Dark Souls: A Knight Afield
Chapter 1
"Perhaps you've seen it, maybe in a dream…."
"War is the invention of mankind. A plague that ravaged lands, destroyed kingdoms, and made men animals. War is a beast - best hunted by spear - that cannot be quelled. It will show its hide everywhere and destroy everything and everyone. Not any person or persons is safe. Lives will be ruined, and many will fall. War is death incarnate."
"Yet war is an inevitability. As inevitable as your birth and mine. As inevitable of finding love one day. As inevitable as your slumber after a few drinks. As humans, we are drawn to war. To defend our honor. Our home. Our families. We stand up to our opposition and either die or go home. We shed each others blood because we believe it to be right, and when enemy armies stand on our soil - raiding and pillaging - it's people like you and me who stand up. Draw our swords, and stand defiantly at the very front. Not knowing if you'll ever go home again. Scared for your comrade next to you. Bleeding from the slash at your thigh, or your gut, or your breast. Screaming in a frenzied and uncontrolled joy as you hack, slash, and stab in a melee; surrounded by enemies and friends who all do the same in no name but survival. Vision blurred. Armor rent and stained with blood. We stand up and fight, because that is what war demands. Blood to ensure the safety of our family. Whether ours or theirs, the plague of war spares no country, and no one. The only cure is as damnable and bitter as it sounds. But, be that as it may, I would gladly lay down my life for you as I know you would me."
"Bit of a crude irony, isn't it? Despise war but fight one gladly? Heh, when will we ever get some rest?"
"Lulu. Please. You go into battle on every deployment. You always come home battered and bruised. Spent and bloody. Sometimes I won't be there to watch your back. Don't be a hero. War doesn't reward heroes. It only punishes them. If the battle turns against you then flee. It is not defeat to advance towards future victories. Take your men and live to fight another day. History remembers heroes, but history is always written by the victor. Our enemies won't celebrate you. They will spit on your corpse and leave you for the looters and crows."
"Never be a hero."
My brother once said that.
A better man I'll never know.
I scoffed at the time he spoke this, but I think on it every day. At the time we had been drinking, and I thought him drunk. How wrong was I.
It was a downpour. And I was soaked. My leather vest was soaked through and through. Frigid, and the water drenching the pure snow white, noble blouse underneath. My leather collar and a little below was somewhat protected from the cold rain as my cap - a ceremonial piece of work made of black fabric with a white cloth bun on top - defended it against nature's onslaught. Somewhere, lightning struck. The bright flash illuminating the otherwise dark road. I glanced around, the dim light provided by my lantern showing nothing. Nothing but nature. Green, mud, rain, dark.
Rain clouds had taken over the once sunny sky and its droplets falling upon the land in a vicious storm. Assaulting the ground with heavy splashes, and bruising bare skin if one was crazy enough to walk around outside with no coverage. It was fat rain. Big drops that would always leave its mark wherever it landed. It was a cold event, and the rain would chill you to the bone. It was common enough in Mirrah, but it was never welcome. At least not amongst the populace. But to me? It just meant clear roads and great concealment. Terrific for travel. Especially if you didn't want to be see and in these days it's best to travel during these natural events. Mirrah was always in a constant war with its neighbors. Raiders often venture into our lands. Pillaging, killing, burning… A lone warrior stood no chance against a warband. Let alone horse archers. But I was waterlogged, and the cold was getting to me. My teeth were chattering, my skin wet and bumpy. My clothes would need drying, and I had only one spare; definitely soaked as well. I needed a place to hunker down for the night to bath, dry, and warm up. I heard from a patrolling soldier of an inn nearby. An inn with everything I need.
So that was my destination… for now.
I spurred my horse on, whom stopped when his hoof sunk into some mud. I was travelling down an old dirt road. Wooded areas flanking me on both sides. It was a perfect spot for an ambush, but even the bandits knew to seek shelter in a storm such as this. But even as a lone target, the mask I wore advertised well my position in the army and nobility. Not all bandits are stupid, and most would think twice of accosting me. They would see my mask, piss themselves, and be in the distance faster than one could blink. I am Lucatiel of Mirrah. A member of the Order, a group of elite knights fighting for the good of Mirrah. We were warriors, commanders, nobles, and symbols. We were respected and feared. We were treasured by the king, and trusted by the people.
But, most importantly, we were few. That meant we were family, one and all.
My lantern remained dim, but the fire burned hot and continuously. For that I was glad. The lightning wasn't far and few between, but my navigation would be terrible if guided only by nature's light. As my horse's hooves stamped upon the mud below, leaving a trail of hoofprints behind I began to see a distant light. I clicked my tongue to spur on the weary mount. I didn't wish for it to gallop, lest it trip or stamp into a mud filled hole and break its leg. I'm strong… but not strong enough drag such a beast. I'd have to slit his throat in an act of mercy. Mercy or no, I would still abhor it.
My horse was a beautiful courser named Aslatiel, after my brother. His hide a mixture of brown and black. His black mane long and slender. I had bought him before I left the capitol and together we had made good time. He was a war horse alright. Belonging to a late general who fell in battle against an enemy footsoldier. I was surprised at how cheap I got him, but perhaps it was because I was a member of the Order. But regardless, it was surprising how skittish he was towards thunder for not only had this steed fought in battle, but had heard the rumble of two armies charging at one another. Yelling, crying, panicking, roaring for blood. But here he was: terrified of thunder. It was laughable.
Another crack in the bleak of the dark, following by an instant rupture of sound. The horse stopped, whinnied, and continued on. I chuckled.
As I approached the light, I distinguished its source. A lantern on the post of a building, well defended against the rain by an overhang. Upon closer inspection, I saw figures moving within from the windows of the stone structure. And I saw a sign outside, bolted to the ground. It read "The Soldier's Rest". I smiled and pressed onwards, somewhat happy with the thought of sleep and a warm bath; out from under the rain. But another thought occurred to me. The thought of socializing with drunken idiots. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was better than collapsing on the road with my horse running off with my supplies. I ran my hand through Aslatiel's mane to calm him as another crackle of lightning struck, this time much closer.
"Mayhaps it's time to enter shelter, eh buddy?" I said aloud as I rubbed his mane in an attempt to calm him.
As we came to the entrance of the inn, I looked around in search of shelter for my horse. I loathed the idea of leaving him outside in the cold, but I'd rather leave him in a stable then leave him in the rain. To my luck, I did indeed notice a stable to the far side of the building. I slid off and took hold of the reins and led him over, passing the building and the smell of ale emanating from it. My leather boots stomped hard on the mud, and I felt the splashes of earth wetting the bottoms of my trousers. Seeping through my boots, and numbing my toes. I saw only one other horse inside. It was sleeping, unbothered by the fracas. I led Aslatiel inside and tied his reins to a nearby post. I patted his head thereafter before leaving. Tenderly speaking in an attempt to calm him.
"I'll be back, don't worry."
As I stepped inside the whole tavern, which was both full of noise and cheer, quickly went quiet and I felt all eyes turn on me. I was surprised to see how packed this place was. This was still technically Mirrahian land, but the sight of an Order Knight was uncommon out these ways. I felt like a fish out of water. But I stepped forward and looked around, visually challenging any to speak up and refused to remove my mask. Unsurprisingly, no one was concerned with it. If anything they were more concerned with the presence of an Order knight. A mask for a knight in Mirrah was no strange thing to see. Order Knights always wore one while on duty or on the road. It kept our identities secret, and in moments like these, it was a useful trait. In battle, it distinguished us from the regular rank and file. It would strike fear in the hearts of the enemy knowing the best of the best, the Order, were leading the battle. In public, the presence of the Order presented the sense of security. But in backwoods areas like this? It presented trouble.
Some of the patrons, satisfied with who I was, turned back to their conversations. Almost forgetting about my presence. Drunken conversations and idiotic toasts resuming.
The patrons were all dressed differently. I saw some in light mail, but be they mercenary or adventurer on break is beyond me. I saw some dressed in typical Mirrahian wear. Dark suits and whatnot. Rain coats, furs, leathers. Some were dressed like brigands with the dirt and hair to prove it. But they kept to themselves And then, I spied someone in a corner booth alone. Several bottles accompanying his table. He was still staring at me even when everyone else had forgotten. His armor was looking to be of chainmail. A common armor type here in Mirrah. It had a black tabard with a white elk head device of an old eastern Mirrahian knight order decorating it. A nice contrast to the dark background. The man looked unclean. Like an outlaw would have it. Bedraggled, greasy silver hair that shined in the lantern light of this establishment. He had a five o'clock shadow working for him too. I felt as if he looked familiar… but the memory was distant.
His eyes conveyed both distrust and surprise. I saw him only in my peripheral but I knew he was studying me. Sizing me up. I turned and looked directly at him. To let him know I was aware of what he was doing. He understood my unspoken meaning and shifted his eyes elsewhere. And then I walked to the bar, where several patrons were already passed out in their stools. The bartender was wiping up something on the counter, possibly spittle or maybe a spilled drink. But, looking at the nearby sleeping drunk, probably spittle. When I approached he stopped what he was doing and squinted at me. But his indifferent frown turned into a bright smile. Warm and excited. An Order Knight was in his establishment, so understandably he would twitch with delight.
"Ahh, good evening ser…" He cheered, slinging the rag onto his shoulder. "We, uh, we don't get many of ye Order Knights out here. What brings ye out this way?" He asked, leaning towards me. He was an old man, wrinkles on his face, balding scalp, one eye missing. There was a scar running across the socket that also intersected with his unibrow, which told me that he had done battle in the past. But whether he was a soldier, bandit or adventurer was a question to be asked. Unfortunately, I cared little for the answer. His smile was warm and welcoming, but I didn't like socialization with others. Especially not in places like these.
"Many things." I said simply. "None of which are your concern."
His smile drooped. He steadied his posture and frowned, thinking lightly. Seconds later had him leaning forward once again. A sly smile.
"Are ye on a manhunt?" he asked, raising his scarred eyebrow.
"None of your business."
"Ahh… alright then fair enough. Would ye like something to drink? Or are ye looking for a bed? I got plenty of both." He asked. I looked at the selection of bottles he had on the shelf behind him. He had plenty of drinks, most of them of Mirrahian origin. Cheap ale. Mirrahian Levy whiskey. Tobacco-infused beer… The latter sounded pretty appetizing, but I must keep my wits about me.
"Just some water and a bed." I looked back to him. "A bath, as well. Please. I have a long trip tomorrow. I can't be hungover for most of it." I murmured. The old bartender smiled and instantly brought up a mug filled with water. Smiling, I reached for my coin purse, but he shook his head.
"Nah, nah… Not any of that. Yer money's no good here, friend. It's on the house." He said. My smiled turned into a wide grin, once again thanking the perks my position had. "Yer room is upstairs, first door on the left. It's the best room I got, so go up whenever ye like. That bath ye want is also in yer room." He added.
"Thanks." I said, taking a seat next to the drunk.
He nodded a response with a gleeful smile, and a call from the down the bar spun him right and quickly away from me. He was fast, faster than one could think him. But I only smiled. I was alone once more.
Just as it should be.
I grabbed the mug's handle and looked inside, swishing the water around as I judged its health. Wood. It was a wooden mug. I would prefer stone or steel… Ceramic even, but never wood. But then again, this is a backwoods inn filled with travelers, adventurers and drunks looking for a place to keep out of the rain. What more could one expect?
Setting the mug down, I reached for my mask. Feeling the fabric through my gloves, I exhaled and lifted it off. Revealing my face and identity to the building.
No one said anything, which means no one noticed. Setting it down gently, I reached for the mug and took a sip. Tasted like water. Cold air had rushed to fill the gap, and my skin quickly bumped up. I shifted my eyes down the bar, and no one was looking my way. I glanced over my shoulder, and that unkempt brigand was deep in a book; the name of which was beyond my sight. I did notice a trio of young men standing near him taking passing glances at me. But I payed them no true attention.
If I was them, I would be concerned with my presence too.
My eyes locked with one of them, if only briefly, and he saw my face. I quickly darted my head forward, lowering it and pretending to be deep in my cup. Nervousness wracked my body, and I felt fear ping up. Did he see the mark? Did he see the discoloration of the skin around my eye?
He didn't approach, and I felt at peace soon after.
Time passed rather slowly. I kept to myself, taking mild sips of my water and making sure to shrug off those who tried to speak to me. The drunk next to me had woken up and turned towards me in his stupor. His eyes were wild, his hair frizzy and black. He began to speak, drunken and slurred as it were, in a language I did not understand, but eventually his drunken eyes landed on mine. He saw my discoloration.
Then, his eyes had grown wide. He squinted, and he followed it with a sigh. This time the language I spoke.
"Auf, I've really...h-hit rock botto-bottom…" He's managed to slip out before collapsing face first onto the bar. I looked around in confusion to see if any others had noticed. No one did. I decided to reach over to him to see if he still breathed, but as my hand reached his shoulder I heard a loud snore and snickered.
Some people just can't hold their liquor.
After that, I was left largely alone. The barkeep only wandered my way late in the evening, when the storm was at its peak. Water was seeping in from the front door, and the lightning had shook the building more than once. Had I been worried? No. Not one bit. This building was stone-built, and was sturdy as a result. I did notice a patron get up and borrow a mop from the barkeep and proceeded to hold the line against the invasive water.
When the barkeep had returned to me, my mug was empty, my head resting firmly on my palms as I pondered my next move. He could not see my face, but noticed my mask lying on the bar next to my elbows. His interest obviously piqued, he tried to make conversation with me.
A bold move, quite honestly.
"Anything else fer yer ser?" He offered.
"No." I said simply. "I'm just deep in thought." I added, refusing to lift my head.
He didn't remove himself.
"If something is wrong ser then I shall do my best to assist ye. I-" He paused. His voice trailing into confusion. "Ser…"
I froze, fear seeping into me once more. I felt leaning in closer, and my breathing felt rapid. I tried to control it but to no avail. I'm sure he noticed. I was half tempted to grab my mask and run, but I didn't. They all would see.
They would see my face.
I felt my legs begin to shake, and my hands began to tremble. My fingers tapped away upon my skull, and the bartender seemed to notice all my discomfort.
"A tad bit shy, are ye?" He asked.
I did not reply.
"I'll… leave ye be." He murmured. Among the rank noise of the tavern, I heard a sloshing noise and dared not a glance up. I waited, and when I was sure he sauntered off I looked at my mug. He had refilled it with water, and I quickly donned my mask.
A sigh of relief followed, and I quickly chuckled.
That was close.
The bartender avoided my presence for a time there-on-out. I glanced towards him every now and again as I contemplated my next move. He didn't even glance my way, almost as if he had forgotten the whole show.
I was bored. Truly. I wasn't tired, but I smelled of course. My clothing needed to dry, but I didn't want to give the owner of this establishment any more reason to suspicious of my reticent nature so I waited. Thinking.
Thinking of the hot water. Thinking of my journey thus far. Thinking of my duties I neglected. Duties to the king. To the kingdom. To its people. Was my unjust leave so selfish? Perhaps. Perhaps not. On one hand, Mirrah has one less general to lead the armies. On the very opposite it will regain two if I can find Aslatiel. Stronger still should I find all I am looking for.
But holding out hope was never a good idea. It often leads to unmet expectations. Depression. Loss.
I should not dwell on it.
I glanced around, realising how fast time had passed. My quiet, contemplative time spent fast. Everyone forgetting that I even existed. My fear of discovery long had subsided, devolving more and more into security.
I was just about to stand when a voice spoke up.
"So, a knight huh?' I heard next to me. I looked to the source. A man. The same one who had glanced my way earlier. A youngling who could be no more than eighteen. A whelp with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He had a mess of freckles that turned an otherwise handsome young face into a sea of red and brown. I saw two other men behind him, they all looked of similar age groups. One was a little chunky, a weathered axe at his side. His belly was slightly bulging under his shirt and he had long, black, greasy hair. The other one was more slim, as if he hadn't had a meal in days. His brown hair was knotted into a ponytail, and he was glaring directly into my mask. Unease befell me.
"Mmmhmm."
"Ahh. Good… You know, I always wanted to be one." He said, a cute youngling's smile crossing his lips. "What's it like?" He asked with genuine curiosity. I shifted uncomfortably as his friends shuffled closer. In some weird way, it felt wrong. Perhaps it was his friend's angry demeanor. I wish I could tell something was off. But perhaps they're just unhappy I distracted their friend from an otherwise engaging conversation. I glanced at the bartender, who noticed me and just shrugged.
I answered truthfully. "A lot is expected of a knight. You have to deal with death and blood. A lot of it. But good food and a lot of perks. Good pay as well." I was simple with my reply. "It's the life." As I've said I'm not terribly social. I always made an effort to avoid others. These kids are no different. The kid giggled.
"Sounds like it…" He said. I looked over and saw that the fat one was no longer behind him. Glancing around, I quickly noticed he was flanking me on my right. The slim one remaining on the left. The kid pushed over the strange drunk and stole his seat, spinning to face me. The drunk hit the floor hard but refused to wake. Shifting my eyes between the kid and his friends, I knew something was up. I slowly drug my hand from the countertop as he spoke to me. Trailing it leg to leg and, scraping it from my thigh all the way to where the hilt of my sword would be. I grabbed hold, and found nothing. That's when I remembered I had left it with my horse and the rest of my supplies.
"So, that mask? Every knight get one?" He asked.
"To my knowledge, only we Order Knights possess these." I replied. "It is a symbol, of course."
"Nice." He said, shifting a little. He then glanced around, then looked back at me. A much more serious look dominating his freckled face. "I want it. Give it to me."
I stopped and shifted my eyes in his direction, then I chuckled at his threat. They may outnumber me, and one may even have a weapon. But I have something they don't. Skill. But I was tired. A fight was the last thing I had on my mind.
Were they mad? Accosting an Order Knight? Such an act is punishable by death.
"Walk away kid." I replied defiantly, looking back to my drink. In my peripheral, I saw his friends inch closer. They were standing right over me, looking over my shoulders. The kid looked unhappy at my protest and his voice deepened. His frown lengthened. His eyes grew serious.
"Give me the mask." He persisted. His voice cracking. I chuckled once more at the light threat - more so coming out of half-a-man's throat.. He thought himself tough, slick, and smart for bringing backup and waiting for the right target, but he could've done better. Like the guy in the corner, or the light mailed patrons. His stupidity is obvious.
"Kid, you're accosting a knight. An Order knight. If you value your life, I advise you walk away." I suggested. Was he a bandit in training? A hazing? Or a thug wanting to make a name for himself? It would make sense since he was trying to rob a knight. All the outlaws would sing cheers in his name for succeeding that endeavour, moreover a knight of the Order. A death sentence in itself though, but I did not have my weapon. I would instead have to settle for beating their teeth in if it came to that. I had no qualm hurting him, or his friends. Seems a light sentence for the law they breaking but killing them would be wasted effort in my opinion. I then felt a sharp tug on my mask and I quickly realized that he was trying to take it by force. Swatting his hand away, I grabbed the mug by its handle and slammed it heavy across his face. He fell to the floor quickly, unmoving.
His friends were quick to react and I felt quick force crash against the back of my skull. My vision a flash of darkness as I smashed face first into the bar counter. The sudden surprise was enough to elicit a yelp from my own throat but I quickly recovered and jumped out of my seat, pivoting to face the two thugs. I brought my fists up and challenged them. I had been training in the ways of war since I was but a youngling. Martial arts was apart of it. I was quick to throw my arm up and block a swing from the slim thug, brushing it to the side before retaliating, jabbing him in the stomach and kicking him to the ground just in time to grab the fat thugs axe haft as he swung it at me. I glanced at the weapon, then up at him. He was angry, and spitting. Yelling curses and angry taunts. I was quick to find an opening and kicked him in the groin.
He dropped his axe and yelped in great distress. Falling to his knees as he coddled his crotch, spouting curses as the pain surged. But I quickly rose a fist and struck him, knocking him to ground alongside his friends. I heard frustrated curses and I turned to face the freckled thug staggering to his feat. By now all the patrons were looking on instead of talking and drinking, everyone was cheering and hooting. Some at me, some at the thugs.
"Get some!"
"Knock that mask clean off his face!"
"Remember! Hit the one in the middle!"
I clenched my fists and rushed to him, grabbing him by his tattered shirt and ran him headfirst into a support beam. He collapsed like a ton of bricks. My adrenaline pumping, my senses fraggled, I looked down upon my attacker. Then glanced to the patrons surrounding us. Everyone was laughing, cheering, booing. Merriment for entertainment, it seemed. A common brigand would bask in this victory and showboat, but I lived by a code of honor. Common and pathetic fights like this deserves nothing but a scowl. A distasteful show of skill battling a rough patch. What a waste of time, I always thought. I moved to return to my seat, but I immediately felt a force striking my side - a quick but blunt pain coursing from left to right - and I staggered over the unconscious youngster, holding the pained area as I looked towards the assailant.
It was the slim one, fully recovered and ready for round two. He struck hard and fast, hitting me again. I saw bright flashes of darkness as his fists hit home. Short instances of blunt connections as I staggered back and forth; stunned by the sudden assault. I balanced myself as best I could and retaliated, swinging at him. But I swung wide as he sidestepped, leaping at me in my broken defense and wrapping his arms around my waist as we collided, shouting an angry curse as we both fell. The back of my head struck hard on a table behind us, my vision blurring and my senses rattling. The strain of such a collision caused it to collapse to its side, cups and plates falling onto the floor in a fracus of crashing and breaking the likes of which hardly drowned out the deafening crowd. The patrons occupying it had scattered.
He straddled me and rose fist after fist, bringing them down in unison. I attempted to block each attempt with my arms, but my vision was blurred and pain echoed throughout my body. My futile thrashes and taunts only angered him more. I tried to fight him off me, ignoring by bodies protests, but he held strong. Swiping my swings away and punishing the fruitless struggles every time. I growled as my attempts bloomed no fruit, thrashing underneath him while the patrons looked on. He had me pinned, and I could not find an opening. His resolve to kill me strengthened. I could feel it. Rivulets of wet warmth began running down my chin and I growled even fiercer at him, grabbing him by his collar. But struck my side hard with something steel and I shouted; agony replacing my anger and conjoining with the warmth trickling onto my vest. I released him and moved to cottle the pained area, desperate to see how bad the wound was.
A fatal mistake I had made.
Another sharp pain, then another. Then another. I shouted, trying to force him off me but he kept going. On and on. My slurred vision going red, and my adrenaline tried to act as a painkiller. But it was too much. Too fast. I reached up and grabbed his blade, a dangerous move but my hands protected well by my gloves. We then just sat there, him straddling my waist trying to pierce my neck. Me, underneath him holding the blade at bay with all my strength. I felt the warmth run down my chin but nowhere else. The patrons were loud, the bartender was frightened very obviously. My resolve to decapitate this man was growing by each second. My want for my sword absorbing all else.
But suddenly someone grabbed the thug by the shoulders - I saw only fingers wrapping around his dirty, boney shoulders - and drug him away. The blade slicing away from my hands. He stood him up before repeatedly pummeling him in the gut. One strike, and the crowd cheered, another and the crowd cried for blood. A third, and everyone screamed in joy. The fourth one did it though. The thug emptied the contents of his stomach upon the man's feet before a final strike to the nose, knocking him down on the ground with a hand clenching his stomach. Vomit and spittle pouring from his mouth and blood pouring from his possibly broken nose.
The man only grimaced at the sight upon his footwear, but made no effort to acknowledge his near killing.
I struggled to sit up, eventually after a second or two I was able to force myself off my back and onto my rump. Stunned, I looked to the figure who came to my aid and I was quite surprised to see it was the one who had been watching me the minute I walked in. He leered at the three unconscious thugs before looking to me, offering a hand.
A hand I accepted.
I grabbed his hand and he pulled me up. For a brief moment, we were silent while the patrons erupted into cheering and a few were also jeering. But I ignored it all. I rubbing the back of my head, pain surging in the area and even more so from the contact of the leather glove. I stroked my chin. Blood. I checked the area where steel had met my vest, but it stopped the blade from penetrating my flesh. The man smiled, and spoke finally in a gruff voice.
"You alright?" He asked. I grunted a response as I held my sides. I felt a thank you was due.
"Yes… thank you." I looked to him. His familiar face was still familiar. But for whatever reason, I still cared little for it. He had saved me from a fight I was surprisingly struggling in. But he still had jumped in to help, and that's what mattered. He smiled once more, looking to the barkeep.
"Sorry 'bout the mess." He said. The barkeep just shook his head and walked into a back room, closing the door behind him. The man then looked at me, then to his boots. His face told an expression of disgust, and kicked off as much vomit as he could. What remained was spittle, and globlets of something yellow. I studied him up and down. He was a tall man, standing straight up and almost a foot taller than I. His voice was deep, authoritative. His accent was something else though. Cockney-like.
"You got a name, mista'?"
"You may call me Lucatiel." I deadpanned simply, still rubbing my bruised skull. The man raised an eyebrow at the name and chuckled.
"Lucatiel… nice to meet you then, Lucatiel." He said. Glancing at the thug drowning in his own vomit. He grumbled and looked back to me. I felt his eyes trailing from my mask all the way to my feet. On one level I felt discomfort, but on another I felt somewhat grateful. His eyes landed back on my mask, his smile growing. "Order Knight, am I right?" He asked.
"You are correct in assuming so…" I nodded. I looked around, the patrons all were no longer interested in what was going on. Most returning to their drinks and conversations, some falling asleep in their cups. Some hadn't even woken to the fracas, which was no surprise to anyone including I. One patron had stolen the fat thug's axe. I spied him sauntering back to his table with his friends looking on in clear amusement.
"I guess all that training didn't prepare ya for a bar brawl, eh?" He chuckled at his own jest.
"He took my by surprise." I admitted. His look was one of disappointment, and I wondered just what he thinking.
The barkeep had returned, a mop in his hands. He stepped past the counter towards the vomit and went to work on the mess, the sloshing of a wet cleaning utensil making contact with the wood more loud in my ears than anything going on around me.
I turned and went for the door. I wasn't gonna leave, but rather I wanted to clear my mind. I still had some small doses of adrenaline pumping in my veins but not enough for the pain to go completely away. It mattered little to me. I'd rather clear my mind in the rain than in an alehouse filled with drunkards and thugs anyways. I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open, closing it behind me. I didn't once look back at my savior, and perhaps that was rude. Perhaps not. I thought nothing of it as suddenly the sounds of merriment, gaiety and alcohol dispersed. It was a faint noise that has been replaced by the storm. The peaceful sounds of nature watering the earth. Lightning cracking overhead, and thunder accompanying it. I heard a horse whinnying throughout all of the noise, and I soon noticed a group of mounted swordsmen riding past the inn. Lit lanterns illuminating their clothing. Mirrahian soldiers. They were in a hurry. Be it for battle or in flight, for the life of me, I cared little for the emergency. I had bigger problems.
Standing under the porches overhang, I brought my hands to my hips and gazed out into the darkness. My mind taken from the rigors of battle, pain hitting here and there, I began thinking of my journey. Thinking of my reasoning to be out here. Small droplets made contact with my clothing, and my mask was protected by my cap. The cold was no less apparent. The storm has gotten worse.
I was on a journey. A journey that took me across the country and - soon - passed its borders. A journey to a land called Drangleic. A once mighty kingdom, reduced now to nothing but rubble, death, and failure. I had many reasons for this. Challenge. Danger. And souls… Lots of souls. I knew not what souls are themselves, but I want to find out. They intrigue me. I had heard many a rumor. That they cure curses. They make warriors, mages and rogues powerful; possibly even godlike. Then there are the less than believable rumors… rumors created possibly by drunkards, lunatics, and prisoners. But none of them I'd mention in polite or impolite company. Just petty, ridiculous rumors.
But regardless of what is true and what is not they intrigue me, and I want my share. After all, they must have some value if rumors existed. However souls are not my sole reason for venturing to this Gods-forsaken kingdom; I have my own agenda that I am undertaking, besides the collection of these "souls".
Drangleic itself, though, I heard is ripe with danger. It was a fallen kingdom, subject to a curse that has lasted for ages and ages. This curse, the Undead Curse… I know little about it, but I know that once you're afflicted, you are destined to go mad and die forgotten. A terrible predicament indeed to ever be in, and one that I wished not even on my worst enemy.
I looked down and sighed. Closing my eyes and imagining my family back home. Mother, father… I had left without saying goodbye and they must be worried for me. Hell, they possibly have the Order looking for me right now. But this journey, it is something I must undertake.
Then, I thought of my brother. Aslatiel. One of the most decorated swordsmen in all of Mirrah. My brother, and fellow Order knight, had disappeared a while ago without a trace and I had followed up on his disappearance for a while. But I found nothing. Nothing save for a letter. It was a short one meant for me for he knew I would go looking. We were close, and always kept it that way. It read simply "Do not follow me. I am sorry.". We harbored no animosity towards one another, so I had wondered what he could be sorry for. But eventually, I put two and two together. I remembered that days leading up to his disappearance he had kept himself hidden under his mask. Refusing to take it off under any circumstance and never in the presence of another. Dare I say it, he would get physical with anyone, even family and close friends, who tried to force him. We had always kept in touch with each other. Drinking, sparring, hiking. We even shared command in battles and fought back to back against incredible odds. But soon, he had started to avoid me. Then mom and dad… and then everyone all together.
Then one day he was gone. I speculated much on the circumstances. Suicide. Kidnapping. Exile. But none would match up. He had no suicidal tendencies, he had no enemies, and the king valued him very much.
I shuddered, choking on my own breath.
That's a big reason why I make my journey to this land - to Drangleic. To find my brother. I seek answers. I seek him. And hopefully I can bring him home. It's a small chance, but hopefully he's there. Somewhere.
I could only hope. T'was a small chance, but with no leads and no knowledge, I had only hope. Otherwise, I risked everything for nothing. But where would he go? Our neighbors hate us, anyone who traveled close would never be seen again. Drangleic is the only answer.
I shuffled as I heard the door behind me slam shut. A weary exhale, I opened my eyes. But I kept my head down, trying to remain in heavy thought. I heard their footsteps approaching me, heavy steps. Metal on wood. A creak here, a creak there. Then he spoke. With a curious tone.
"So, Lucatiel was it?" The voice pitched. I knew who it was. The deep, cockney voice told me all too well. I didn't turn to face him, but I rose my head and looked out into the dark. I exhaled once again with a slow breath, unwanting of this conversation. "I'm sorry… but I have to ask… What are ya doin' so far from the capitol?" He asked me. I turned to look at him, glaring through the slits in my mask.
"It is none of your concern." I retorted, my voice defiant and stalwart.
"Well, are ya huntin' someone?" He asked. His eyes narrowed. My glare subsided and was replaced with indifference. In a way, he guessed right. But, I was not hunting in the way he was thinking of. And that's exactly what I told him. But he huffed as a response. There was a chair nearby, a rickety old thing looking capable of falling apart at any time. And he was a tall man with some meat on his bones. When he sat down the thing cracked but otherwise held his weight. He set something down next to him, but I could not make out the object even in the dimmed light. We sat in silence for a moment, the rain filling the ears and overtaking the obnoxious silence. But he broke it.
"Rain ain't lettin' up." He commented awkwardly.
"Yeah." I replied all the same. Again, the silent voices of nature's piss was dominant in the ears. Some water dripped from the porches roof, and somewhere in the world it was sunny. The inhabitants of that realm far off enjoying the sunshine and purity of the air, the rain being a distant memory. I heard him yawn behind me but I kept my eyes focused on the dark. He shuffled his feet, and he clicked his tongue whilst intaking a sharp inhale. I felt uncomfortable with him being around. He was familiar, but why that was… Everytime I look at him, and every time his eyes met mine? It was unsettling.
"Why did you help me?" I asked. He snickered, as if he knew I was going to ask that. But I wasn't so amused. I was a knight. I had my pride, and the people need to see that their proud knights can protect themselves. For if they cannot protect themselves, could they protect Mirrah?
"Yer were in trouble and I thought ya would appreciate the help." He replied. I brought a hand to my chin and felt the blood through my gloves. I was still bleeding. I closed my eyes and sighed.
"I had that, I was just waiting for a proper opening." I churled, but he laughed. "I'm serious."
"Are all knights so arrogant?" He asked. "Ya were gettin' yer arse kicked and ya know it."
I waved a hand to dismiss his remark, but his laugh got deeper. More mockful. And eventually he quieted himself and grunted, a small coughing fit following it. I heard the chair creak. He stood up.
"Besides…" He began. "All Mirrahians must do their part if this country is ta thrive. I'm just doin' mine." He said.
He was right.
I sighed deeply and looked back to him. In the dark, it was hard for one to distinguish the features of those nearby. But aided by the lantern, and no adrenaline running through my system, I saw him much more clearly. He had some scars running across his lips that probably had their own story. His eyes were pools of pure blue. But his teeth seemed rotten. Yellow and black from months of neglect, cavities probably running rampant within. And he had dirt upon his cheeks. He was unclean. Dirty. But surprisingly no stench came from him.
"Well… thanks." I said.
"Naah, don't mention it, ser." He said, taking a place by my side. He mocked my stance, and I quickly changed it by crossing my arms. He glanced at me, then back at the dark. After a moment or two he spoke once more.
"So, 'hoo are ya after?" He asked. "Some rogue knight? Or…" He paused, as if he was thinking on something else to add in. Then looked at me. "Well… Is it a rogue knight?"
"I guess you could say that, yes." I answered.
"So, what did he do? Defect? Desert? Go outlaw?" He asked. His curiosity seemed peaked and while it wasn't welcome or refreshing, I did, deep down, feel happy to actually talk with someone who wasn't either intimidated by me or who harbored animosity towards me.
I always made a point of avoiding others, and most made a point of avoiding me, especially when they saw this mask. And my androgynous appearance didn't help any when wearing my uniforms. But when someone continually attempts to engage me in conversation with them they deserve my respect. It shows they have guts when others do not.
"Neither… he… he just disappeared." I said. And my eyes grew distant, but he couldn't see it. I was careful to tiptoe around the words. I didn't want some stranger to know my full mission. Manhunting is more than he needs to know as it is. "I'm hoping I find him at my destination."
"And that is?" He asked in return. But I paused before I answered. Was it truly a good idea to tell him? I thought not. But I also felt that he deserved a proper answer. A bolt of lightning struck somewhere far off, and a crackle of thunder broke out. I could hear the sounds of merriment inside, however muffled by the ruckus of nature's fury.
"I… I'm going to Drangleic. I'm sure you've heard of it?" I asked. Most Mirrahians know of the place. And most don't even dare mention it. It was said to be the source of the curse, and to be afflicted here would mean disgrace and loss of title. He looked at me, and smiled warmly.
"Heh, small world. That's where I'm headin' too."
I looked at him, a surprised expression blooming.
"What for?" I asked, hiding any surprise I might give away. He chuckled, as if reading my mind. But mayhaps it was just my voice which gave way my thoughts and I just didn't realize it. "It doesn't sound like a place for a commoner."
"But I ain't no commoner." He said. "I wish to hone my blade." He continued. "They say it's ripe with danger… perfect place fer me." He added. And it was true, the rumors. The place was dangerous. Undead roaming the streets, monsters such as ogres and giant rats hunting for prey. Dragons roaming freely within the skies. A perfect place for thrill seekers and treasure hunters. I chuckled.
"Well, I guess it does seem you may be able to handle yourself." I said. Looking him up and down, it doesn't take a scholar to realize that he could easily throw me across a room. With that kind of strength, he might be able to take on an ogre.
"I can…" He started. Then he looked to me, smiling in a very mocking style. "Unlike ya."
My smile turned upside down at that remark, and though he could not see it, I glared towards him. A knight has their pride and values it very, very much. Insulting it is almost as bad as insulting their mother. Many duels occurred between two knights over hurt pride in Mirrah. And half of me wanted to test my blade against his right then and there. But, he had helped me in my time of need and I, by my honor, owed him a debt.
He laughed, and jabbed my shoulder with an evil smile. And my frown dissipated, a small smirk replacing it. I returned the chuckle. We then sat in silence for a few mere moments, the rain being our only third wheel. But, eventually, he spoke up. A heavy exhale beginning it.
"I wish ya luck in yer endeavours…" He said, going towards the door. He stopped, however, and picked up whatever it was he left by the chair. I looked at him as he walked back, and the tug of him being familiar kept going back and forth in my mind. Before he went inside, I stopped him. Dying to know why he was so familiar. I opened my mouth to speak but paused, quickly trying to decide if it was worth the trouble. But, I had decided:
"What is your name?" I calmly asked.
He looked to me, and his calm look crept into a surprised glare. Then, that look transformed into a sinister smile that was creeping across his scarred lips. His deep blue eyes gazing into my mask's eye slits.
"They call me Creighton."
And just then I froze. The name echoed in my mind and I turned to fully face him for I then realized why he was so familiar. Why his face, and to a better extent, his tabard were so distinguishable in the crowd. Why his voice was so noticeable amongst all others in the area. I was staring into the eyes of a national serial killer. Talking to one. He chuckled devilishly as he went inside, closing the door behind him. A swift smell of ale crept out and wafted towards me.
And as the door shut behind him, I saw the glint of a weapon in his hand. And I put a hand under my mask to feel the blood flow, but it had stopped.
The blood dried on my skin.
I woke early and had a quick breakfast from what I had in my supplies. A stale biscuit and salted beef with weak coffee. The alehouse had emptied when the rain finally subsided, leaving only the barkeep, me and a few other patrons inhabiting it. Before I retired for a night's rest, I went and gathered my things from my horse, untrusting of the local clientele to leave it be.
I essentially slept with one eye open throughout the night, my blade resting beside me. It was one of the few times I ever slept with my clothes, let alone my armor, on. But knowing I shared an inn with a serial killer did little to ease my mind. It didn't help that he was aware of my knowledge to who he was. But it seemed he left with all the others, leaving no trace he was there, and leaving me be throughout the night.
I would've taken him into custody, as was my duty. But, that would hamper my journey and I did not want anymore delays than necessary. I had quick bath as well before my slumber, a kind maid had prepared it ahead of my arrival and left petals for a fresher odor. After my breakfast I dressed myself properly and prepared to leave the building. My sword in its sheath and my shield on my back. I thanked the barkeep with three silvers which he tried to deny but after some insistence he took them and I walked out the door. Tipping my hat to say goodbye. The feather on top grazed the door frame, but did not prevent my exit. But as I turned towards the stable, my jaw dropped when I saw no horses.
I darted inside, looking for Aslatiel. But there was no trace of his existence. Only hoofprints in the mud leading onto the puddled road, but whether it was Aslatiel's or not was something I could not figure out. I was no tracker. But there was one thing that clued me in on what happened to him. A faded, soiled, brown note that was nailed to the post he was originally tied to.
"Walking is good exercise. - Creighton"
