Nathen’s muscles burned, his was having to gasp for breath and his sword had long since lost its edge against the unnaturally tough flesh of the kobolds. He’d managed to put down two more of them largely through beating them to death as his aura sapped their strength. While the energy he drew from the air around him and his enemies was helping him keep going, it clearly wasn’t a replacement for proper rest. It was more like it gave him the willpower to push through the exhaustion than refreshing his body, which was an odd sensation.
He also decided that he needed a mana dump, something he could spend the excess of mana his aura was generating for him on. Nathen was tempted to try summoning wind blades by slashing his sword, or casting fireballs or something, but with how close he was to the edge as it was he decided against it. He’d already gained a new ability this combat, and figured he’d need to build up his XP again before he could create another one.
There were only two kobolds left, and both were heavily injured, almost as injured as Nathen was. All three of the surviving combatants were covered in blood, only some of which belonged to others, and were busy panting for breath. The pace of the fight had slowed down considerably, with the two sides regularly backing off for a short rest and to observe their opponent. During one such lull he saw the Kobolds look up, past him and their eyes grew wide, taking several steps back. Nathen refused to be distracted but struggled to control his breathing to see if he could hear anything.
At first he could only hear the rumbling of his own heart, but after a few moments he realized that not all of the sound was coming from himself, and his tired mind slowly decided the new rumbling was coming from behind him. Turning to glance back while keeping his sword ready he caught sight of a half dozen riders on black horses thundering down the slope towards him. When he turned back he found the last two kobolds running for their lives, dropping their weapons and running away on all fours. Nathen wanted to give chase but a few stumbling steps and he decided against it. Instead he turned to face the riders, wondering if he had time to get his spare blade out before they arrived, and if he’d have to fight them.
Thankfully all but one of the riders angled away to follow the retreating Kobolds with the last pulling his massive black horse to a stop a short distance from the exhausted Nathen. Instead of calling out the rider took in the scene of Nathen, covered in blood and surrounded by the bodies of dead kobolds. He wore light colored leathers with occasional metal plates to add extra protection in key places, which stood in contrast to the dark hair of his mount. He held a long spear, or perhaps a lance, in one hand and the reigns of his horse in the other. While his armor was rather light for a knight, the horse’s saddle was heavy with pouches and bags.
“You kill all of these?” he asked. Nathen, not trusting his voice with how out of breath he was, nodded.
“If we heard your battle you can be certain more Mutts did too,” he continued, “can you ride?”
Nathen tried to answer, but instead just shrugged. He heard something moving behind him and he twisted, bringing his sword to bare only to find the riders returning.
“We ran one down, but the other got away,” another rider reported.
“Unlikely we could catch them in this terrain anyways,” the first replied, “seems this man killed almost the entire group.”
“Ascender?”
“Probably, seems like he can’t speak right now.”
“I’m impressed he’s still standing with those wounds.”
“Do you have a horse nearby?” the lead rider asked of Nathen, who shook his head in reply, “you’re up this far without a horse? In your state I doubt you can outrun the next hunting party.”
“With this many Mutts dead the place will be drowning in them by nightfall,” another rider nodded, “we can’t leave him here.”
“Only available horse is the pack horse,” the leader replied.
“There’s a small town just south of here.”
“Nothing for it then,” he sighed, motioning one of the men to bring up another horse that was completely riderless, which Nathen had completely missed. Instead it had much larger bags hanging from the saddle, presumably supplies and food for an extended trip. Despite this the leader of the riders didn’t hesitate for a moment before taking out a knife and cutting the bags free, the horse snorting as its load suddenly dropped to the ground on either side.
“Get on,” he said to Nathen, “we need to get moving.”
Nathen wanted to protest, he still had yet to loot the kobolds, but he decided to give in before the riders forced him onto the horse. He wasn’t certain he could manage the looking spell in his state anyways.
\*\*\*\*\*
“There are many ways a blessing can manifest,” the elderly priest explained as Gregory sat next to him, “the god granting it can guide it, but it will, ultimately, become part of you, and your own soul will have as much, if not more, influence on it. The easiest way to explain it, however, is as a Facet that you are granted rather than earn.
“More than that, however, a blessing represents a tiny drop of divine power,” the priest continued, slowly pouring a cup of tea for each of them, “power that would become part of you, even if you break the oath not all of the power will return to the god from which it originated. So it is risk for a god to grant their blessing, as some have been known to run off with the small bit of strength rather than stick to their oaths. Even if you were to ascend that power will follow you to the next world. But,” he paused to look seriously into Gregory’s eyes, “should you stick with Davlos that power will grow far beyond the tiny smidgen you get after first earning the blessing.”
“I don’t plan to break my oaths,” Gregory replied, just as seriously.
“Good,” the priest smiled, his creased face softening, “most gods offer different kinds of blessings, with different oaths, depending on the individual. Davlos is no different, my oath to the god of protection is different from the oath a Slayer Knight might make. A very few chosen of Davlos are granted a blessing without an oath. With the consent of both parties, the blessed and the god, the terms of an oath might change over time. So should you decided to change your course in the future, all you need do is pled your case to Davlos.”
“What do I need to do Father?”
“Right now? Drink your tea,” the old priest chuckled around a sip of his own cup, “it’ll help calm your mind and soul. Once you are ready we’ll proceed to the inner chamber, you’ll kneel before the relic of Davlos and pray. If He decides to grant you his power we’ll know very quickly. If not, do not despair, may take over a year to earn His blessing.”
“I’ve… never prayed before,” Gregory admitted after a long moment of silence, “is there anything special I need to do?”
“Do not worry,” the old priest assured him, “you’ve seen how we kneel, do that, lower your head and keep your hands on the floor. Your show of respect and supplication is more important than any kind of correct posture.”
Despite his words Gregory couldn’t shake the nervousness that had descended upon him when he had been ushered into the preparation room. He’d chosen to try and earn Davlos’ blessing over the last couple days of being unsure after witnessing how they treated both him and others. The Bishop was humble and kind, if a bit intense, while the various priests and nuns were kind and helpful. Their sleeping quarters were little more than barracks while they insisted he stay in a well appointed guest suite. Apparently, in times of great danger, they’d even give up those meager beds and sleep on the floor as to house more people within the sacred halls. Be they refugees or residents of the city at the foot of Templeholm, if people needed protection it could be found within the walls of Davlos’ temple.
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From what he could understand, only the God of heath and childbirth saw more traffic from non-worshipers than Davlos. The various acolytes he’d spoken to described Davlos as ‘the god you never want to need, but are always glad to have when you do.’ And that sounded perfect to Gregory, especially after what had happened to his family. But still he couldn’t dispel the anxiety that had crept into him.
“The relic of Davlos here is very old,” the priest spoke up, distracting Gregory from his thoughts, “it dates all the way back to when the Tempest King still walked this world. You see, when he first arrived in this world there were no major kingdoms, only small, fortified towns. There were no Slayer Knights to cull the monsters, so humanity lived in fear. Those who were strong gathered others to them with the promise of safety, Ascenders would create cities, but rarely would they last. Often these cities were dependent on the Ascender for protection, even if they managed to attract multiple such heroes, as soon as those Ascenders moved on to the next world they’d collapse.
“The Tempest King wanted to create something that would last, and he knew that to do so he’d need to build a nation. Not simply carve out a small region of safety but to create an empire that could stand up to the monsters for centuries,” the old priest paused for a long sip of tea, “He gathered others to his side who shared his vision but lacked the power or knowledge to see it through, they would become the Storm Blades, the most trusted Knights of the Tempest King.
“His first move, after gathering such allies, was to build a capitol for his kingdom to be. Eventually it would grow into a mighty fortress, but at the beginning it was little more than a refurbished castle. But it was from there he and his army set out to bring more of the world into his empire, for he knew that for Humanity to stand against the monsters, we had to stand together.
“As you can imagine, Davlos supported this goal, and was one of the first human gods to grant the Tempest King his blessing. But others didn’t support the growing Kingdom, they saw it as tyranny, not safety. So one day, when the Tempest King and his Storm Blades were far off, many of the surrounding towns to the Capitol, those who were first to be brought into the fold, betrayed their king and sent their armies against the Tempest King’s Castle. The wives and children of the Storm Blades resided within that town, so they probably thought if they took them hostage they could end the Tempest King.
“Of course, the capitol wasn’t defenseless, boasting powerful walls and a mighty gate. But the traitors had prepared for this day, and brought up a great ram, built in secret, and designed for this exact situation. It was built to tear down the Storm Gate so the enemies of the Tempest King could make entry to the castle. All of those within the castle saw the great ram and they feared, they prayed for protection, they prayed the gate would last long enough for the Tempest King to return and save them. But how could any gate, no matter how thick and well crafted, stand against such a mighty engine? Still they prayed as the ram began to pound at the gate.
“To the surprise of everyone, the gate held. For Five days the great ram ravaged the gate before the Tempest King’s army returned and routed the traitorous forces. So damaged was the gate that it couldn’t be opened, no one knew how it remained standing. After the battle the ruined gate was removed and a single metal hinge was found holding the entire assembly up, it had been twisted by the immense forces, but it hadn’t broken. That one hinge had kept the families of the Storm Blades safe.
“That hinge is in the next room, now come,” the priest said, standing and motioning for Gregory to do the same, “let me show you.”
Despite himself all of his doubts had been banished by the story, perhaps it was just that the story gave time for his tea to kick in, or maybe the distraction had allowed him to clear his thoughts. But regardless he stood and followed the old priest into the next room. It was a small, circular area with a dais in the middle upon which a twisted lump of metal sat. Light poured in from a sky light above providing a soft glow to the murals that covered the wall. Gregory could tell the paintings told the story he’d just heard, depicting the armies approaching the castle, the great ram and the return of the Tempest King.
“Here,” the priest motioned to the floor next to the dais, “kneel, pray and see if you are worthy.”
Gregory did as he was told, getting down on one knee before the relic, hands on the ground rather than pressed together before him and head bowed. Even without having heard the story he could tell the room was different, it had an air of divinity about it that not even his tactile aura could penetrate. Gregory wasn’t certain how long he’d knelt there when he heard a soft voice.
“Why do you want power, my child?”
Gregory’s head jerked up, it wasn’t the voice of the priest, he couldn’t identify it, but it should have been just him and the priest in the room. Yet when he looked up he wasn’t in the relic chamber, but another room he recognized all too well. His blood ran cold as he felt the hardwood floors under his hands, the cheap lamps casting their incandescent glow across a small dining table. It was all just as he remembered it.
Nearly holding his breath Gregory stood and walked past the table through the large open doorway that led to the sitting room and it was as he feared. His mother’s body was in one corner, crouched over his brother’s, shielding it with her own. Not that it had helped as her frail form hadn’t been sufficient to protect him. Blood stained the carpet a dark red, flickering lights making it hard to tell if his mother was still breathing.
Gregory walked slowly across the lounge to the entryway and the narrow staircase which lead to the upstairs of the small home. There, peering through the railing of the stairs was his younger self.
“I was upstairs when it happened,” Gregory said, somehow sensing someone waiting for an explanation, “my mother told me to hide when we heard someone kicking down the door. I was terrified, hiding in the closet but the man never went upstairs.”
“Who was it?” the soft voice asked.
“Some addict,” Gregory sighed, “he was arrested later that week, but they didn’t tell me what happened to him. I guess because I was too young, found out later from my Dad, in one of his drunken spats, that the addict had pled guilty and been given only a year of probation due to some ‘criminal reform’ statutes. Though it was clear it was because we were…”
“Do you blame yourself?”
“My dad blamed me, he was at work at the time. I don’t know what he expected me, an eight-year-old, to do to a crazed addict with a gun.”
“Perhaps he blamed himself.”
“Probably,” Gregory agreed, “do you know why the addict targeted our house? Because my parents had two cars. One for my dad’s work and the other for my mom to drive my brother and I to school functions, or friend’s houses. Apparently the addict saw my father leave that morning, and that we had another car in the drive way and figured we had money.”
“Is this why you seek power?”
“I guess,” Gregory shrugged, “I haven’t really… thought about it.”
The world around him slowly faded to black, the transition was so gradual Gregory only realized his eyes were actually closed when he felt a tear crawl down his eyelid. Looking up he found himself back in the relic chamber, his eyes moist from the vision and the old priest still smiling down at him.
“Congratulations, herald of Davlos,” the priest said, beckoning Gregory to his feet.
\-\-\-\-
*NEW PACT:* Blessing of the Protector
May such a tragedy never happen again.
-Increased physical ability, especially when defending another
-You can sense dangers to yourself and others before it happens
Note: this pact can be lost if you fail to defend the defenseless
\-\-\-\-
\*\*\*\*\*
“It seems like things are happening faster than expected,” Lex said as she adjusted the straps of her armor.
“I thought we had another few weeks,” Gregory replied as he similarly rushed to get his gear in order. He’d only had the blessing for a couple days and already he was being sent out. It had taken some work to get used to his new enhanced physique, he was stronger, faster and tougher than before. To the extent that he was almost a match for Lex.
“When the protector calls, we answer,” she replied.
“I didn’t know there were any towns north of here,” Gregory admitted, “isn’t that too close to the Watchers?”
“I think it started out as a small hunting outpost, grew into a small town. Either way protecting them is our job.”
“Weren’t some Slayer Knights sent that way to scout for the Mutts?”
“Maybe they need help,” Lex shrugged, “we should reach the town in a bit over a day on horseback.”
“I hate horses,” Gregory groaned, “last time I rode one I ended up with a sore back for days.”
“Was this before or after that other Ascender kicked your butt?” she asked with a grin.
Gregory simply gave her a false glare in reply, causing her to chuckle, and turned back to his equipment. Apparently he, Lex and a couple other Slayer Knights had been called by Davlos to head North-West to a small town. While the reason hadn’t been stated, divine signs being rather limited, they assumed it had to do with the Mutts. The Slayer Knight patrol had only gone out a few days earlier, shortly before Gregory earned his blessing. Unless something was stirring up the Mutts they should have another month or two before the horde truly descended so everyone was confused. Nonetheless, as Lex said, they were called and so they answer.