Authors Note:
Here again with another chapter, slightly shorter but it felt right. I'll keep making this, possibly rewriting the first 3 this weekend if I can. I have lots more coming, especially a lot planned about the mage and *wink* ruins
Try and guess who the hermit is ^_^(or anyone else bhuahahahha)
Comment, rate, blah blah etc. Just show something that tells me you're there. >.>
Have fun with this chapter!
----------------------------------------
A knight lies dying, sheltered underneath the overhanging branches. About him lie bodies both fair and foul, the remains of the battle that had been recently waged there. His plain armor lies cracked and broken like the man himself. Blood stains his armor and the ground around him, many colors dripping and swirling around on the muddy ground. He hears some people moving in the forest, talking and chatting as they walk about, heedless of the catastrophe right next door.
He struggles weakly, attempting to lift himself and alert them,
"Hello? Can you help me? HEL—"
A dry cough escapes him and a fraction of his remaining blood leaks out. The voices start to fade away into the distance, walking away from his dying body. Suddenly a shadow looms over him and a stranger kneels down beside him. He stares at the knees covered in grey felt and at their designs. Twin flames sparking out of nothing, seeming to move and flicker even though the figure stands still. A quiet voice simply asks,
"Do you want to live?"
The knight laughs and chokes as his body continues to fail him. The stranger repeats calmly as he ignores the knight’s slow demise,
"Do you want to live?"
He considers this question in its entirety. Did he really want to live? He had been betrayed and forgotten by the very people he had sought to protect. The very vows which he had taken were trampled in the dust by others while he kept them to their word. This had gained him nothing besides pain and misfortune, the death of his loved ones and his own. He lay dying because others judged themselves only in those moments when it proved useful, ignoring the deeds of others if it benefited them in the least. Such a world doesn’t deserve him, a world where Krissa died is not one he is reluctant to depart. The stranger stands up and begins to move away, only to stop a few moments later.
The knight was trying to tell him yes, that yes he wanted to live of course he did. His spasmodic struggles failed to talk to the stranger, but his eyes showed it all. He hadn't done anything important yet, nothing that would change the world. He would leave this world no better than when he had entered it, his name to be lost forever. He wanted to live, to grow, to make himself a name in this world. If others were so dishonest he would find them and force them to be otherwise. He entreats the stranger , unknowing why he places so much trust in him, to spare him and let him live again. The stranger hears his plea,
"So be it."
The stranger bows and flourishes an arm,
"Let there be life."
A blinding flash is emitted across the clearing, sending a murmuration of swallows up into the air. The travelers, worried over what had caused the birds to flee, approach the battlefield only to see the knight weakly struggling. He attempts to find the stranger, but the figure is nowhere to be seen. His thrashings end as the travelers hold him down and start healing his wounds, chanting softly and calming him down. He doesn't hear them as the darkness fills his eyes and he lapses into unconsciousness. He hears instead the benevolent words of the stranger,
"There is always a second chance."
----------------------------------------
A week or so later the knight had regained consciousness and began to ask about the stranger. Grey pants he said, upon which two fires flickered and burned merrily even though the stranger didn't move. No one knew the strangers name and asking about helped little. As soon as his strength was regained the knight set forth to fulfill his wish, to make a mark upon the world and to know the name of his savior.
His journeys took him far and wide, through the deep caverns of Hallenbruk where trolls and ogres lay sleeping. Through the catacombs beneath U'Maar, where thousands of others had perished to great evil. Across the sea of Silken Tears, where the Wurms swam beneath the water. To great Karythol, its shining spires gleaming across ancient trees. Even to Sykleth he went, the crooked jester in his palace of light. I'm sure you've heard of these tales and the name that went with them, Terum of the Mourning Flame.
His path wasn't limited to the earthly plane alone, he went to others as well. Through the fiery fortresses of Dalgar, housed within the plane of ash and fire. Past the dungeons of Kathun, where many a monstrosity was created on Deaths plane. Even to slumbering Jirrl he went, heedless of the frozen winds and bitter cold. Through his paths and travels he succeeded in making a mark upon the world, reducing the hideousness that was apparent. However even in these far and distant places he failed to find his savior's name and soon gave up his search.
He returned to this plane laden with powers unimaginable, blessed by no less than eight gods and carrying the vows of twenty. He sweeped through the Orwyn continent, founding splendors never seen before. Palaces and schools of knowledge long forgotten, technology that shouldn't have been possible by the standards then. He built statues to the many known and forgotten gods but there was one in particular that sparked wonderment. The grandest and most regal had no name, a figure in a velvet suit with twin emblazoned fires.
They began to call it Cercos, after "Empty" , and soon worshipped him like any other. The knight's, now king's, righteous path set ablaze across the continent the hearts of many people who followed him as one would follow a light in the darkness. Of the rise of that empire you should know many tales, I will not bore you with Ralfens magics or Firala's loyal deeds.
Not much could be said of the fall. The Grim wars took their toll and killed the noble king amongst many others. The remnants of that noble line retreated here to the valley near the Felspar mountains , taking with them mages of massive power . Why they moved here I do not know, perhaps because of the ruins nearby or the Tower that they had found. The noble family continued to die out from famine,disease, assassinations and eventually couldn't keep up with the losses. The last couple was worried that they wouldn't be able to produce an heir but as if by divine gift a baby had appeared on their doorstep. They adopted him immediately and through soul-binding magic, they tied him to the noble line… or at least that's what they say.
During the very next week, the entire party was ambushed and slaughtered to the last man. However some rumors disagree, saying that a child had escaped on the night of the assassination, carefully carried by a cloaked figure . Little can prove this, so I do not know if the noble line will ever again rule Aclyth like it had before. Right now the evil lord has the city in an iron fist, supposedly enslaving a mage to work in his chambers. I believe that is the Artificer you folks were looking for earlier, I remember the man had quite a lot of skill involved in tinkering and mechanics. It shouldn't be a surprise that those with evil hearts enchain him.
I see the rain has stopped, I'm sorry for boring you with this tale. An old man like me has few pleasures so please be so kind as to forgive me this one.
The hermit ends his tale and there is a silence upon the room, as the pair considers what they had heard. They shake their heads in pity as Lethan apologizes,
"I'm sorry but I can't believe such fanciful tales. There are no records of such an empire or of such a man. I don't remember hearing stories like this before and I've lived for quite a long time myself. As it is now this god of yours seems a bit too coincidental, he saved one person and it somehow lead him to create a kingdom? That's fairytale stuff, not history, even considering that he was an unknown god wouldn't there have been more proof that he was active?"
Father Bloom sighs in regret,
"I guess you're right; he won't come again anytime soon. I desperately wish that he will appear and with a wave of his hand, solve all the madness that is happening right now. But I guess he just can't do it, if he isn't dead by now. Even gods can die you know."
He gets up and hands them the beaker of alcohol,
"I'm sorry about that , although I hope that story has sparked your interest. If you see any more works of Cerceros please come by and tell them to me, it would help a great deal. I suggest you to west then north-east from here, it should get you quicker to the city."
His mopey face turns into a grin,
"Now off with you, before I decide to cook something else just for fun. "
They run off as fast as their feet can take them, fearing another catastrophic experiment, perhaps with a type of carnivorous lettuce.
As they walk away, the hermit’s grin fades like a sunset and he sits down wearily. He tries to avoid looking at a form underneath the covering but the hidden object beckons to him. His glance pauses on it for a second, the worn leather covering a bulky package. He looks away and begins to gather up the floating spheroids into a marble container. When finished, he equips some gear and ventures out into the woods again. As he leaves he murmurs under his breath, keeping a mental tally,
"One down, six to go."
----------------------------------------
The sun sets over the forest, elongating the shadows from the trees and the figures camped inside them. They stand deep within the vegetation, cloaked in black as fitting of their kind, with twin fires the only colors showing. Two of them are lying down and resting near the trees, relaxing even in the face of the job that they're here to do. The third is pacing to and fro with the steps of a lean panther, eager to get on the hunt for its meal. He speaks in a gruff voice,
"Why can't we go , come on there's only two of them. What harm can they do? A measly mage and a dumb brute. I've met many of those before, the so-called experts and their bodyguards. Come on, quick in and quick out, back to base in time for some pool or a couple of drinks. It's not fair that the other group gets all the fun and us here like measly backup."
He wrings out his clothes,
"Annoying climate here anyway, blasted rain ruining my coat."
The figure lying down flips her knife lazily, weaving arcing circle through the air.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"No point in that, we'll get into trouble anyway. You know how Zaro is , staring at you with his eyes of ice."
They shiver, not wanting to repeat that again. The third one adds as he leans against the tree,
"Best not to speak of him. They say he's always watching you, that his name is brought by the wind to his ears."
A silence falls upon them but soon the third one stops his pacing once more,
"Wait a sec, I hear something."
A rustle in the bushes interrupts their gathering and they quickly slip back amongst the cover, waiting for the prey to approach. Inside steps a raggedy old man, a small bushel of sticks on his back. The leader replies,
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here ?"
The old man scrunches his brow in thought and eventually answers in a hopeful voice,
"I have many names....I think you're referring to the hermit?"
The three sigh simultaneously, they had all heard of the madcap hermit living in these woods. However one isn't satisfied,
"Well? What are we supposed to do? The leader told us to leave no witnesses and he's one isn't he? Come on he can't be that great, its a damn hermit for crying out loud."
The woman says thoughtfully,
"Well I dunno Chuck, it just doesn't seem right to kill an old man. Where's the fun in that?"
The hermit cries out,
"Why must any of us fight? Come on fellahs, calm down and think about this more clearly. Here, I come with gifts if you want them,"
He procures a tiny bushel of sweet-cakes made with exceptional skill, the group starts salivating at the mere sight of those crunchy brown surfaces. Two pairs of eyes follow them as they smash upon the ground. One pair, belonging to the person who caused the “accident”, stares accusingly at the hermit,
"Nobody calls me fellah you damn prick."
The hermit squints at Chuck,
"Why'd you go and ruin those lovely cakes....fellah?"
Chucks face is livid with rage as he draws out a thin blade, its white handle blazing in the shadows,
"You little.... That's it you're going down. Not just for the fellah, you're way to suspicious for my liking. The hell is this coincidence, you just happen to be passing by with sweet-cakes?"
The other two pull out their weapons as well, twin daggers and an oaken bow,
"He does have a fair point...... We can't help it I guess, nothing personal."
Chuck grins stabs the hermit, leaning in and saying softly,
"Just business"
A wet thump is heard, a solid blow from what the pair could hear. They begin to sheath their weapons only to see Chuck fall, a dagger in his heart. He falls stiff and silent, revealing the hermit with a worried expression. His brows furrow as he speaks gently,
"I've tried, I really have. If only you'd taken the sweet-cakes we could have finished in a much nicer fashion."
He kicks the corpse,
"Young-uns, to smart for their own good these days. Sigh......"
He casually steps back in his reverie , dodging a steel-tipped arrow. He turns the move back into a high kick, stopping the dagger strike that was coming and sending the wielder gasping onto the ground. Another arrow flies its way towards him and he casually deflects it to the side with Chucks blade.
"Really? Well no wonder you're backup, perhaps I didn't have to do this at all. Ah well."
The woman does a quick roll and gets up, kicking the man at his knees as she does so. He takes the full impact and doesn't move an inch, sending her collapsing to the ground from the recoil. He stares at her with pitying eyes,
"I'm so sorry, so very sorry. May your soul rest in peace young-un, though guided from this light by my hand you shall land into another."
Continuing to whisper some passages he approaches her with slow steps, ignoring the arrows that completely miss their target . An intense fear appears on her face as she stands up again and runs, shouting out for help. The archer hears her cry cut off mid word and trembles from behind a tree, also runs away as fast as possible.
----------------------------------------
His lungs burn as he tries to shake off his possible pursuer. For more than ten minutes his movements are composed of careful dodging and sprinting, always choosing the path that would be hardest to track. He'd left his bow behind long ago. It only weighed him down; a useless weapon against someone of the hermits caliber. No birdsong echoes in the forest, lending a deathly silence to the proceedings. As he runs, he thinks about what had just happened. Like withered leaves they had fallen; swept aside by that mighty hand. Who was that hermit and what did he want? Chuck was stupid for attacking him. Everyone knows no good can come of attacking a hermit or a tinkerer.
He reaches a rocky ledge and dives beneath it, stifling his breath for the fear of alerting the stalker. His eyes flicker from shadow to shadow, expecting the hermit to jump out at any moment and start spouting scriptures again. God he hated this, he should have taken the Dritt job when it had come. Damn, damn, damn......... Sweat drips across his pale face in a incessant torrent. He fingers the handle of his dagger, considering to try and use it against the hermit. But no, Jessa had been good with those blades and look where it had gotten her. Heck, he is supposedly good with his bow as well, but none of that matters any more. He'll never see Jessa say another joke or wince embarrassed. Neither will he see Chuck spring into one of his long stories.The evenings by the firelight were gone as well as his old companions, fading memories all that remain of them.
He clutches his head and moans in regret. He'd always heard of this happening to some groups when they got careless; a misplaced knife here, a fall here, silly mistakes that cost lives. It had just happened to someone else, always someone else and not him. His group was relatively untouched, for so long they'd been together that he'd lost count of the years. Yet the group was done, over.....and he was next, unless he could think of something to do.
A small cough is heard, he turns to the right to witness the hermit sitting there.
"Erm, the names Father Bloom in case you were wondering. You look like a soul in need of help, perchance I can answer any last questions you might have?"
He laughs,
"Really? You? It's really you? Too be killed by someone of such renown is quite an honor I suppose."
The hermit shakes his head,
"I'm not the one you're thinking of, he was my pupil at the start but we...diverged...."
The assassin turns to look at him more closely, examining the lines of his figure and face. Shock forms on his face,
"You-You....I thought you said to kill them! Why are you doing this ? Why?"
The hermit pauses for a moment, an eyebrow raised. Then he shrugs,
"I guess I did. However I decided to help them for now, this little that I can do. For a moment, a mere moment, they had Believed. It was enough for me."
He looks into the assassins face once again,
"My child, do not fear your passing. You will die to rise again , the death will only be a part of who you are."
The assassin kneels, wet tears running down his face as he begs,
"Please, please let me live. I beg of you, I will never see the sun or feel the grass, the sky will be held in my own sightless eyes. There is so much I could have done, so much I could have been, can still be. Please let this poor soul live Father, aren't two deaths enough to appease you? I won't attack them I swear I won't, you can count on me to follow your every word. Just please spare me, let me live unlike "
A catch appears in his voice and he swallows painfully,
"Jessa....."
He looks at the hermit, who shakes his head in sorrow,
"I'm sorry my child, that cannot pass and you know. The best I can grant you is a quick and quiet death, along with prayers for your soul. I can give you some time, you have a minute to make peace with your god. That is the least I can do for you."
An aching pit fills the assassin, to sit here knowing that his time is limited and that a inescapable death approaches. He sits quietly, calming down and trying to organize his thoughts. His god, huh....From the time he'd been a little boy there was no god that he truly believed in, he'd only joined the Order for the excitement and power that it gave him over others lives. He'd never been into that fanatic stuff, but here his doubts about the gods existence had been utterly revoked. The only thing left for him is to hope that someone out there will help.....he sends a prayer to the only god he can think of, the first one that pops into his mind, the irony not escaping him. After a moments careful prayer Father Bloom stands up again.
The assassins vision begins to fail him, as he falls into the the dark cloth he hears a voice whispering,
"A mere moment.....but it was enough"
----------------------------------------
Meanwhile Hulm and Lethan are vehemently arguing , their wounds and the surrounding bodies doing little to prevent this.
"What the hell was that, you call yourself a mage? You can't wield anything but a pitiful dagger and I didn't see you cast a single spell the entire time."
"Really? You actually managed to trip yourself up with your own axe. If there are ranks of stupidity, that has got to be one of the highest. Who has ever heard of a so-called veteran tripping over his own weapon?"
"I wouldn't have tripped if it weren't for you knocking me in the knee! Your damn feet are clumsier than a Habbersnatch. I'm surprised how you can even walk, much less fight on those feet and in those robes."
"I don't have the scales that you have my friend, or a brain as hard as yours. You know well enough that I can't cast the Words anymore, they just won't come. I've proven to you over and over again that I know them, but you refuse to believe me. I myself doubt that you can't cast magic as you say; multiple times I've seen you summon darkness at your whim."
"Pah, mages and their damn secrets. At least mine deserve to be kept, they're not for the likes of you. This discussion is pointless, we best be going before night falls. For all we know, anything can happen in this damned forest. Damned hermit made us take the long way about….."
Lethan raises his hands in defeat and follows Hulm. Their disgruntled steps stomp in the direction of the tower, leaving the cloaked bodies strewn across the ground like broken dolls. As darkness falls the trees above stir, by next morning the bodies are gone without a trace.