The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil
And grew jealous of the life
They could not feel, could not touch.
In blackest envy were the demons born.
-Erudition 2:1
The forest set some travelers on edge, but to him it was almost like a second home. The Brecilian was old, and the trees that spiraled high into the sky reflected the ancientness of the forest. The trunks were thick and watched with age, some of the branches overhead thick as a city street. The distance between some of the ancient titans was enough to allow ten horses abreast at times. A gust of wind overhead sent a small wave of leaves floating to the ground, alighting on the mossy floor of the green woods.
Derik only enjoyed the scenery for a short moment however. It wasn't very often that he went to scenic places far off the beaten trail just for the pleasure of it, and this time was no exception either. Once again duty had called him to the trail of a manhunt that would most likely be resolved only after a great amount of bloodshed.
The woods were winding and treacherous, but he wasn't going into the heart of the forest where it was rumored that the monsters who ruled this primordial place lived. Derik wasn't equipped for a prolonged stay out in the wilderness. This was simply a seek and destroy mission, nothing more and nothing less. The quietness of the outer woods was almost haunting in it's absolute serenity. The further into the woods he went, the more his magic-sensitive soul could feel the thinning of the Veil.
If rumors and whispers could be believed, then a great battle had happened here so long ago as to be completely forgotten by modern records. The death of hundreds and thousands of men in battle thinned the Veil as nothing else could, such a grand catastrophic event serving to bring closer the realm of the dead and the living. It was for this very reason that the forest was a common haunt for mages looking to evade the long arm of chantry law. With the Fade and reality rubbing so close together, it made a mage's spells that much more powerful and more likely to summon the attention of demons.
The faint trail in the woods that he followed led deeper into the woods, but not into the heart. He wondered at that, but was resolved to not over-think the reasoning without undue need. He would find out shortly, most likely at the wrong end of a fireball.
It was nearing the twilight hour when he finally came upon his destination. The so far unbroken forest was interrupted by a plaza of sorts. Unable to grow on the solid stone slabs that lay buried in their long-forgotten resting places, the trees cleared a wide space in the center of which was a raised dais of sorts that had seen it's glory days hundreds of years ago.
In the middle of it all, and altar had been raised, made of wood and covered in a wealth of dried blood. In a circle around the altar, the evidence of seven small fires was inscribed against the surface of the stone, black soot leaving it's footprint where the fires had burned. A giant rune painted in what he assumed was blood connected the seven forest to the altar. He stepped onto the dais, his eyes flicking over the scene and examined it carefully. Obviously this had been a site of some sort of ritual, though what its purpose could have been, he didn't know. He had never seen this particular pattern that had been used before.
Just a few feet before he reached the altar the air in front of him wavered like a heat wave, creating a shimmering curtain. All the hair on the back of his arms and neck prickled uncomfortably and the weight of the magic in the area pressed solidly against him like a giant unseen hand.
Laughter echoed in his ears, a harsh male laugh and Derik swung around to try and find the source, his swords in his hands immediately. There was no one else in the clearing however, and a feeling of dread instantly washed over him.
"Are you scared?" The voice taunted in an obviously cocky drawl. "you shouldn't be. You should be angry. Who put you here? Why is it that you are continually risking your life?"
A sudden rush of anger swept through him like a tidal wave. "Mages."
"Mages." The voice agreed in a deadly hiss. "You work endlessly to protect them," the Templar nodded in agreement. "Yet how do they repay you? Again and again they simply turn to evil. You should be angry. You should be enraged! Toil away in obscurity no longer! We can change this cycle of ungratefulness."
"You think you could change the nature of mages?" Derik asked to the thin air, the tips of his swords hovering low toward the ground.
"Of course." The Voice replied nonchalantly. "They cannot turn against you if they are all dead."
Derik's scoff turned into a chuckle. "Well demon, you were making fine progress until that last bit." The voice hissed, the sound much like water was being poured on a hot pan. "The Veil must be on the verge of ripping if a demon is talking to me." He mused to himself quietly, eyes on the ripple in reality. "I don't suppose you could just slide on through, could you?"
"Do not taunt me, mortal!" The voice boomed so loudly that the stones of the dais vibrated under Derik's feet. "You trifle with powers beyond your ken!"
"So you can't then. Well, at least there's something to that." He mumbled to himself and sheathed his swords, pulling a small bag from one of the pouches on his hip instead. Carefully, he extracted a small chunk of white chalk that had been formed into a stick and began drawing on the ground around the altar in the center of the dais.
"What do you think you're doing, mortal?" The voice asked in a haughty tone. "Why is it that you continue to deny the anger that lays dwelling in your heart?"
Derik said nothing, just continued to draw with his chalk, looking at the runes painted in blood on the ground every once in a while. The voice continued whispering as he worked, digging deeper at the issue of Derik's faithful service to both the Order and the mages and how he could never satisfy both. When Derik finally straightened and patted his hands free of the dusty chalk, he was standing in the center of a magic circle that mirrored the one drawn in blood, tough was portrayed oppositely. He took a pinch of fine blue powder from the bag in his hand and placed the refined lyrium dust in the seven circles representing the fires that had been used in the larger blood circle.
"You cannot possibly attempt this, mortal." The voice hissed. "Not without my help. You have no magic, but I do. If it is your desire to repair the Veil, then let us make a deal and I shall see it done."
Derik did not even so much as lift his head. Instead, he continued to ignore the voice from the other side of the Veil and sat in the center of his circle, crossing his legs and dipped his head, rhythmically chanting to himself. Almost immediately, the small piles of lyrium around him began glowing a brilliant blue that was almost white in color. The circles and runes painted in blood began to glow as well with dark energy, the soft red light eerie in the stillness of the forest.
"You will fail, mortal." The voice hissed. "You are too weak, too flimsy. You could never accomplish this task on your own."
If Derik even heard the voice, he did not react and just kept chanting. The wavering in the space in front of him intensified, the vague form of a Rage demon appearing as if on the surface of a rippling lake. The demon lifted its hands, a roar sounding from the other side of the Veil that made the stones tremble again and the silence that fell afterwards ring like the chime of a bell. Great gouts of fire blasted toward Derik, but he did not even so much as flinch. Just as the stream of fire was about to touch the outer ring it dissipated into a quivering curtain of air. The Rage demon screamed in denial, the sound so piercing that blood dripped down the sides of Derik's face from his ears. Even so, he did not stop, he simply chanted louder.
The image of the Rage demon clarified, the rippling turning still as glass as if the demon were present in the physical world. Derik rose smoothly to his feet, drawing one of his swords. He was practically shouting in order to try and hear himself over his sudden deafness, the rage demon screeching even above that. Derik raised his sword, spoke the last words of the reversal spell and shattered the ripple in reality. With the crash of breaking glass and the sound of a fire being rained on in a sudden torrent, the demon disappeared along with the thinness of the Veil, leaving the Templar standing in front of nothing but empty air.
With the immediate danger gone he sheathed his sword and touched the rivulet of blood that had come from his burst eardrum. Sighing a mild curse, Derik slipped a bag off his back and started sorting through the contents. He came up with a small hand rag and a bottle of red healing liquid. Sitting once more, he tipped his head sideways and winced as he shook a few drops from the bottle into his ear, working his jaw back and forth with a curl of smoke issuing from the healing wound. When it was done smoking he did the same to the other ear and then wiped the blood from his face and neck as much as he could with the small rag. Task completed, he stuffed the two items away and stood once more to inspect the altar.
Though there was a tremendous amount of dried blood, there was no body on the altar. Curious, he checked the fire pits for disassembled body parts but fond none there either. "How could the victim have survived?" He mumbled to himself and walked back to the altar to see if he could dig up any clues. He did not know maleficar to be particularly respectful of their sacrifices, at least not enough to bury or burn them properly. The small ritual fires around the runic ring would not have been hot enough to char bones into ash. Even if sustained by magefire it would take more of a concentrated effort than he had ever experienced maleficar to have.
Derik inspected the site for a while longer, jotting down the notes in a small journal, noting down the shape of the arcane circle. By the time that he was done it was fully dark in the forest. He walked away from the stone dais and the runes, snapping off a thick tree branch when he got close to the forest's edge and started carving another wide circle in the dirt, kicking away stray rocks that got in the way. When all was said and done, Derik had enclosed himself in a ward and set up camp to protect from the monsters of both reality and the Fade. Here in the Brecilian, both could quickly become fatal foes to a lone sleeping Templar.
Under the silent skies with the stars that peaked through gently swaying branches, Derik slept, his thoughts uneasy and his sword laying close.
Yay! Solo Derik chapter! It's a little short, but ah well. Just setting up some stuff and having a bit of fun showing off Derik's intense Templarness. He's been working on his own against magical maladies for a long time, and I wanted to show how he handled demonic temptation. Which is by ignoring it. Although he's not completely infallible, and taken unawares as he was, he still had to struggle a bit against the temptation. A bit of character development makes the world go 'round. Also, please excuse any typos that I might have missed. I don't have an editor, and it's frighteningly easy to overlook really small details that you guys would naturally catch on the first read through. Anyway, thanks for dropping in! The next chapter is going to be monstrously huge, so I hope you'll enjoy it.