In ancient times ordinary people would hear the Call of the Gods and become heroes, this is one such tale…
A merchant like any other felt the call of Sondet, the goddess of merchants and wealth. She asked him to abandon his wares and heed her voice. Knowing a great purpose was upon him he sold all his belongings and prepared for a great journey. With pack and blade he set forth into the wild headed to a fallen kingdom. That is where he was summoned to.
The road started paved with stones from ancient civilizations long since dead. Along the roads bandits fell upon him trying to rob him of his coins he needed to travel to his destination.
With the guidance of a god he danced through them, his blade moving through flesh like it was water. With thrusts and parries he was barely harmed only his trusty leather armor showed the cuts that made it through his defenses.
The adventurous man was saddened by having to take people’s lives. Honoring their lives he dug graves for the men and buried them. Prayed for their souls before continuing on his quest. A deep loneliness set in at his lack of companions, but those he spoke to declined joining him on the road. For they had received their own Calls.
Soon he had to travel into the deep woods, the road he was following was taken over by thick vegetation as he entered the fallen kingdom he was guided to. He found himself relying on lessons from his childhood to survive the wilds. He learned to hunt, every arrow seemed guided by Sondet. When it rained he was given shelter. However, each time he received this divine help a coin disappeared from his purse as tax for Sondet.
As he pushed through thick foliage a grand site came to his view. Thick decayed walls covered in vines towered twice a man’s height. A shattered gate lay at the entrance to the city. Carefully with blade out he entered the ruins.
The sounds of rats and vermin scuttling around echoed through the shattered stone homes, stripped of everything valuable. Some set to the torch left in smolders long since cold. The cries of ghosts haunted his ears as phantoms of lost lives came to his vision. Ephemeral figures ran from the dry well to the homes, desperately trying to extinguish a long since dead fire. They were trapped in the last moment of their lives. Phalanxes of soldiers ran through the street. Their spears were crude in comparison to modern ones. Shields of shaped wood emblazoned with painted symbols dulled by their ghostly nature.
Sondet would not help these people for that was not her domain. The adventurer wanted deeply to put them to rest. Maybe if he was lucky there would be a Shrine to Terus the watcher of the dead. Vowing to put the souls to rest before following his quest for he could not turn his back upon the lost souls.
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Darkness fell and he sparked a torch. The shadows played hell with his imagination as the specters still ran frantically around the ruins. With great caution as the air grew cold he crept through the city. Some of the ghosts stopped to stare at him, their eyes growing hollow and angry at his intrusion. As his light fell upon a row of temples, long desecrated by whoever attacked his place. The Call of the Gods asked him to go further into the town but he did not listen at the time. He checked each temple, some to gods he never knew of. Each place was full of the crying specters of children that flinched from the torchlight. One bore the symbol of Terus, for he was one of the oldest gods. The ghosts gave him room as he marched to the altar in the center. It was shattered but the holy symbol of a blind farmer holding a scythe to reap the souls of the lost lay unblemished by time.
He knelt before the symbol and bowed his head. Never had he learned the proper prayers for what he was asking for but he had to try. He spoke these words, “Terus I call to you. I have found souls long since lost and unreaped.”
He was interrupted as ice cold claws sunk into him as ghosts screamed into his ears. Hot blood fell from his ears, eyes and nose. Still he clenched his jaw as the banshees tried to pull him away from the altar.
“Terus I beg you to no longer blind yourself to their plight. Take them to the after, guide them to their gods! I call your name Terus and I beg you listen.”
The ghosts battered at his back knocking him to the ground. No gods protected him for he ignored the call. They ripped and tore at him dragging him from the altar as his torch sputtered like it was caught in a powerful wind. His cries of pain echoed in the lost temple as he was tortured by the dead. All of a sudden they all froze and stared at the altar. With blood tinted vision the adventurer looked with them.
A man stood his head scraping the towering ceiling. In his hands lay an ancient crooked scythe, his eyes were blocked by a blood red cloth, a great beard stretched down his front and a farmers hat shaded us all. In one massive movement the scythe swooped through all the ghosts and their screams were deafening. The spectral blade passed mere inches above the hero leaving his soul unreaped. The embodiment of Terus strode through the walls disappearing from view as he swung once more. The hero hoped he would send the whole town to the afterlife.
The adventuring merchant rolled to his feet and wept in pain. His leathers were in tatters but no cuts were upon his skin. Blood slowly stopped flowing from his eyes and nose. The noise of the world around him was greatly muted to him.
Standing was agonizing as he struggled. Looking up he stumbled free of the temple doors. “Sondet, I beg your forgiveness. I could not turn my back upon the souls that needed rest. Please let me feel your call once more.” The hero leaned heavily against the door jam and looked down at his feet waiting for the response. He felt the heaviness of his purse lighten significantly and the call returned. She took from his wealth to pay for him ignoring her.
From deep inside him the pull returned, leading him deeper into the lost city.
Though the hero lost his way seeking mercy for others he returned to his journey and that is where we will leave for today. For the sun is low and we all need rest. Come back for the next part of the story of the Two Bit Dragon.