of more to come. With the light of day nearing the cusp of dusk, Deltanis kept pace with Lance, squinting with every other step despite the lack of any bright presence. The periodic rest was far from sufficient. Bewildered from exhaustion, he let Lance guide him through the crowded streets.
Between weighted breaths every so often, various figures would bump into him, disappearing before he could identify the person in question. All he saw were accusatory stares that implied it was ‘he’ that had intruded upon their routine paths.
Casually, Lance called back over her shoulder without taking her attention from the path ahead. “Watch where you’re going, or you’ll end up starting a brawl.”
Weaving his way past a heavy-set man that encompassed a span three times of himself, “There are so many.”
Without slowing her step, Lance turned to face him, “I can see the red in your eyes still, you’re staggering like a drunk.”
Pressing a hand to the cool stone brick beside him for balance, he scanned the alleyway finding himself far from center. “Well, I was deprived of a good majority of a night’s rest.”
She rolled her eyes. “How long are you going to hold on to that excuse.”
He honed his focus more now, moving quickly to keep up to her pace. “At least for one night, I feel that is more than fair!”
“No time, now come this way.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him from the side street into a massive circular center. A breath of fresh air from the close-quartered traffic moving in and out of each other, relatively, there was space to breathe out here.
In the midst of being dragged across the traffic, he caught sight of the statue that was the centerpiece of the city. A smooth stone sculpture carved in onyx or obsidian, maybe both, of an absolutely gorgeous womanesque figure. In one hand was some sort of chained jewelry, perhaps a small lantern. The other an outreached palm. Even in carving the eyes seem to glow.
Lance’s grip lightened once she caught notice of him dragging behind her, “That is her.”
Deltanis stood frozen at the base of the statue. “I’ve never seen such beauty.”
Lance paused beside him. The bustling crowd moving around them nonchalantly. “Doesn’t Andescion have a statue of Arias?”
Duharrae’s figurine bore a carved sheer dress, that left little to the imagination, even in such statuesque form. He answered slowly, without removing his gaze. “Andescion’s statue of Arias withers. It does not give her justice.”
“No sculpture could possibly capture the essence of a wisp.” She nodded her head at an older gentleman on his knees before the statue. Long curls of grey hair told his age, and a stained blue cloak around him told the story of his status. He placed a silver lucros in front of one of the statue’s feet, bowing his head in prayer.
While Deltanis watched, Lance whispered closely, “Duharrae has a way of guiding those that are lost. Even those that do not wish to be found, may still yet serve a purpose outside their own.”
He turned to face her, but she was already on the move again. With a small notion, Lance led him into a winding alleyway that brought them along a residential corridor of housing; various stone erections stacked next to each other.
Off in the distance, he could see the outer wall, more than double the height of the tallest rooftop. Half way down the alley, Lance motioned at a door front.
Deltanis scouted the area around them. “Here?”
Lance merely repeated, “Here.” Taking a deep breath, she rapped on the wooden door. “We are going to one who will know what Duharrae wants with you.”
He studied her curiously, snapping his head back when the door swung open with a loud creak of its hinge.
Upon pushing open the doorway, he was led to a windowless room devoid of any ray of natural light. Instead, the room basked in the ambience of candles littering from tables, to anywhere they could fit. Sheets of numerous loose papers, open books took the majority of the open space.
Sitting at the center was an older woman in a slate grey dress. A white chain of jewelry hung loosely around her neck, equally pearlescent as the roots of her hair that streaked their way into raven’s black, falling well past her shoulders. Loose, yet elegant.
When Lance closed the door behind them, the woman rose to greet her. Deltanis scanned the tabletop, locking onto a pitch hued wax seal, the same sigil that hangs above the fortress.
“Welcome child.” The woman embraced Lance with open arms, surprisingly warm for such a stern face. After which she turned to Deltanis, “And whom may I ask, did you bring us today?”
The question felt rhetorical, the woman scanned him up and down, unexpectant of an answer. Taking his left hand in hers, she turned his palm upwards revealing the marking of the Deathwalker on the underside of his arm. Despite the instinct to retract his arm, he stood there frozen while she observed the intricate markings on the branding itself.
Without lifting her head from his arm, she softly called, “Bring us some tea, Lance.” Void of hesitation, Lance made her way across the room, disappearing into one of the doorways.
Letting go of his arm, finally meeting his eyes, she acknowledged him with a thin smile. “I am Candessa Lapyr. What may I call you, Andescion?”
“Six Deltanis, Miss Lapyr.”
Candessa held back a chuckle while she led him to the clearest of the tables, mostly littered by candles versus papers. “Miss Lapyr would be my daughter, child. You may call me Candessa.”
Lance brought out three mugs, each steaming. She placed them before Deltanis, Candessa, then one for herself, taking the seat triangular to them.
The warm glow of the candles illuminated Candessa’s face, absent of the lines of age. Cautious in his approach, “Are you a Daughter of Duharrae?”
She carried her words with maternal grace, while cupping the mug with both hands. “Yes, my dear.” Gently blowing the steam from the tea, she brought the mug to her lips, never taking her eyes off of him.
Despite keeping himself composed, still as could be, the heart beats louder than anything in this room. He took a deep breath, exhaling silently.
Candessa cocked that smile again, gazing in-between him and Lance now. “You may ask what it is you seek.”
He shifted in his seat, drawing his shoulders back. “What does your Duharrae want with me?”
The silver in her eyes flickered, widened from the question. “Duharrae is to Arenite, and the Arkose Desert, as Arias is – or was to Andescion and the Bloodwood Forest.” Deltanis sat in curious silence. Her words grew cryptic, “Arias may be gone, but the eneryia lingers still, does it not?”
Deltanis watched her closely, “The eneryia lingers in some, but not all.”
Candessa took another sip of tea. “Some, indeed. Some of which may even play a role in Arias’ return.”
He shot a glance to Lance, who sits surprisingly quiet given her demeanor thus far. Returning curiously to Candessa, “The Andescion Legions head west to where she supposedly resides now. The Devote of Blade head east to harness more eneryia than cycles before. The Shadowmancers have their ways to preserve the eneryia that remains.”
He paused before he continued, bringing both Lance, Candessa intently focused on him. “I’ve called out their manipulation of tradition, at the ‘Ceremony of Rebirth’. I gained nothing for it.”
Candessa kept her voice level, “Nothing at all? Is not where you are now of any significance to you?”
Defensively he opened his mouth in retaliation, but she cut him off before he could begin – “Did you expect to raise an army winning no battles? To fight a war without any losses or casualties?”
He sunk into himself while she pressed on, vigilantly she pursued, “Time has defeated you. And in the coming months it will defeat you again. And again. However, history spares not a glance, nor a tear for those that fail – and in consequence, fail to rise.”
She appeared almost lost in thought, gazing down at her right arm that she now held in her left palm. “You must embrace failure in its entirety. Learn from it. Mold yourself from it. You must finish what you started.” What?!
Candessa brought her attention to Deltanis, with a mere blank stare. She momentarily turned to Lance, “Bring him to Bonnikyn.”
Lance returned the glance quizzically, “Are you certain?”
Candessa continued to nurse her right arm, like something is amiss… “Bonnie will be able to find the missing link.”
Lance spoke with gentle unrest, odd to see her holding back, “Is it necessary to -”
Candessa cut her off with one motion of her hand, but still appeared to be diving deeper into her own thoughts. Nearly whispering, “This piece of the puzzle is worth the price.”
Deltanis embraced the awkward silence, reluctantly. What have you got yourself wrapped into? What kind of tool are these women planning on making out of me… Catching an eye with Lance, he realized she was staring at him with equal curiosity as he was Candessa. Is it deviance, or true intentions at play? A free Andescion…
Returning attention to Candessa, she broke the silence before Deltanis could. “You have a choice to make. To let the weight of your branding be your chains, or to breathe life into the path that inspired you to speak the name ‘Six Deltanis’ before the Andescion flame.”
‘Follow my lead, none shall be left behind.’
When the door closed behind them, night had fallen upon the city, a crisp breeze whisked through the air. The steady rainfall was tranquil. He slowed his breath, purposely. Whether it be the cool air or adrenaline, makes no matter, I feel more awake than ever.
The fervor must have been apparent on his face since Lance seemed to capitalize on it. “There is one more introduction worth having on this day, if you’re up for it.”
Deltanis mimicked the cocky smile she would oft use on him, “The night is young.”
She laughed, beginning down the alleyway. “That’s the spirit, Andescion.” Deltanis followed at her heel. No matter what the motivation may be behind their intent, a tool can be a weapon when need be.
The rain drummed against the gravel, parallel to the cascade the night of the ceremony. Though the sky’s light was fleeting at that stage, today’s evening brought a different atmosphere. Matua, Dannia; the sister moons burning fervently behind darkened clouds into the ever-growing darkness. Each with sheer, white outstretched fingers grasping at the horizon.
Droplets crept through the weaving in the awning, finding the erected oaken pillars, spiraling down the carvings. The shelter was humble at best, but to be out in the downpour was necessary to filter out unwanted ears. If we do this, we do this right.
Kalissa placed him a full plate of crisply roasted potatoes - with meat to come, the scent of herbs managing to cut through the fresh cold rain. Deltanis thanked her, watching while she silently returned inside the Quicksands Tavern. He sat leaned back with a foot across his knee, watching absently into the rain. Let’s see what this opportunity brings.
When the man appeared, he was wearing the same rustic plate he had adorned at the ceremony. Completely unfazed by the elements, he approached, revealing more of his features. He yielded more cycles than previously anticipated. Perhaps the rejection from the Andescion Legions had hardened him. Certainly not one of the youngest of the Deathwalkers.
Deltanis rose to greet the man before him. “Deltanis, right?” The depth in his tone gave hint at one that had the same number of cycles to Deltanis, but both the grip, lines in his handshake spoke beyond his numbers.
Deltanis nodded, waving the man to take a seat across from him. “And to whom might I call you, good sir?”
The man took a seat at the table, hunching slightly with the weight of the mail. He simply smiled in reply. “I don’t suppose that matters anymore, does it.”
Deltanis studied him with one hand rubbing at the chin of his beard. Hair, beard well-kept despite being drenched. Under that rusted vambrace, under the maroon long sleeve shirt, lay the same branding that marked them both for what they were.
“I’d say it matters now, more than ever, lest we allow the guilds to take that from us too.” Deltanis took off his darkened leather glove. Followed with his own leather vambrace. Slowly opening, closing his fist, he stared at the tattoo they both shared. “We both, by their standards, are still marked Deathwalkers.”
The man shifted in his seat. “By Andescion standards you are Deltanis. I didn’t get much of a word in.” Deltanis put his armor pieces back on. He half-grinned, “Your name is as deep as you carve it.”
Lance walked outside, leaning against the tavern from under the awning. The man eyed both of them in turn, auspiciously, “What is this?”
Without moving from her spot, Lance replied, “The next stage in your journey.”