My head pounds as I slowly open my eyes and fade back into the cold reality that is consciousness. I lie on a makeshift bed situated inside of a large circular room. The walls are made of bleak and dull stones, probably once white and beautiful, they now resemble graying flesh as they spiral up to a high ceiling. Shelves filled with various herbs, spices, and pickled ingredients line the walls. On the far wall is an old rickety wooden ladder leading further up into the tower, and to my right is a stairwell leading downwards to the lower floors.
I am naked, save for a set of clean linen trousers and a blood-stained bandage wrapped around my wounded arm. I can’t see my cloak or my old clothes anywhere.
With my bearings gathered, I swing my feet over the edge of the small bed, and immediately, I cry out in pain. My wounded arm, which was previously numb, now erupts with a burning pain. My vision blurs and tears start to form on the edges of my vision. I attempt to regain focus on the world around me and as I do so, I hear footsteps hurriedly coming up the stairs.
My mind goes into an adrenaline-fueled panic, I am here, naked, alone, and defenseless against whatever horrors this island may hold. My eyes cast around the room, searching wildly for either of my swords. Unable to find them, I grab a candlestick from the small bedside table. I raise it in a defensive stance as a figure emerges onto the landing.
Emerging onto the landing, a woman, apparently unfazed, chuckles upon seeing me.
“You, my friend, are in no shape to be wielding a weapon. Even if it is only a candlestick.”
She is middle-aged, and deep lines crease her face. Her red hair is messily cropped short, close to her head. She wears a white leather tunic decorated with an orange sun. The same orange sun, I realize, is the one that is painted on the side of the tower.
“Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on?” I say, gripping tightly to the candlestick. Instinctively, I step backward into the shadows of the room, attempting to hide myself.
“I am the one who helped you, I saved you where Drysten would not. Please, lay down your arms. You will do nothing but hurt yourself more.”
Her voice is maternal and comforting. I hesitantly lower the candlestick, not quite placing it down, but no longer holding it poised to strike. I step out of the shadows, still ready to pounce back into their familiar safety at a second’s notice.
“There you go, my dear, you’re okay. Now, please, allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Tulip Solara. I belong to the Covenant of Light, a group of paladins dedicated to fighting the plague which has corrupted these isles. As for what’s going on, your guess is as good as mine. I understand that these answers may be frustrating right now, but I promise I will fill you in further once Drysten and Godirck get back. Until then, I suggest you sit back down and rest.”
Tulip approaches me hesitantly and places a warm hand upon my chest, pushing me gently back into the bed. She grabs the candlestick and replaces it on the bedside table.
“Now my dear, if I must ask, who might you be?”
“Draven. Draven Lightfoot.”
“Well met Draven Lightfoot, Now please lie down just as you were. I’ll go make you some tea, please stay still until I return.”
“Thank you.” I manage to say, my adrenaline beginning to slow its vicious stampede through my body. “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”
“Of course dear, not often we see new faces around here anymore.”
She turns and exits back down the stairs, leaving me alone again. Alone with nothing but my thoughts, which are blazing through my head faster than I am able to track them.
I don’t quite know what to make of my situation yet. On one hand, I was rescued as an act of sheer mercy from these people, The Covenant of Light. On the other hand, I think I might have been better off dead. This island has already begun to wear on my mental state, I can feel my awareness starting to slip. Before my arrival here I would’ve been able to take the creature and its animalistic fighting tactics with no problem, but the omnipresence of death and despair had gotten to me. And now this dark, windowless tower has replaced the hopelessness with a feeling of inescapable claustrophobia coupled with my inability to use my arm which makes me feel completely helpless. Such a feeling I haven’t felt in so long. Not since that day, trapped in the alleyway…
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Danor - The Alley of Liberty Avenue
Still invisible, hidden by the cloak’s seemingly magical fabric, I scale a nearby pile of garbage and easily vault over the wrought iron gate. Running through the rest of the alleyway. I emerge onto another cobbled street, this one far less crowded than the first. I look back and see the flash of red leather run past the alley from which I have just emerged. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Valena isn’t as close behind me as I first thought.
I turn left, moving southwards down Ferron Street away from Val, and head down the street. I know I shouldn’t get cocky, but I can’t help myself from counting the contents of the purse I snagged earlier. It totals out to a measly 7 gold pieces and I scoff. A peasant’s pay, hardly worth lifting, I think to myself as I turn down another side street.
Immediately the smell of sewage assaults my nostrils. I think of turning back, but if I do so, I risk running headfirst into Val, and I am too eager to earn my title of a thief to let a smell get in my way. So I trudge on, simply choosing to breathe through my mouth to block out the smell.
I follow the road down to the end which narrows as the crooked buildings on either side draw closer together. I hurry down to the end, expecting to find another way out, but instead, all I find is a large unscalable brick wall. A rusted gutter pipe to my left looks as though it wouldn’t support my weight if I were to climb it. My only other option is far overhead in the form of a small balcony that overlooks the alley. Attempting to climb to either, I know from experience, is a bad idea.
“Shit.” I mutter under my breath, “Guess I have to turn back.”
Just as I am kicking myself for not knowing these streets better, a stone clatters behind me, and I hear a set of boots approaching from behind.
I wheel around and come face to face with the forty-second regiment of King Tristan’s Royal Guard. The morning sun blindingly glints off of their red armor. All of the guards bear heavy wooden shields emblazoned with interlocked axes, the symbol of the Western Kingdom in their left arms. In their right hands are large steel swords carrying the same symbol along the blades.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” Sneers an all too familiar voice from the head of the regiment.
“Brother,” I spit at his feet, my words dripping with malice.
A man breaks ranks and steps forward, raising the visor of his red helmet, “I believe what you meant to say is, ‘Greetings Caileen Lightfoot. The only acknowledged son of Erin and Kadin Lightfoot. And lead guard of the forty-second royal regiment’”
“Fuck you and your little red regiment,” I say, my teeth gritted.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” Caileen says, “Is that really any way to speak to the Royal Guard? No wonder mother and father disowned you. If not for your shitty career choices, for your distinct lack of manners.”
“My manners extend to those I respect.” I counter, with words as quick as my blade, “You do not have that courtesy.”
Caileen laughs, “Draven, you never did know what was good for you, even in the face of the law itself.”
“Your law,” I mock, “is corrupt and unjust, and one I refuse to respect.” I spit each syllable at him, twisting the words like hot metal and using them against him. “You punish the innocent and are paid off by the guilty. If that is a law which you choose to follow, a law which you furthermore choose to enforce, then so be it. But my respect for your character is still negligible.”
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Caileen turns back to his guards, gesturing to them with one sweeping hand. “Draven, we have you outnumbered. We can do this the easy way, where nobody gets hurt, or we can do this the hard way wherein my men and I mercilessly beat you within an inch of your life and leave your sorry ass to rot with the sewage on this street.”
“These untrained pricks couldn’t hurt me if they tried.” I laugh, attempting to hide my nervousness.
“Oh? Is that so?” Caileen sneers, closing his hand, still outstretched, into a fist.
Wordlessly, the guards begin to circle me, their swords outstretched and their shields raised.
“You think your little party trick impresses me, brother? I’d be more impressed if mother and father cared about you for more than the money and lies you constantly feed them.” I pick up a loose stone from the cobbled streets and fling it as hard as I can at Caileen. Guided astray by the emotions behind the throw, it glances off of his breastplate leaving nothing but a large scratch.
“Kill him!” Calieen cries shocked at the gall of my actions.
“You can try!” I shout at the guards, making them falter for a second, “My dear brother here forgets that whilst our mother may be disappointed in my career choices, those choices are the very reason I have been able to avoid you for years now.”
“Bullshit!” Caileen cries, “he is simply trying to manipulate you with his forked tongue.”
I feign offense at his statement, “Caileen! Brother! I would never do such a thing.” I mock, using our interaction and the resulting confusion as a way to scan for an exit.
Again Caileen grits his teeth and gestures angrily at me, “What are you doing?!” He yells at his regiment. “KILL HIM!”
“Sorry gentleman!” I joke, “I really have to go. Important business meeting. Nice seeing you all though!”
I jump quickly left then pivot and fly back to my right, raising a foot to meet the shield of the closest guard. Planting my boot on the shield causes the guard to fly back under my weight and his shield flies back with him, aligning horizontally with the ground, just as I had planned.
My second foot finds the shield mere milliseconds afterwards and I use it to spring up to the railing of the balcony above me. Scrambling over the rusted iron, I hear the shouts of the guards and my brother’s frustrated screams far below, blending together and attracting far more attention than I would have liked.
Without looking back, I dash up the remainder of the wall and onto the red-shingled roof, yet again escaping my problems and the clusterfuck of emotions associated with them.
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I may have run from my problems and their emotions before, but I know now, in my present situation, that would be impossible. Not to mention unwise.
So I resign myself to quietly waiting. I listen as Tulip bustles around below me, making tea. Going over what I know about this place, and what I should do.
Firstly, there is something horrifically wrong, a fact that seems painfully obvious given the circumstances. Nonetheless, it is something I should look into more if I plan to stay on this island. Secondly, there is some sort of civilization here in the form of The Covenant of Light. I would like to know more about who they are, who this Drysten figure is, and more specifically, why Tulip saved me when he would not. And lastly, I need to know if I can trust these people, and whether or not it would be better to just get in my shitty little boat and sail on westward.
I lose myself in all of these thoughts and before I know it, Tulip’s light footsteps on the stairs pull me from them. She re-emerges on the landing, a tray in her hands. The tray is adorned with an odd tentacle-like motif around the borders. The tea set, I notice, sports a similar motif, with the teapot itself being fashioned into a horribly misshapen creature with many tentacles and eyes protruding from every available surface on its skin.
Tulip sets the tray down and pours tea into the two cups. I reel in shock, the tea is an almost purely black liquid that has small white leaves floating in it. Giving the appearance of a small galaxy. Tulip notices my reaction and a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“Do not worry my child, it may look repulsive, but I promise you, the tea is just fine.”
She takes a sip as if to prove her point, and when she replaces her glass, I tentatively raise mine to my lips, taking a small sip. The taste of the tea is hard to describe, it tastes vaguely like fruit, but fruit over-ripened and gone to spoil. It lingers in my mouth and I find the sweetness to be slightly sickening. Not wanting to be rude I take another sip and find that the sickly sweetness only becomes more overpowering if I inhale the smell of the tea as well as drink it. I set the cup down and turn to Tulip.
“What’s it made of?” I inquire.
“The tea itself is brewed from a root known as Eldritch Whispersage. A plant that is plentiful on the edge of the Forsaken Graveyard to the north. When consumed raw, it is extremely toxic, however when brewed into tea, the toxins in the root become docile and release their sweetness into the water.”
“Interesting,” I say, even though I couldn’t care less about the origins of the tea. However, something else she mentioned caught my attention. “The Forsaken Graveyard,” I say, attempting to hide my underlying curiosity. “What exactly is that?”
Tulip looks at me, and she seems caught off guard by the question.
“My dear, you mean to tell me you don’t know?”
“I’m sorry.” I hurriedly add, “I am a castaway from a trading ship, I just washed up here.”
I decide it is easier to lie to Tulip than to explain to her my exile. Plus, I don’t know her well enough to give her my life story at the moment, nor do I know how she might react to the information.
“Ah. That makes more sense. In that case, I will briefly inform you about the graves, although it is not my place to do so, that burden falls more onto the shoulders of Drysten.”
“Who?” I interrupt.
“Drysten Sunshield, the oldest paladin in the isles and the leader of the covenant. The man in whom we place our faith when it comes to eradicating the plague from the isles.”
I tense up at the mention of the plague. And suddenly, some things start to make more sense to me. The bodies, their skin covered in pustules. The death, the decay, and the overall derelict state of the island as a whole.
“What exactly does this plague you mention do?” I ask, not sure I want to truly know the answer.
“So many questions.” Tulip purses her lips, “Where to start…” She takes another sip of her tea and begins, “The Abyssal Plague, as it is known, began almost two decades ago. It started in the western isle, the island parallel to this one, and it quickly corrupted all living beings in its path. Eating away at natural life on the isles and turning most living beings into grotesque, horrific monsters known only as Plague Beasts. Which you already happen to have encountered. In a desperate measure to hinder the spread of the plague we, being The Covenant of Light, attempted to destroy the bridge connecting the East and West Isles. However, our efforts were in vain; the Abyssal Plague has still spread, claiming more and more victims. You now lay in the only haven to exist within the isles, the White Watchtower. Home to the few surviving members of the Covenant. We have tried to eliminate the plague since the beginning, but only in the past couple of years have we come close.”
“I have… so many questions,” I begin.
“And I’m sure you do, but you’ll have to wait until Drysten gets back. He knows far more than I do, and will probably be able to answer your questions to your satisfaction. Something I simply cannot do.”
I let out a loud sigh. A mixture of exasperation and frustration at the lack of knowledge being presented.
“Okay. But if this Drysten is the same fuck who was content to watch me lay on the ground and die, then I should have no reason to respect him.” I say, letting hints of anger slide into my tone. “Even if he is the leader of your little Covenant, he was going to let me die. And I don’t respect those willing to let others die.”
“He thought you had been bested by the plague beast. He believed you to already be dead.”
“I looked at him and screamed for help.” I’m practically spitting each word out, my anger starting to boil over, my body beginning to tense up and shake. “And his pathetic ass left me to die, alone in the dirt.”
“You’ll have to excuse Drysten, fifteen years of fighting the plague have really begun to affect his head. He sometimes mistakes the two pla–” she cuts off mid-sentence. Covering her mouth with a small gasp. “I’ve said enough. Rest now, my dear. Drysten will be back soon. I promise.”
Tulip hurriedly gathers the tea set and begins to move away from the bed. But as she does, she pulls a long white willowy branch from one of her belt straps and waves it above me.
“Fhtagn,” she quietly says.
And I find my lids growing heavy as I fall quickly and quietly into a deep, dreamless sleep.