Scar of Lycia
Prologue: A Hint of Things to Come
Who am I...?
Why am I here...?
Why do I run...?
Who's blood...stains my hands...?
Whose body...is upon my sword...?
His eyes opened quickly, reacting in shock to what he had just seen; shock, an expression not seen on his face in a long time. He sat up in bed, his trembling hand tracing the droplets of cold sweat that ran down his clammy face. The nightmares had returned again, their gore-filled scenes emerging from his subconscious like a not-quite-dead morph, determined to serve Nergal to the end.
Why do these nightmares haunt me...almost nightly I run through the blood-encrusted halls of the ethereal...I cannot stand it much longer. I may go insane. A wry grin etched itself on his face. That would not be a fitting end for the guardian of the Dragon's Gate.
A beam of sunlight glided down from the stone windowsill and landed warmly in his lap. He pushed aside the spartan bedding and dressed himself in his accustomed clothes: A brown tunic and leggings, then a grass-green overcoat, and on top of that, a brown traveller's cloak. He consumed a small breakfast from the dwindling stores he had brought with him--most of the time he foraged and hunted for his food. finally, he packed his things. He would not be returning here for a while, so why let the animals have what he could use? As he finished packing his things away, his hand came to rest on a weathered book that could easily pass for a tome written before the Scouring. To be fair, it had seen more battles than pretty much every other book its age, and many of them with the fate of the world in the balance. Several blood spatters marked its pages, and not all of them were the owner's. Several of the pages were ever-so-slightly charred in a battle that had almost claimed the author's life, a battle that had been recorded in the very same book--and in that book alone.
This book contained the memoirs of one of the single most sought-out people on the continent of Lycia.
It contained records of battles that would be lost to history in a mere ten years.
It contained records of weapons so dire that, should their resting places be known, the whole earth would shake in the stampede to retrieve them, records of battles that would tear apart countries and destroy peace treaties, and destroy entires families, records of tactics that would put the greatest generals of the day and age to shame, their armies broken and routed and their banners in the dust.
What was this book, so deadly, so powerful? What was it that must be guarded so well?
Was it a tome of lore, recorded from the days before the Scouring, full of alchemy and magic?
No.
Was it a contemporary record of the Scouring, telling of the rise of humanity and the falls of dragons, the relations between the Eight Generals, and some of the author's personal secrets?
No.
Was it a document that related to the reader every secret treaty, every dark deal that the countries of Elibe had made?
No.
It was muc more simple than that:
It was a journal.
This journal was the only existing document that related the full and unabridged tale from the time Lyndis of Sacae had begun her journey southward to the final parting words between the Marquess Eliwood and the last traveller departing Castle Pherae. It was a tale of joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, of weakness and power, a struggle of good against evil. It was a book of anitheses, and a book of complimenting tones. It was, some would say, the perfect narrative.
The calloused hand glided caringly over the weathered, dogeared tome he himself had written, recalling the battles is contained. Finally,the hand clasped the book and placed it into the leather pouch which had held it and protected it for years.
Despite the fact that he was a pirate, Jake was an amiable man, so long as you weren't on the recieving end of his battleax. He followed Captain Fargus of the Davros faithfully, and his beloved Captain had never steered him wrong yet. At the moment he was riding the rigging as he did battle with the billowing sails which carried the ship over the azure waters of the Lycian Gulf, and often beyond. Clinging easily with one hand to the rigging, his other hand reached out and untwisted the sailor's knot which he had tied earlier in the day, allowing the sails to fill with wind and carry swiftly. It would be the responsibility of another pirate, down on the deck, to catch the canvas before it was caught up by the winds, in which case Jake would have to cling to a rope and ride the sail down, bringing it to deck and allowing others to tie it down.
Someone called his name, signalling that they were ready. As he looked down, something off in the distance caught his attention.
The sail unfurled, and the men down on deck caught it and tied it down. He slid easily down a line of rigging and landed nimbly on the deck.
"Cap'n!" He called out. "There's something on the water, just a bit aft o' us!"
Fargus turned from scanning the horizon on the prow of the ship. "'Nother pirate?" Jake shook his head.
"Looks to be some manner o' dinghy, sir. There was someone in it, too."
The captain's face darkened. "See if ye can find out who it is. If ye can't, leave 'em afloat; we nearly got ourselves sunk last time we pulled a dinghy aside us witho'ot knowin who was in it."
"Aye, Cap'n." Jake affirmed the order, the pirate jargon coming easily to his tounge, as it always did. He signalled to the sentry in the crow's nest, telling him to get a fix on the dinghy. The watch nodded, and soon Jake could see his gaze directed toward the unidentified person in the boat. Soon he climbed down with his report.
"I dun' know him off the top o' my head, sir." He said, addressing Fargus. "But I reckon I seen him somewhere before."
"Lemme see." Said the captain gruffly. He recieved the spyglass from the watched, and fairly flew into the rigging in a mighty bound. For a man of his size and age, he moved incredibly swiftly, arriving in the corw's nest in a matter of moments. He vaulted over its side and opened the spyglass. Training it on the enigmatic dinghy, he inspected the person aboard. At first, there was nothing amiss...
But then the man turned his face to shoo a seagull away from his food supply. The familiar face held a certain place in Fargus' memory, one that only this man occupied; one that only he had the capabilities of occupying.
"Ahoy!" Fargus called down. "One-sixty-three to port, we've got a dinghy to pick up!"
"Aye, Cap'n!" The order was recieved from below with a shout.
The traveller swung himself over the side of the Davros, grinning ruefully.
"Thank you, Fargus. I've never quite been able to stomach the sea for an extended period of time." He said. Fargus roared in laughter as the dinghy was hauled onboard and tied down.
"Hahaha!" He crowed. "Well, you're welcome for a sail with us anytime; just light a fire on that Elimine-forsaken rock o' yourn and if we can see it, we'll pick ye up."
"Thank you again, Fargus my friend."
Fargus delivered the newcomer a harty pat on the back.
"There was quite a ruckus in Lycia when they found out you'd vanished. Ye see, your fame had kinda drifted around when ye was helping the Lady Lyn with her Caelin deal, and when news came up that ye was back in town, the Marquesses set up a veritable manhunt for ye; the reward is probably still out there. But don' ye worry; I ain't out for a reward this time. Friends and high adventure are anough for this pirate!"
The ex-fugitive laughed. "Am I really that good?" Suddenly he sobered down. "I need you to drop me off in Badon, Fargus. I have some unfinished business I must attend to."
Fargus nodded. "And we'll do what we can. A good sailor don't leave his friends in the lurch. Boys!" He called out. "We're makin for Badon with all speed!"