Note to Readers: So I was actually thinking I might add a little more background information through Talvos. Just not sure whether I should put it here, keep it in, or just stick with Walter. Anyway let me know your thoughts in the comments section.
~*~
Gazing down at the two parchments in hand, Talvos, son of Bomberdel, Paladin of Gerant, and Knight of the Holy Sepulcher, felt a touch of unease. Having spent most of his life training to take over from his father, he had accepted his role as the dutiful son. But as the years began to pass him by, he couldn’t help but stare at the warriors that had trained in the battle yard. Dressed in the white fur cloaks of paladins, they had appeared more like lithe snow leopards, dancing this way and that, their blades a whirring blurr of steel. And after much contemplation on his part, Talvos had decided to join them. Several years later, months of study and training under his belt, and he couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied with his lot in life. And it wasn’t because the role of the paladin was unimportant, it just seemed that no matter how many criminals they brought to justice more seemed to surface all around them. But now as he studied the two parchments embossed with the sigil of the burning eagle, he knew he had been shirking his responsibilities.
With that thought in mind he slipped the two pieces of parchment into his satchel, spun on his heels, and strode down the hallway away from his father’s chambers. Decorated in lavish red drapery imported from the City of Olivera, the corridor was lined with portraits of his ancestors. There was his great great grandfather Archduke Dinyard, a robust man with gray hair, and two chins. His great grandmother the Countess of Weltersbry, and at the end of the hall two stone busts that depicted his mother. A beautiful woman that had passed away when he was a child, he had found himself often staring at her image for hours, a part of him wondering what she had been like. With a nose like that of a hawk, she had two piercing eyes that were a little too close together, and a stern smile that always seemed on the point of speaking to him. It seemed only a shame that it had taken him so long to realize that the silence did not mean he was unworthy, but that she was waiting for something.
His head bowed low at the strange workings of the mind, he entered the stairwell, descended down the stone steps, and passed through the archway leading into the next corridor. There he took a moment to pause, when he felt a light rapping on his armored shoulder from behind.
Hand twitching instinctively towards the hilt of his sword, he drew the blade with a flourish, when Verana looked down at him with a grin. The tall willowy elf, who had been his comrade in arms while serving in the Order of Gerant, stepped out from the shadows, her deep musical voice full of playfulness. “Deep in holy contemplation are you, Sir Knight?”
Head shaking from side to side at how close he had come to killing her, Talvos released a light huff of annoyance, his white cloak bristling with frustration. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me, Verana. It is unbecoming of an anointed knight to be skulking about like a villain. We are the hand of justice in this city, and as such we must stand tall in the light. Not this slinking in the shadows.”
Giggling as she shook her locks of golden hair, Verana laughed, “you’re just embarrassed that I was able to sneak up on you, Sir Knight.”
Releasing a heavy sigh at her obvious deflection, Talvos held his retort back, a part of himself only too aware that she was indeed partly right. But in the same breath, he also knew it to be an impossibility for him to detect her. A sun-elf born in the far reaches of the Dawning Isles, Verana was naturally gifted with certain abilities such as agility, and a remarkable way of bending light to shimmer in and out of existence like she wasn't even there. It is what made their people exceptional scouts, rangers, and hunters.
Sensing however that this would lead to further disagreement, he shrugged his shoulders, and continued down the corridor towards a set of double doors.
Embossed with golden griffins to either side, he opened the doors to the outer foyer. Filled to the brim with dignitaries from all across the world, he saw the orcish delegation from New Hile, the gnomes of Ureth (Also known as Ureth’el’Kormana’bet’elsaya), and to his surprise the myrmidons of Gentina. Towering warriors that were half human and half hobgoblin, they were considered to be the leading power of the Commissary with vast armies, resources, and wealth. But despite all of that, there was friction between his father and Minister Tozlan. Due in part to Lord Bomberdel’s refusal to join the Allied Republics of the Commissary, and his unwillingness to share the technologies developed by the academies and research centers. Tools his father feared would simply be used for war.
Unused to politics and much preferring a sword in hand, Talvos quickly tried to make a hasty exit, when he was stopped by the envoys from Ureth. Dressed in a motley collection of clothing that seemed better suited to the trash heap, they were led by Argus Bottletop, a notable alchemist, and scholar from the Esoteric University.
With big brown eyes, a short stout body covered in bits of cobbled metal, and long jet black hair, he appeared much more like a hobgoblin rather than a gnome as he bowed his head low. “Sir Talvos, Sir Verana, it has been far too long since we have had the pleasure of your company.”
Half exchanging a look of apprehension with Verana, Talvos knew all too well that he could not ignore the middle aged gnome, and turned around with a smile. “My lord Argus, I am glad to see that you are still alive and well, but you must forgive me. There is an important task that I must attend to.”
His stubby brown fingers raised up in a dismissive gesture, the gnome reputed to be the greatest alchemist of his lifetime, gave a toothy grin, and winked his eye. “Surely, that can hold a little while, Sir knight. There is an urgent matter that I wished to discuss with you. Is it true that your father has begun to relent on his trade restrictions? If so, we would dearly love to acquire one of his famed airships.”
Head shaking from side to side as he took a step backward, Talvos replied, “I’m afraid that is something that you will have to discuss directly with Lord Bomberdel, and now if you will please.” Talvos gestured at Argus to move aside.
Staring at him for a long while, the gnome eventually smiled again, and bowed his head. “As you wish, Sir Knight.” The gnome, leaving barely enough room for Talvos to make his escape as he hurried out the open doorway.
There in the light of the afternoon sun, he released a heavy sigh of relief, a part of himself feeling the tension leave his body. Of all the things he hated in this world, politics was by far his worst enemy. Something it seemed he shared with Verana as she quickly followed him out, her expression pale as she spat, “Do these people have no shame?”
Half chuckling a little, Talvos replied, “Perhaps they did once long ago, but it seems all that remains of decent folk has been stripped away by the corruption of the world. Come, we should leave this place far behind before another one of them decides to stop us.”
Verana’s lips curved into a smile, they stepped into the noise of the busy streets. Surrounded by the clamor of honking horns, the thousands of voices that buzzed in the air, and the sweet scent of mildew, Talvos felt like he was being welcomed home as he strode along the brick pavement.
Once they were far enough away from the Chancellery, Verana asked, “So what is it that your father wanted from you?”
Annoyed at himself for having shared that he had been called to Bomberdel's study, Talvos snapped, “It is Lord Bomberdel, Highchamberlord, Master of the Key, and Wordsmith Majore. You would do well to address him by his title, and as to what we spoke about, that is a private matter for me and me alone to know. It does not concern you.”
Sensing her curiosity however, Talvos knew she would not stop there, when she smirked back, “does it have anything to do with those scrolls in your satchel?” The shock of hearing those words alone caused Talvos to spin around only to realize too late that was what she had wanted. The look of triumph on her face made him release another huff of annoyance. “By the saints, will you never stop nosing around in my business?”
Her golden cheeks dimpled into an easy going smile, Verana replied, “And why would I do such a thing? It’s so easy with you. Perhaps it would have been better if it was me who got the assignment.”
Grimacing at the truth in her statement, Talvos rolled his eyes to the heavens, but in the end even he had to admit he was a poor choice for this type of mission. Verana on the other hand was a natural highborn elf and would have spent her entire life dealing with secrecy, subterfuge, and the backstabbing that politics entails. It was strange however that he knew so little about her. Besides the fact she was a sun-elf, he knew that she had come from a large family, had fled when she was young, and had enlisted in the Order of Gerant where he had first met her.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Her full lips pursed in a sly grin, she asked, “What is on your mind?”
Shoulders shrugged uncomfortably, Talvos replied, “only that I know so little about you, but you know so much about me. It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”
Her green eyes lost in deep thought, Verana’s expression seemed to grow more somber as she replied, “Perhaps that is for the best. There are some things even friends should not know. Now tell me, where is it we are to take these scrolls?”
Mouth opened to argue with her, Talvos was all but ready to give her another lecture about staying out of his business. But when he saw the stubborn set of her jawline, he already knew that he had lost another battle.
~*~
(Old Section.)
Eyes wide with disbelief, Walter thought he had to be dreaming. But as the hordes of undead marched out of the enclosure swaying from side to side, he was hit by the ripe stench of death, and knew he was wrong. Still, no matter how he screamed at his body to move, he was frozen in place, watching as the sorcerer led out hundreds of decomposing bodies out of camp, followed by squadrons of heavily armored soldiers, and finally Robar himself.
Easily recognizable by the large contingent of horsemen that surrounded him, Robar wore an immaculate black uniform, encrusted with golden lace, epaulets on the shoulders, and was brought together by a golden sash at the waist that carried a saber.
A handsome man with a neat mustache, Walter kept staring after him, when a voice snapped in his mind, “What are you waiting for?! Run!” Which oddly enough sounded very much like his mother. Turning around to flee, he took one glance behind him, and almost stopped again as he realized the honor guard that surrounded Lord Robar was made up entirely of orcs. Big hulking creatures with green skins, tusks protruding from their mouths, and blood red eyes, Walter had heard much about them but had never seen one before. Rumored to be ferocious fighters, they were the Emperor of Preternia’s first line of defense.
Shaking his head at the thought of what that could mean, he quickly turned on his heels again, and kept running. It was only until he was miles away that he fell to his knees gasping for air. But it seemed the danger was not over for him yet.
Looking up into the trees to see the wide baleful eyes of dozens of bloodwings, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the thought he hadn’t sipped Hycal’s concoction for a while.
Quickly searching through his bag for the bottle, he pulled out the shattered remains of the vial, and felt his heart skip a beat at the realization he must have cracked it open in his hasty escape. Feeling both angry and foolish, he tossed the broken glass away and did what he could to scoop out whatever was left, licking it from his fingers.
Then with a heave of effort, he pulled himself back to his feet, and started to run again. Swaying from side to side as fatigue began to weigh down on him, Walter felt as though his legs, lungs, and arms were on fire. Using the trees around him as support, he kept managing to trip over tree trunks, bang his shoulder into rocks, before he reached a hill and tumbled forward for several feet.
Aching all over, Walter found it hard to imagine that he could feel so much pain, before he collected himself, and started off once more. The dense underbrush became much thicker as he neared the edge of the forest, when he felt his skin tear open.
Looking down at his arm in shock, he saw that his skin had reverted back to the way it was, and nearly swooned at the flood of agony that hit him. Skin turning purple from dozens of bruises and cuts, Walter wondered what in the saints was happening to him, when he heard the beating of wings right above.
Not waiting to see what it was, he threw himself into a roll, ducking claws that swept after him, before he was suddenly free of the forest and back out in broad daylight.
~*~
(New Section.)
Relieved to have survived the bloody ordeal, Walter lay on the grass for some time, before he finally sat up. Then remembering what Sergeant Durgan had told him before he had left, he lifted his voice, and let out a high pitched whistle. Hearing no movement however, he continued to whistle trying to imitate a sparrow, but after a long stretch of silence he realized that no one was coming.
Cheeks flushed red at being abandoned, he heaved himself back up to his feet, and headed south towards the castle. So much for the aid that had been promised to him.
Utterly exhausted, legs turned to water, and lungs aching, he half dragged himself for dozens of miles across rugged terrain before he eventually came upon Hycal’s cottage. Or at least what had remained of it. Burnt black to its very foundation, Walter feared the same would happen to his home and ran.
Heart pounding, his forehead slippery with sweat, he crested the nearby hill that overlooked Hollow Valley, and tumbled down to his knees. The woodsmoke that filled the evening air, the bands of undead that roamed the muddy streets, and the screams of the dying drifted up towards him. Hollow Valley was burning.
Numb with fear at the thought he was already too late, Walter felt his heart drop, when he dragged himself back up through sheer will, and started to race down. Carried by sheer momentum, he barely had a second to catch his footing as he splashed through the river, when he came face to face with two undead. Turning to look at him with empty eye sockets and yellow skulls that had bits of flesh clinging to it, Walter reacted instinctively, short sword chopping into their necks. Heads decapitated from their rotten carcasses, he watched in amazement as the corpses collapsed. But it seems the noise must have attracted more as three undead warriors in rusted armor stumbled towards him through the reeds.
Bolt action rifle lifted up, Walter half wondered how much ammunition he had left, before he began to fire into them. Taking at least half a dozen bullets to down all three, Walter checked his pouch, and realized he was down to his last ten rounds.
Quickly re-loading the weapon, he started off again at a light jog. He then paused as he took in Lord Huxelberry’s stronghold which was surrounded by smoke to his right, and to the left the Village of Radcopse which was wreathed in bright hot orange flames that darkened the sky.
Again feeling his heart pulse with fear for his family, he hurried towards the dirt path leading left, when gunshots pitted the ground right in front of him.
Lucky to not have been shot, he raced towards the nearest intact building, seeing the throngs of undead on the streets, and threw himself inside. Door slammed shut behind him, he was barely aware of his surroundings as he sprinted towards the back window, and again heard the snap and whine of bullets smacking into wood. Gathering what was left of his courage, he looked out to see who was shooting at him. But besides the roiling of flames that rolled across the village, the undead that clawed at the walls, and the clouds of wood smoke, he could not make out anything, when he felt a bullet smack into the frame beside him.
And whether it was his mother speaking to him from the great beyond, he again heard the woman’s voice in his mind. “Pull your head back inside!”
Head ducked back down, he considered what to do next, when the door began to shake with heavy thumps from the other side. Terrified now that he had gotten himself trapped, he knew he could not stay here, but he also knew the moment he stepped outside he would be shot.
Grabbing tables and chairs to reinforce the doorway, he then searched the home for any weapons, but besides a dusty old spear there wasn’t much else. Slumping on the floor as he realized that he would die here, he couldn’t help but tear up a little at the thought of never seeing his mother and father again. Perhaps they had been right and he wasn't cut out to be a soldier. But as the thought entered his mind, the woman’s voice spoke to him. “If you want to live, you must get rid of the rifleman. He is well hidden in a small grove of trees to the north-west.”
Familiar enough with his home to realize she meant Uriel’s Grove, a patch of trees where he had used to play as a child, he rose back up to his feet and peered out the window. With another bullet thumping into the frame close by, he saw the silhouette of a man crouched in among the tree branches.
Ducking his head back inside, Walter wasn’t sure he could make the shot. But with the banging at the doorway getting much louder, he knew he couldn't stay here.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember the little Durgan had taught him, before he jumped out from behind the wall. Rifle then aimed towards the glade, he fired off two shots in rapid succession, and threw himself aside. Not really sure if he had hit anything, he quickly understood that he had failed, when repeated blasts smashed through the rest of the glass window and tore up a patch of the floorboards.
Breathing heavily at how close he had come to dying, he feared he might only get one more chance. But even that would be a risk. Warm barrel pressed to his forehead, he almost wanted to weep with frustration. After all he had been through, he was going to die here alone, only a few houses away from where his family lived.
But before he could wallow further into despair, the voice spoke to him again. “You need to aim a little higher, and to the left.” Fairly certain that he was going crazy now, he replied back, “Who are you? Are you one of the saints?”
But with no response, he could only assume it was a figment of his own imagination, when the voice finally snapped, “Just do what I have told you. You can ask questions later.”
Dumbfounded by how real it sounded, he immediately stood to attention, and did as she had commanded. This time however he kept firing until the last of his ammunition was gone, and by a sheer twist of fate he saw the silhouetted form fall out of the tree.