4 Months prior, at the Destruction of Avandale
Bernhard Dorian looked with reluctant pity at the broken body of the man who he had one day hoped to be his right hand. Gideon, or should he say Axeton, hadn’t really put up a fight…against him, anyway. He had managed to kill a few Grenfield recruits in a piss poor attempt to stop Dorian, but those could easily be replaced. He wiped the priest’s blood from his sword, which had not received a name from his god upon rebirth, and slid it into the sheathe once he had assessed that the last threat of the village had been eradicated.
“Is the village clear, Hjerim?” Dorian asked the soldier to his right, who still had a spear out in case Axeton somehow revived himself.
“Yes sir,” he replied dutifully, as if confirming the laundry had been done. The man’s beady eyes and bulldog face revealed a mild sneer. “Thanks to Estes, everyone except the old farmer has already been wrangled up and…dealt with. I just sent a few men to take care of the farmer, they should be back soon.”
“Good,” Dorian chirped in a pleased tone. “Burn the bodies, raze the town, leave no trace. Anyone who comes along will think it was a bandit raid gone bad. Where’s my Bell?”
At the question, Hjerim whistled and made a gesture with his arm in the air. Several Grenfield men appeared from the nearby treeline, pulling a handcart containing a large lump covered in blue cloth. Dorian approached the cart once it had reached the group, and pulled away the cloth to reveal the Bell of Avara. The man’s hand gently caressed the smooth, golden Destined Object; even without being bound to it, Dorian could feel the ancient power within it.
“Yes…” the tyrant cooed, his eyes fixated on the Bell. “A small price to pay for you…you’re going to show me great things. Your true p-”
COVER IT, YOU FOOL! The voice roared in Dorian’s mind. It snapped him out of his trance.
Huh? What? Dorian stuttered inwardly. His mind had wrapped itself in a warm blanket upon finally having what he wanted, and it had blinded him to his god’s previous instructions.
IF I CAN SEE IT, SHE CAN, the voice berated him. IN THE MOMENT IT WAS UNCOVERED, SHE DID SOMETHING. I CAN FEEL HER RECENT INFLUENCE. I TOLD YOU TO KEEP IT COVERED!
Dorian’s arm flashed out, covering the Bell again with the cloth.
“Sir?” another soldier who had been standing nearby spoke up, cautiously.
“What? What is it? I’m communing with my god, this had better be good,” Dorian barked in response.
The soldier pointed to the space once occupied by Axeton’s body, which had been on the ground mere moments before. Now, there was no trace of it; even the glass and blood surrounding the dead priest had simply vanished.
Dorian fumed, his normally regal face breaking out in a red fury. “WHAT?! Where did he go?! WHO was watching him?!”
Hjerim spoke up, his eyes supplicating his leader while still trying to maintain innocence. “Sir…we all were watching him, looking out for signs of life. He was dead as a rock, then in a flash he was gone.”
The General of the Knights chewed on the flesh in his mouth, complimenting his scowl as he attempted to clear his mind of rage and think critically.
Where did he go…he doesn’t have a Gift that would let him teleport away, even if he was alive, and if he even had glory to use. Hemexion!, he called out in his mind.
HIS GODDESS TOOK HIM, the voice hissed into his mind. SHE MAY TRY TO REVIVE HIM AT A SAFE LOCATION.
What if she tries to put him through rebirth, like you did me? Dorian thought, slightly worried. The priest wasn’t a threat, but he knew about the Knights and their ultimate goal; that made him a dangerous element to leave alive somewhere, even without rebirth.
IMPOSSIBLE. THE ACCORD OF THE GODS FORBIDS IT.
It didn’t stop you, Dorian quipped.
BECAUSE I AM ABOVE THE PETTY DICTATES OF EMPYREA. TO RULE, ONE MUST LEAVE BEHIND THE SHEEP AND FORGE AHEAD. HIS GODDESS WOULD NEVER DO THIS.
Dorian looked at the empty spot on the ground again, plugging the information in his head, trying to think of the reasons why Axeton’s weak goddess would take the body. But he didn’t have time; his god saw all and knew all, and was the only being Dorian trusted. He blinked a few times to readjust his focus.
“Our god has spoken!” he said out loud, his arms spread in a gesture of community towards his troops. “He whisked away this broken man’s body as a sacrifice, so that we may grow stronger!”
The men he spoke to puzzled for a moment, remembering that while Hemexion was a bloodthirsty god, he never wanted anything to do with anyone who wasn’t a believer of the Conqueror. But Dorian’s Gift eased the idea into their minds, and historical information was replaced as easily as dumping out and refilling a mug of ale. Memories, especially those housed in weaker minds, had no resistance to his Deception.
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“Glory to the Conquerer!” Hjerim said proudly, bringing his spear up into the air. The others around followed in their chant, their weapons still stained with the blood of the innocent villagers of Avandale.
Their leader nodded in approval, before gesturing with his hands for the group to quiet down. They obliged, leading to a hushed silence as dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto him, eager to hear his next words.
“Brothers and sisters, I must commend you on a job well done,” Dorian began, addressing the crowd with a soulless calm, like a dark prophet.
“The plan went off without a hitch, thanks to your tireless efforts. These villagers…these fools who reject our plan to rule with grace and dignity, will not stand in our way any longer. We have our treasure…and are one step closer to peace for all!”
The true nature of Dorian’s plan had been concealed with his Gift long ago. His most (not completely) trusted captains knew the man’s goal, to find the Destiny Engine. What they didn’t know is his wicked endgame; the only part he had to conceal from them. They all had friends and family who were not Gifted, his men wouldn’t go along with the plan if they knew the full scope. Dorian couldn’t Deceive away the existence of people who regularly interacted with his followers, too messy. The lackeys and the hired mercenaries knew nothing, and Dorian preferred it that way.
“We lost a few good, valued men to a rogue element,” Dorian lied effortlessly. “But it could have been a lot worse. Let’s bring out the man who made this possible. Estes? Come on out and receive your praise!”
One of the more heavyset soldiers stepped forward, taking off a full helmet to reveal the face of an older man. His slicked back white hair had become matted in the heat of the day wearing that helmet, and he breathed out in relief as the fresh air caressed his head. Once physical relief had been met, his mind turned to what had just happened. The man’s mouth trembled behind a full beard, and a mix of worry and relief shone in his pale green eyes.
“I’m still troubled about what we did, but I’ll do whatever it takes to attain peace,” Estes said, his face twisted in a troubled pain. “I just wish we could have spared the children. It hurts my heart to not see them grow up.”
“The children were the worst ones!” Dorian assured him, letting his Gift wash away the doubt. “They looked innocent but remember the one who attacked Rycherd? Gods let him rest in peace…they were ALL trained to kill us.”
Now that this village is dead, I can Deceive this fool as much as I want without anyone interfering, Dorian schemed while looking his victim in the eyes.
Fial Estes’ brows furrowed for just a moment. “Of course, a bad seed. Had to be dealt with.”
“There you go,” Dorian said proudly. “So rest up, and Mo and Mari will escort you back home. You already know what to do when you get there.”
Estes nodded eagerly. “Of course. Whatever I can do. The facilities are ready to go.”
The old man didn’t care for Dorian’s underlings, Mo and Mari even more so. Mo was a psychopath and Mari was a creepy, unsettling little monster. He put up a fake smile as he nodded to the pair, who were standing nearby.
Dorian patted the old man on the back, causing him to stagger. Estes wasn’t used to wearing armor, and the weight had made it easier for him to lose his balance. “I knew I could count on you. We have to burn your house here as well, so no one gets suspicious. Make sure you take whatever you need back to your Ostiphas estate.”
“Yes…right away…” Estes responded, as if in a daze. He loved his Avandale home, and the people there. But they were evil, it couldn’t be helped. Did he love them or not? He wasn’t sure. It just felt better to know they were bad; it felt…right, and justified his troubled thoughts.
Mo and Mari left shortly afterwards with Estes, to escort him and begin the smuggling process at his estate. Dorian relinquished the duty of “town clean up” to a few of his captains, Peroni and Smythe, as he allowed himself to rest for a while before heading off to his secret location. Smaller Destined Objects and gold had to be taken there as well, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once and had to rely on those under his command to take care of transportation; one of the facilities being Estes’ forges.
What he couldn’t trust to be done without him, no matter who was doing it, was the transportation of the ancient Objects, the ones the book had told him would guide him to the Destiny Engine. They were powerful on their own, and finding them had proven to be difficult. They were all guarded, just like any useful tool. Dorian thought of himself as sort of a tax collector, liberating the Objects from those who just weren’t able to fully understand their importance. The trips were fairly easy, his Gift made any interactions feel like cheating…because it essentially was.
So Dorian sat in the main doorway of the church house of Avandale, fully committing to his dominance of the people there, the precious Bell wrapped tightly in the blue cloth sitting next to him.
The man smirked, pleased with himself as he always was. He had Torvald infiltrate the Crooked Sun to learn their ways and find weaknesses. The man had been found out and almost killed, but was able to escape with a sample of the very useful fabric that now enshrined and inhibited the Bell of Avara. Lead had been a relatively useless metal; too soft to really make anything out of, but the anti-Gift fanatics at the Sun had learned that weaving thin strands of it into cloth and using it to cover Destined Objects completely cut off their emission of glory. Such a simple thing, to cause so much chaos. His cruelty relished in it.
Dorian watched as his captains went to work. Peroni had the Gift of Fire, very helpful when trying to get rid of evidence. Smythe was Gifted with Displacement, and could transfer weight from one thing to another. Together, along with plenty of underlings, Smythe looted anything of value by temporarily shifting its weight from the items themselves to the cobblestones of the street. Chests of family treasures, weapons, and meat were all carried effortlessly to Dorian’s feet as he watched the thievery. Once the fires were lit, Peroni would augment them and make them burn hotter and faster, engulfing the now-vacant homes of the innocent people of Avandale. Dorian always hated how long fire took to do its work, so he was grateful for Peroni’s Gift. Even across the street from the nearest burning home, Dorian still felt the heat as he stood, a twisted overwatch to his bloodthirsty men.
You can never have too many Fire users around, he thought, as the flames licked the sky throughout the village.
He verified that the process of scorching and looting Avandale was under control, then made the executive decision to leave before it became too late in the day.
The smell of burning flesh had always nauseated him, since he had to burn to rescue his book all those years ago. I’d better get clear of this backwater village before they burn the bodies, Dorian thought with cold calculation. The death of hundreds of innocents measured and found wanting against his desire to not feel even slightly uncomfortable.
Hjerim, and another semi-trusted confidant Captain Cahn, mounted up with a wagon to carry the bell and various supplies, and left Avandale in the late afternoon. There wasn’t enough time to get to the secret location, but Hjerim had procured a pair of rooms at an inn a few hours' ride away. The captain had paid them extra for the inn’s proprietor to not ask questions, but if he had to end up silencing them, he would.
Sacrifices had to be made for everyone to be free.