With a wave of his hands Ezekiel's armaments disappeared as the spark paws approached. Leaning down, he petted all three of them affectionately as they whimpered at him, each wanting a moment of his attention. One sniffed cautiously at the sheriff, who was frozen in fear at the huge beast hovering off the ground near him.
"They won't hurt you. They're highly intelligent creatures and they're very affectionate."
Bron reached out tentatively and petted the spark paw, eliciting a puppy-like yip from the animal as it rolled over in the air, exposing its belly to the sheriff.
"This is weird," the sheriff commented as he felt his hair rising from the static electricity of the dog.
"Alright, do us a favor and fly further into the woods and see if there are anymore out there, please," Ezekiel instructed.
The spark paws moved as a group, zipping higher into the forest to gain a better view.
"How long will they stick around?"
"Just a few more minutes, but long enough to find any potential scouts or anything else that poses an immediate threat."
"That was amazing. I'd heard stories of magic from my father when I was a boy, told to him by his father, and his father before him, but it's different seeing it in person," Bron spoke in awe.
"What were you saying about the Inquisition, sheriff?" Ezekiel asked, trying to refocus the conversation.
"Yes, of course. This happened several years ago, when the Inquisition last visited. They're surrounded by an unholy aura that causes the dead to rise in their wake. We can likely expect them to arrive in Greencoast in another day or two. You might need to cut your visit short."
"It's that bad?" Ezekiel asked.
"Yes, they'll sweep the entire town looking for anyone who can be labeled a heretic. I'm particularly worried about Ella and Davis."
"Why?"
"Because the last time the Inquisition visited, they put Isaac Larner to death for worshiping a false god."
Ezekiel had been avoiding asking about Davis's father, knowing that it was probably a sore subject and anything they wanted him to know they would have offered, but Bron's explanation made complete sense in context. Ella's husband had been taken from them as a heretic, something that likely brought shame to their family and wasn't a subject broached lightly.
"Understood, Sheriff. I'll spend tomorrow asking around for my brother, but after that I'll pack it up and move on. The last thing I want to do is bring undue attention to Greencoast or Ella and Davis.”
Nodding, the sheriff sheathed his sword and gathered his wits, seeing their business as complete. Ezekiel followed Bron back to town, extinguishing his light spell prior to breaking the tree line.
Bron escorted Ezekiel back to the Firefly, the mood turned somber between the two.
"Tend to your business, Colonel, but don't linger too long."
Ezekiel entered the quiet tavern to see Ella cleaning up the last of the remaining mess from the evening's festivities.
"Midnight stroll with the sheriff? That doesn't bode well," Ella observed as she wiped down the last table.
"Simply discussing matters from earlier. Had a run in with the dockmaster," Ezekiel lied.
"Cup of tea before you retire for the evening?" Ella asked, placing a hot kettle on the clean table with two mugs. Ezekiel was torn at the offer, not wanting to risk Ella more with the Inquisitors by becoming more involved in her affairs, but his honor as a gentleman couldn't refuse the offer of a cup of tea before bed.
Sitting across from her, he took a mug that had already been poured with gratitude as he blew on the steaming top, tasting it gingerly before determining that it needed to cool more before being enjoyed.
"Your brother, do you think you'll find him?" Ella asked, sipping her own mug softly.
Sighing, Ezekiel answered honestly, happy to let the conversation turn in that direction.
"I don't know. I hope I do, and something I've learned over the years is that hope is all you can hold on to at times."
"I'm sorry to ask this, but how do you know he's not dead?"
Sipping his tea, Ezekiel thought about the question, having struggled with it internally for a long time during his travels.
"I believe I would feel different if he were. I think I'd know it, in my heart. Growing up, he was the older of us, and often was the source of many of our father's frustrated expectations."
"How so?"
"There's a reason they're called 'the Forgotten Isles.' Mostly because we wanted to be forgotten by the rest of the world. This is also why you've commonly heard of the high elves, and their affliction, but never of the moon elves. We were satisfied with lounging on our island and writing down the happenings of the world outside of our domain."
Ezekiel paused, his memories floating back to the life of his family hundreds of years ago before he joined the larger world.
"Father, he was the head archivist of our age, meaning he was tasked with cataloguing and compiling our libraries for the generations to come. My people believed that knowledge was power, and that history should be recorded in great detail. To that end, we also believed we shouldn't interfere with history, for fear that it would taint our objectivism."
"Then how did you and your brother end up traveling outside the island? And how could your people transcribe events beyond their experience?"
Taking a long sip of his tea, Zeke considered the question carefully. He had already revealed more than he should, knowing how restrictive the common knowledge of the area was, likely due to the machinations of the Church, and telling Ella any more could put her in danger of being labeled a heretic should they press her.
"That part isn't important. The long and short of it is, both Zeldren and I were equal disappointments to our father, as we both abandoned our heritage at the same time, believing we were needed for something important. We were right, it was important, but it didn't work out the way either of us had hoped, and I lost track of him as a result."
"That sounds both extremely vague and sad at the same time," Ella teased as she sipped her own tea, giving Zeke a suspicious look.
"Unfortunately, it is, for both of our benefits. And with that, I will respectfully take my leave of you and retire for the evening." Ezekiel pushed away from the table and stretched his tired limbs, the weariness of two battles in one day with the undead sinking into his bones.
"Good night, Colonel Graystone."
"Good night, Ella Larner." Ezekiel responded, eliciting a somber glance from the tavern owner.
**********
"Zeldren... Zeldren! Would you stop for a moment and speak with me!" Ezekiel yelled over the mill of soldiers preparing for battle. Men, elves, and dwarves, all adorned in various forms of beaten and worn armor worked laboriously, their eyes sunken and spirits dwindled from an prolonged siege.
"What's there to talk about?" the taller moon elf answered as he spun to address his brother. Zeldren stood a few inches taller than Ezekiel, which put him half a hand taller than most men and even many of the high elves. He was dressed in lighter armor, blueish chainmail that hadn't dulled in the weather. A well-used rapier at his side was partnered with a small book braced in metal plates on his opposite hip. Where Ezekiel kept a mustache and goatee, his brother was clean shaven with long flowing white hair and a smile that melted the weary hearts around him.
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Ezekiel tried to keep his voice lowered so as not to arouse attention from the other soldiers. "I think it would be prudent for you to return to the Isles, to father."
"Come now, if you're the master tactician I hear the other officers brag about, then surely you know the place our best swordsman belongs is on the frontline."
Zeldren, though a braggart in his own right, wasn't wrong. He was easily the best duelist of the Crusade, and his skill was only that much deadlier combined with his arcane arts. Upon hearing Zeldren 's loud proclamation, several soldiers started cheering, their morale obviously bolstered by the sword master's presence. Ezekiel grabbed his brother by the arm, tugging him away from the small crowd gathering, and dropped his voice to a hushed whisper.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, we know our odds and we know the likely outcome. You need to go to father, to warn them that they're likely next if Tal' Dar does indeed wish to rewrite himself in the annals of history..."
"I love him," Zeldren responded. His black eyes turned forlorn, his bravado completely abandoned.
"Who...the crusader, Conrad?"
"Yes. We've been fighting this bloody war for almost a year now, and... I've fallen in love, brother."
Ezekiel hissed dismissively, his eyes instinctively rolling. "You fall in love every other decade, Zeldren. It's part of your nature. First it was that high-elf musician, then that human noble fifty years ago, and now..."
"Ezekiel!" Zeldren yelled, breaking his brother from his rant. "It's different this time, I'm... different."
Sighing heavily, Ezekiel realized that he had hit a familiar wall with Zeldren, one that he could not break through with all the reason in the world.
"So you're willing to die with him?"
"If that is to be my fate, so be it. Better this than in my bed, invalid and aged, having done nothing but write of the adventures of others viewed only from afar through magic."
"What are we all whispering about?" a soft voice asked, interrupting their dialogue.
Ezekiel's thoughts broke as he saw Sierra for the first time that day, her angelic-touched hair glowing beautifully golden under the midday sun. Her white and gold robes were immaculate despite the mud and muck around them, fluttering in the wind. Walking at her side, as always, was her black-furred companion, Onyx.
"Besides, how can you be so concerned when we have the children of angels on our side?" Zeldren asked, giving Sierra a hug.
Returning the embrace, Sierra looked at Ezekiel, her tone turning serious. "Whatever you're discussing, you might want to take it somewhere else. The soldiers tend to get a little nervous when the Graystone brothers are having a whispered argument."
Onyx sneezed, then yawned, stretching her limbs and claws. Zeldren reached down to pet her soft fur, ruffling it up in a way he knew annoyed the cat.
"Apologies, just having a very, very old argument." Zeldren explained as he stood back up, satisfied as Onyx instantly started licking her fur back down in place.
Nodding to Zeldren, then to Ezekiel, Sierra simply said, "Good day, Colonel" before she walked off to the other battlemages further away.
"Speaking of love, she's rather smitten with you. You know that, right?" Zeldren teased as he leaned on his brother's overly pressed tailcoat.
"Now's not the time for such distractions." Ezekiel responded, tugging at his jacket to remove Zeldren from his shoulder, then instinctively checking his collar.
"Brother, sometimes life is all about the distractions..."
Ezekiel grabbed his brother's arm, swinging the sword master back to face him.
"I'm being serious, Zeldren!"
"And so am I!" Zeldren snapped back, ripping his arm from Zeke's grip. Zeldren looked up the hill at the gathering of battlemages, all discussing tactics and preparing spells. There were far fewer of them than they had started with almost a year ago, and all wore the fatigue of the war across their faces.
"You know she won't back off either. If you're serious about this, if it's as you say it is, you need to say something to her, as well. At the very least, warn her, and maybe... say goodbye," Zeldren advised.
Ezekiel sighed, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the world on his back. Nodding grimly, he walked up the hill, gaining Sierra's attention. She turned to him and followed the summoner away from the group to address him privately.
"Sierra, about today..." Ezekiel started.
"Why?"
"Why, what?" Zeke asked, suddenly confused by Sierra's stoic demeanor.
"Why did you let us die, Ezekiel?"
Zeke took a step back as the air filled with screams of agony from the soldiers and battlemages. All yelled in terror as their bodies began rotting, their flesh falling off revealing diseased meat and bone beneath. Zeldren, his face painted with panic, ran to Ezekiel but never made it to him. His legs broke under him as skeletal hands ripped through the ground and pulled him under, his screams breaking above the others.
Instinctively Ezekiel tried to summon, but nothing conjured through his attempts. Tears streamed down his face as he watched in horror as everyone around him decayed rapidly, only to then rise again as undead, their hollow eye sockets glowing a bright red.
Only Sierra was left intact before him, her eyes also glowing red as her mouth curled at him with contempt.
"Why did you let us all die, Ezekiel?"
"I tried, I tried everything I could. But it was too much, I couldn't..."
"You killed us, you killed us all!" Sierra screamed, her flesh rotting off of her skull, leaving bone and sinew as she lunged at him, her hands turned to bones with grasping claws. She hissed, revealing sharp fangs as she tried to bite him, to taste his flesh and end his life.
Ezekiel screamed, the only one left still alive on the battlefield with the demonic undead swarming him.
**********
Instinctively raising his arms up defensively in his sleep, Ezekiel flailed wildly in his bed, his hands waving around against an attacker that wasn't there.
A thick, rocky arm braced down against Ezekiel's midsection in the bed, holding him firmly to the mattress to prevent him from doing any damage to himself or the furniture around him. The pressure was enough to snap Ezekiel back to reality as he saw the huge frame of Bob standing above him, awkwardly contorted to fit into the small bedroom.
"Zeke, you okay?"
Panting, Ezekiel gathered his wits, finding himself covered in sweat, the bed drenched as well.
"Y... yes, Bob, sorry to worry you."
"You call, but nothing here. Just you and Onyx."
Onyx sat on her hind legs at the foot of the bed, watching Ezekiel with concern as she yawned at Bob's comment.
"I know, Bob. It was a mistake. We're not under attack, I just... I had a bad dream is all."
"You have those a lot?" Bob asked as he removed his arm from Ezekiel's chest.
"More and more as of late."
Onyx growled as she licked her paw judgingly at her companion.
Suddenly a knock at the door caused the three of them to pause the conversation sharply.
"Everything okay in there, Mr. Graystone?" Ella asked from the other side of the door.
"Sorry, yes, just having a little trouble getting up and moving this morning it appears."
Ezekiel lumbered out of bed, disentangling himself from the bedsheets. The floorboards under Bob squealed loudly in protest at his size and the elemental took a wider stance, attempting to spread his weight out as Onyx and Ezekiel froze in silence, hoping Ella wouldn’t take the sound as an invitation to enter the room.
"Well, breakfast is ready. The boys already left for the pier, wanting to get an early start on helping you out. There's supposed to be a lot of ships in port today, so I figured you'd want to join them, maybe ask around about your brother."
Ezekiel hopped around, trying to pull up his trousers awkwardly.
"Yes, of course. Thank you for the warning. I'll be down momentarily."
"I'll warm up a cup of tea for you then," Ella said before she left.
Bob looked down at Ezekiel, confusion etched in his rocky expression.
"Sorry, Bob, I'd normally stay and chat longer with you, but I don't want either of us to get in trouble this morning." Zeke chanted the dismissal phrase. Bob simply slumped as he unceremoniously dissolved back to the Earth Plane.
Onyx growled at Ezekiel, her claws flexing and unflexing.
"I know, I'll make it up to him. He was only trying to help, but if Ella saw him, it would only lead to more questions."
Making his bed, Ezekiel used a few castings of his cleansing spell along with a grooming kit he kept in his jacket pocket to freshen up, quickly correcting his abhorrent appearance.
Ezekiel ate quickly, not wanting to take up more time than he needed at the tavern. He felt bad, as he could tell Ella was in a chatty mood, but after last night's excursion with the sheriff and later oversharing with her, he figured it was a better idea to keep Ella and Davis distanced from him for their own good.
Onyx followed behind him as they took off for the docks, their morning spent going from ship to ship, asking around for any information anyone might have about Zeldren. It was frustrating and tedious work, as each vessel held a variety of personalities, all rather dubious and doubting Ezekiel’s intentions. He explained the same story over and over again, ad nauseam, keeping the details vague so as not to run up against any unforeseen trouble.
Many of the sailors he questioned were confused, all asking about whether his brother was a cannibal if he was an elf. Others mentioned having seen a variety of strange and exotic beings out there, but none were sure if they'd ever seen Zeldren.
At every ship, at every interview, Ezekiel felt Greggory's eyes watching him from afar. It wasn't until the second ship he visited that he noticed the dockmaster kept looking in his direction, always seeming to find a job or a person to talk to that kept him within visual range of Ezekiel.
Noon was quickly upon them, and Ezekiel took Onyx to a nearby shop, purchasing fried fish and potato wedges for his lunch and a fresh caught salmon for Onyx to chew on.
Sitting on a hunk of wood that jutted out from the pier, Ezekiel looked out over the water, sighing heavily as he poked his food.
"I wish we could stay longer."
Onyx snorted then resumed gnawing on the fish.
"I know, but the sheriff is right. Since returning, we've thus far avoided the Church, and the last thing we need is to have a run in with them." Ezekiel retorted, taking a final bite of his fish before tossing the rest of it into the water.
"Mr. Graystone! Mr. Graystone, they're here! They're here!" Davis's voice called excitedly down from another section of the docks.
Rising from his seat and stretching his legs, Ezekiel walked to see what the young lad was going on about.
Rounding the corner of the next dock down another pier, Ezekiel saw a large vessel with several people disembarking as large crates were being offloaded. Walking down a plank were two very distinct looking individuals. One was a gigantic orc with a shaved head and light greenish gray skin wearing chain armor with reinforced plates over key locations. On his back, peace tied, sat a wicked looking falchion easily the size of a man. The orc had to be almost seven feet tall and was covered head to toe with muscles and scars. Despite casting such a vicious image, the orc was all laughs as Davis and Drez swung from each of his arms as if they were tree branches to be played upon.
Walking next to the orc was a woman in a dark leather duster covered in layers of buckles and straps, each holding a variety of pockets or vials within easy reach. The sun sparkled over the glass, with vibrant colored liquids splashing around inside the vials. She wore goggles though they were up on her forehead, keeping a mess of bright red hair from falling in front of her eyes.
"Mr. Graystone! Korlac and Liarra, they're back!"