One: The Road's Beginning
The Roadside Temple of Weyveliste, Southern Korleen
503 N.E. (20 years later)
The priests and groundskeepers of the Roadside Temple led a relatively quiet existence. Their home was defended by a wall that spanned the perimeter, and the only entrance was the thick doors that stood by the well-traveled road which ran straight through all of Korleen. As the followers of Weyveliste, the Traveler, they took in weary passerby and fed them, helping to keep them safe on their journey, whatever it might be. Nothing was more sacred than an open road and a life free to wander it wherever it might lead to the clerics who safeguarded the hospice kept for vagrants and caravans alike.
Second to the road in terms of sanctity was the temple itself, one of the few on Ashra which still stood in any great glory. Those who served in its walls were fiercely proud of the structure, which had stood for more than 600 years.
It was also why few appreciated the efforts of the two more permanent inhabitants of the Temple running about and across their home with no regard for the damage they might be causing.
Well, only one was truly running across them, Groundsman Wallace grumbled as he shook a grizzled hand at them. The other was an imp, a tiny creature which stood about a foot fall with dull reddish skin, leathery clawed wings, and unique to him alone, a loose fitting set of trousers and a brown leather vest sized perfectly for his minute form. The imp dashed through the air, his wings beating furiously. "You'll have to do better than that, boss!" The small infernal creature goaded his aggressor, blowing his tongue before flicking his barbed tail and flying on.
His pursuer was a man just under six and a half feet tall, dressed all in black robes of thick fabric. Long sleeves, extended with flaring ends dutifully sewn on by hand, hid his arms entirely from view. The hood of his robes was pulled up as well, so far that not even the barest hint of a face was visible beyond the fabric and the enshrouding enchantment of darkness it carried. A medium sized cloak of the same black fabric was tied to the back of the shoulders, and it trailed behind him in the wind. While it looked an uncomfortable garment, it was something that didn't seem to affect its user at all.
After all, Marik Observant reminded himself as he cautiously, but quickly followed the imp, he'd been wearing it for years, training himself in it. It was a second skin now, and one that he didn't expect he would ever go without again.
Marik narrowed his hidden eyes on the imp gleefully charging ahead of him and reached out. Unseen to everyone, he briefly focused his thoughts on an object which hung from his waist by a chain, hidden by the thick fabric of his black cloak. The small charm of a rabbit's foot remained as quiet as ever, but it performed the service asked of it; ahead of him, and within striking distance of the precocious winged devil, a glowing green hand of magical force flashed into existence, flexing briefly before reaching towards the tiny creature. Bony, and with six elongated fingers, the Sorceror's hand sought out its target.
The imp let out a squawk of dismay and altered its flight path, trying to avoid capture. The green hand's index finger bounced off of its wing, but beyond the minor scrape, it escaped unharmed and flew on, laughing. "You'll still have to do better than that, Marik! Trickery isn't going to catch me!"
Marik pursed his lips and transmitted a thought to the annoying creature. Morris, it doesn't take trickery to catch you. It just takes a well placed diversion.
The imp called Morris Redtail shared an empathic and telepathic connection with Marik Observant; this would have been a curious fact save for the truth that he was bound to the Sorceror.
But being classified as Marik's familiar did not mean that his will was any less unique. Morris was different from others of his kind, and that was why Marik had spent so much effort looking for him. The cost, or perhaps blessing, was that Morris Redtail retained all of who he had been before the summoning. He remained a sharp-tongued, quick-witted "flying rat", as the cooks called him. He and Marik got along splendidly as a unique pair of misfits. One was a reclusive Sorceror and the other was an imp who had long since broken from the traditional attitudes of his kind.
The hand flew by again, and Morris let out a yell of surprise as he dodged to the side. There was the briefest growl, soft and almost unnoticeable before two blazing balls of green light streaked out on either side of the winged scourge. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" He shouted, fearing for his life as the bolts of force swerved about and came at him. He turned himself about and started flying in the opposite direction, hoping that by some miracle, he could outrun the Sorceror's magic bolts.
As it stood, it didn't come to that. The moment he halted his flight and swerved in the opposite direction, Marik's glowing green hand of light clenched firmly about his waist and stopped him cold. Morris let out an undignified squawk and glowered at the Sorceror who came to rest with a final bound on the roof and nodded at him.
Marik gloated inside of his hood, Morris could feel it. Just a diversion.
"Screw you, Observant." The imp muttered, crossing his wings. The two magical projectiles spun about him before dissipating back into nothing, cancelled by a quick thought from their creator. "You never told me you'd be shooting at me!"
I never told you I wouldn't. Marik replied, releasing his concentration and allowing the relic tied to his waist to fall silent again. The green hand of magical energy disappeared as well, and Morris flew over to perch on his covered shoulder. All the same, I do apologize if I worried you.
Morris baahed at him, waggling his eyebrows. "You know, given the nature of today, I'll forgive you."
Their conversation halted when the two heard a loud creaking groan, and Marik's footing felt a little less sure. Morris braced himself to leap off of him, staring about warily. "Ohhh, no. Boss, we aren't…"
The roof gave way under Marik's weight, and the Sorceror and imp collapsed together through the rotted wood beams into the room below…which, as luck would have it, was the central narthex itself. Unceremoniously, and interrupting the prayers of the Traveler's acolytes and priests within, they slammed hard across the marble pedestal at the front of the shrine, breaking a wooden carving of Weyveliste's holy symbol.
Amidst gasps and cries of horror, Morris and Marik both groaned, and the imp rubbed at his head. "Crackers, I knew this place was old, but damn. We shouldn't be falling through roofs."
One of the main clerics stepped up, his face seething with rage. "You shouldn't be climbing on them in the first place. Marik! Morris! The both of you know better. Why, if you weren't leaving today to travel the road, I…" His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he finally roared in exasperation. "Bah! Report to the Headmaster's office immediately, the both of you. I've no time to bother with punishments today."
Morris' wings and ears drooped down at that, reflecting Marik's mood as well.
I wish we'd fallen on Fardhaval instead of the shrine.Marik thought glumly, picking himself up and staring forlornly at the now ruined holy symbol there. Despite himself, Morris snickered, stopping only when Priest Fardhaval's sharp eyes zoomed in on him.
"We're going, we're going." Morris grumbled, and the two departed out of the temple's central shrine. "But just what do we do now? The Headmaster's going to kill us!"
No, he wouldn't kill us.Marik chastised his associate. But when he's done being disappointed, we'll wish he had.
With no great excitement, and plenty of tension and worry to go around, Marik and Morris approached the thick oaken doors that led to the study and office of the Roadside Temple's overseer, the Headmaster.
"You suppose that we could just leave?" Morris whined, flicking his tail back and forth anxiously. "I mean, he…"
You know as well as I do that wouldn't be right. Marik chastised his companion, manifesting another green magical hand and rapping its knuckles against the door.
"I've been expecting you, boys. Come on in." Came the amiable voice within. Steeling himself, Marik flicked at the door with a quick wave of his hand, and it swung open easily from the telekinetic push.
Morris fluttered in ahead of Marik, shaking his head. "I swear, Headmaster, I had nothing to do with it this time! It was all Marik's fault, go ahead and ask him!"
Underneath his hood, the Sorceror glared at Morris. Morris, you traitorous…
The Headmaster, a smaller man dressed in brown robes with a white stole had his back turned to them, his arms tucked behind his back. "Well, if that's truly the case, then I suppose you share none of the consequences?"
"Absolutely!" Morris said, puffing out his chest.
The Headmaster turned and smiled at the two of them, his quiet gray eyes alight with some humor inside of him. "Well, Marik, allow me to thank you. That roof has been in need of repair for a decade now. Your accident will finally force our staff to fix the blasted thing."
Marik stared at the Headmaster with wide eyes, and Morris went slack-jawed.
"Well, I…I mean, he was chasing me at the time, so…" The imp started feebly.
The Headmaster chuckled and ran a hand through his wispy white hair.
"Rest easy, Morris. You're in no trouble from me, and there's no reward for it. It's work nonetheless." The Headmaster sighed and glanced at Marik with a sad smile. "My, my…Twenty years, and my boy's full grown."
Headmaster Desmond Rodian, long since advanced to the highest tier of the Traveler's order at the post, spoke as if the words hurt him. "But I didn't think that it would be this painful to say goodbye."
Marik slowly pushed his hands out of their long sleeves, exposing the unnatural and discolored flesh. He pushed his hood back to stare down at the Headmaster. Morris fluttered up on his shoulder, and took on a placid appearance, acting as the conduit for Marik's thoughts.
"But you knew this day was coming. You've known it for a long time." Morris said flatly, speaking Marik's thoughts.
"So I did, so I did. But I tried to ignore it, despite all your preparations." Rodian nodded, rubbing at the corner of his eye. "I should have known better than that. The Traveler's call is strong indeed. It brought me to this place, and it brought you to us. Now it takes you away."
Marik stirred at that, an uneasiness that the imp Morris duplicated. "I will always be grateful for all you've done for me, father."
"Aah, now." Rodian sniffled, walking around his desk to approach his adopted son, who now towered over him. "All I've done is give you a warm bed and a shoulder to cry on. You've done the rest yourself. None of us could have predicted when you first came to us that you would be blessed with such magical talents. It's your strength, you know."
"I just wish that I knew what my mother had meant, bringing me here." The Sorceror replied, still speaking through Morris. "When Headmaster Williamson left and gave me her medallion, he said it was to give me 'A life worth living.'"
"Those were your mother's words true enough, aye." Rodian nodded. "Williamson did well to pass her legacy to you before he retired and took to the road." He motioned at Marik. "I don't suppose you ever figured out what it was for?"
Marik's hand fingered at his neck, and the medallion hidden under cloak, robes, mythril chain shirt and undershirt. He shook his head gravely, and rumbling as he did, finally spoke for himself.
"I never did." He rasped. "But there is magic in it."
"A magic that you, nor any of our most practiced mages and scholars in the Traveler's employ have ever been able to determine." Rodian chuckled. "Maybe you will solve that mystery on your journey, my boy." He clapped his hands together. "So. Are you all packed then?"
"Nearly." Morris grumbled, dropping his placid state and folding his arms, speaking for himself again. "Marik thought he'd get in one last chase before we finished it."
Rodian harrumphed. "Now, you're sure about this, Marik? You don't have to go if you don't…"
The towering Sorceror shook his head. "I want to go." He interrupted. "All my life I've heard the bards and priests of Weyveliste tell me of the outside world. I've heard the stories, the music, studied maps. It is the Traveler's way. We all take to the road. I want to do more than coop myself up in this old temple, father."
Rodian bit his lip and looked down. "I know you do, son. It's just…"
"You don't have to worry, father. You can trust me."
"I trust you." Desmond Rodian said quietly, looking up at his boy again. "It's the world I don't trust." He motioned to his window. "Out there, you won't be Marik, the foster child of Headmaster Rodian. You'll just be a wandering Sorceror, and the minute that they get a good look at you…"
To this, Marik's dull black eyes took on a sharp glint. "They won't." He said solemnly, pulling his hood back up. Once again behind the enchanted black fabric, he became a towering giant in a thick black cloak; faceless and menacing, and all too unknown.
Rodian exhaled. "Just take care of yourself, Marik. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
Morris bleated out a defiant laugh. "Lose him? I've been trying to get rid of him for years!"
Rodian couldn't help but laugh at the joke, and glanced at the imp. "Out there, Morris…You and Marik must rely on each other more than you do now. Keep with him. Protect each other. Please."
Morris blinked a few times, then dropped his jesting manner. "Yeah. Sure." He finally said, muted and tamed. "Hell, I worry about Marik just as much as you do."
The Headmaster looked up at the ceiling. "I think that's it then." He whispered. "I hope you'll keep my gifts well, Marik. They'll help you…no matter where your road leads."
"I'll find what I'm looking for, father." Marik said, turning about and heading for the door.
"And just what are you looking for in all of Terrus, my boy?" Headmaster Rodian posed, going back to his seat.
The Sorceror paused at the door, but did not turn around.
"A life worth living." He said at last. Morris nodded in agreement, and the two departed the Headmaster's chambers.
Rodian slipped into his seat and closed his eyes, offering up a prayer to Weyveliste, wherever he was. "Keep them safe." Rodian whispered. "They're in your domain now."
Marik's room in the temple was quiet and small, save for the oversized bed in one corner. A few books from the mages' library in the basement sat worn and dustless on his desk, having seen plenty of use. Morris hovered in the air, staring down at the piles of material strewn over Marik's bed as the Sorceror bustled about. His usual black cloak and robes were thrown over his desk chair, ignored for the moment as they focused on everything else.
"One enchanted rucksack." Morris commented as Marik threw open the flaps and stared into the magically enhanced void within the main and side compartments. "Hopefully, that should fit most of what we need."
"Everything." Marik said smugly, reaching for the packs of trail rations he and Morris had stolen from the temple pantry. After that came the rest of his gear: His moneypouch, explorer's gear of every conceivable sort, inkwell and writing utensils, scrolls that were either blank or scrawled with a few minor spells he didn't know by instinct, and the poles and canvas of his tent. With the bedroll, the magical compartments finally began to show some sign of growing fullness, and Marik nodded. "Takes care of that."
"Yeah. Now you just have to worry about the equipment that doesn't fit in there." Morris teased him.
Marik reached for his mother's medallion, gently lifting the leather string up and around his misshapen head, tucking it safely underneath his shirt once more.
"You know, if we ever needed some money, you could sell that for a few hundred gold coins." Morris propositioned his ally. Following a dark look from the Sorceror, the imp chuckled and waved him off. "No worries, Marik. I was kidding."
Next came the mithril shirt, so finely woven with elven craftsmanship that it glimmered and seemed less like metal and more like holy fabric. It had been his father's in the bard's adventuring days, but Rodian had seen fit to give it to Marik a year ago, the same time as when Morris had been given his first set of clothes. The fine chain slipped over his head and came to rest comfortably, adding no noticeable weight.
Morris fluttered down on a strange mechanical assembly which held a glimmering longsword, segmented into three small parts that when unleashed, would form the full blade. It was silvered along the edges, a personal touch Rodian had paid for as a gift. "You know, I still say this sword of yours is the strangest thing I've ever seen."
Marik reached for it and slipped it over his right arm. The braces let it fall only so far before it fit snugly into place, and he finished strapping it down. Finally, a set of wires and rings went about his right hand's fingers, which he flexed away from him. Only when he clenched all his fingers into a fist and flexed his arm in a very peculiar fashion did the springloaded longsword snap forth with an audible shiiiiink. Marik nodded as he felt it lock into place, then twisted his arm in reverse and unflexed his fingers. The sword returned back to its previous position, collapsing back into its three segments.
The idea of an arm-strapped launcher was actually something he'd procured from gnomish schematics, but the design of a sectional longsword was something which had taken Marik, and a few other craftsmen within the Temple, a fair deal of time to complete. "It will mean a nasty surprise to anyone who believes me to be unarmed." Marik rasped, nodding at the imp.
It was configured so that with his cloak and robes on, the blade's hilt would end just at above his wrist, the rest extended and ready to slice at whatever got in his way.
Morris landed on a corner of the bed and snickered. "The priests always say to be prepared, but I think you take it a bit too far most days."
Marik next reached for the only other weapon he carried; a finely crafted oak quarterstaff which he dropped into the depths of his haversack. Despite the fact it was five feet long, the enchanted bag didn't offer a moment's complaint, and it disappeared from view.
"Correction." Morris added, lifting a clawed hand that nearly matched Marik's. "Now I know you take it too far."
With his weapons tucked away, Marik reached for the last item on the bed; a rabbit's foot secured to a small bit of chain. He strapped it to his waist, feeling easier as he regained the ability to cast his favorite spell. The cloak and robes came next, and the bag afterwards.
He looked no different than he had twenty minutes before, but Marik felt different. Morris felt it, and agreed with him.
"After all this time…you're finally ready to strike out on your own." The imp murmured, landing on the Sorceror's shoulder. "And I get to go with you for the duration."
You're my friend, Morris. Marik replied, using their telepathic connection. I couldn't do this without you.
"Are we going to stop by your mother's grave on our way out?" Morris questioned, flicking his barbed tail behind him. Marik shook his hooded head at that.
I said my farewells this morning. All we can do now is make her proud.The Sorceror exhaled and looked around the room one last time. Do you suppose we'll ever come back here, Morris?
"I couldn't tell you one way or the other, boss." The imp shrugged. "It's not my decision." Morris looked around, moving his upper lip across his fangs. "But this place has been good to us. Maybe some day, we'll come back. To visit." Morris looked up at his friend. "If only for Rodian's…I mean, your father's sake."
Marik nodded at that. It's just you and me now, Morris.
"We've been training for this day for years, boss." Morris smiled, glancing at the man who had summoned him at the age of fifteen, five years before. "We're going to show the continent of Ashra a thing or two out there! We're going to make a name for ourselves, and we'll show them all!"
And maybe…maybe some day people can look on me without fear. Marik mused, a hint of sadness in his mental expression. Have we forgotten anything?
Morris looked about their room, and finally shook his head. "No. We've left nothing but the floorboards and your old books. And we don't need the floorboards."
Marik waved at the door to his room and it swung open, moved by one of the several little tricks he knew by heart. The road is long…
"Let us walk together." Morris said, finishing the prayer.
The temple was quiet as they departed; the acolytes and caretakers paused at their chores and prayers, watching the Sorceror and imp as they treaded out. Few eyes looked on them with goodwill and best wishes. Many were indifferent, some were even spiteful or fearful. Marik was used to their stares, though. He kept walking, never breaking his eyes from the gates that led out of the temple and to the world beyond. Only Morris turned around and looked back, glowering at all the hostile faces who watched them go with relief and eager joy.
There was but one set of eyes in all the faces Morris saw who did not address them with scorn or frustration. High up in the temple, standing on a balcony by his massive window, the elderly Headmaster Rodian nodded slowly at them.
"You keep an eye on this place, pops. I've got Marik." Morris said softly. The Sorceror stirred, not sure what his friend had said. The imp chuckled and turned around, looking beyond the slowly opening doors to the road beyond. "Nothing to worry about, Marik. I'm just talking to myself."
The doors closed behind them with a groaning creak and a loud bang. The two looked to their left and to their right along the straight path through the hills. After only a moment's pause, Marik turned south. They would look for adventure and answers alike.
At long last, the world was theirs to explore. Not once did the Sorceror look back.
Central Continent of Ashra, Crannogh Heights, The Eastern Ridge
The small force had been chasing their prey for two weeks now. A cutthroat assassin known as the Grey Shadow had murdered a prominent businessman in the capital of the kingdom of Sorvindal to the northeast. Enraged, the king had put a bounty of three thousand gold dragons on his head, probably due in no small part to the fact that it was his brother in law who had gotten his head sliced clean off of his neck, never to be discovered. A few scattered searches by enterprising folks within Sorvindal had turned up little results; the Grey Shadow was a crafty one, to be sure.
As luck, or unluck as some might claim would have it, only one party had found the Grey Shadow's trail, which led southwards along the main roads. Now they were in the Eastern Ride of Crannogh Heights, and as far as their scout could determine, only a few hours behind their prey.
Riding on horseback, the party of five maneuvered cautiously through the rugged terrain. Their scout led the way, with two archers coming up behind him and a lance-wielding knight guarding the rear.
All of them were temporarily employed under the leader of their troupe, a man of fearful reputation throughout southern Ashra. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as they rode along, looking in all directions. Tousled brown hair danced in the breeze. Beyond that and his armor, a shirt of chainmail underneath his outer tunic, he seemed a man without rank or status. Only a light green cloak tied about his shoulders to serve as protection against the cold offered some sign of some prouder tradition.
It belied the fire in his blue eyes.
"We're closing on him, Benson." The scout exclaimed, calling back to the rest of the force. "The tracks are getting fresher."
Ness Benson, their temporary employer, nodded gravely. "Good. Maybe this time we'll be able to stop him before he strikes again, eh?"
The others nodded in agreement, but looked at each other warily. Ness ignored the glances and pressed on. No, he was used to the whisperings and rumors. Ness was a swordsman who had chosen to take his talents to the road as a mercenary. Unluckily for him, by one sad encounter after the next over his years out traveling Ashra, he had gained a reputation.
In every single assignment he had ever taken, the majority of Ness's associates died. The few who lived had spread the word, though not as fast as rumor itself. Ness was a cursed man, and those who valued their lives would do well to avoid him.
The people with him now would have listened to that as well, save for the ludicrous reward. There were yeomen from Sorvindal who would have sold their souls for even a sixth of the profits of the reward. Six hundred coins to a man was too much to pass up.
The scout led them on for a few more minutes, then frowned. "This is…strange." Their caravan halted and Ness rode up beside his ranger.
"What's strange?" The swordsman asked, furrowing his eyebrows. The ranger pointed down, still frowning.
"The Grey Shadow. His trail just ends here." The ranger grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't understand it." He glanced about. "I mean, there's nothing around here but a bunch of high hills."
Ness rubbed at his chin, then glanced off of the side of the road and shook his head. "He wasn't alone, sir."
The scout blinked at that. "What makes you say that?"
"The pile of bones partially hidden." Ness Benson explained, pointing behind a rock on the side of the road, and the grease-covered, glistening bones beyond it. "Deer, more than likely, perhaps goat." Ness dismounted and walked over with his ranger in tow, pointing down to them. "A meal interrupted." Came Ness's answer again, motioning to some half-eaten chops of meat.
The ranger knelt down and tore off a tiny piece of the abandoned meal, tasting it with scrutinizing concentration. "That's deermeat all right." He confirmed. "But these spices are odd. No, this blend isn't human made. It's…"
The ranger's eyes went wide and he climbed to his feet. "…Orc."
Just then, an arrow whistled down from the hills above them and buried itself into the chest of their first archer. The bowman let out a shriek of pain and then fell, his heart pierced from the precise blow. Ness and the others quickly dashed for cover, staring up at their attackers.
Benson realized too late that there was nowhere to run. The hills stood on both sides of the path, and true enough as the ranger had described it, it was orcs who roamed the hills, and not the civilized clan of Bruus, either. They laughed cruelly and stared down at the wandering morsels below. Ness lost sight of the barbaric tusk-mouthed creatures in a moment as he spied a six and some foot tall humanoid figure in a black and gray armored bodysuit. His entire face was hidden by a skeletal metallic faceplate, and the rest of his head was covered by a dark shroud.
Ness' blue eyes met the mask of the assassin they had been chasing. "It's an ambush!" Ness exploded, too late for the realization to do them any good.
The Grey Shadow seemed to laugh for a moment at their predicament, then motioned with a hand. The orcs ran down the hill, screaming and charging like maniacs.
To the credit of the hunters, they fought well. The archer loosed two shots and brought one of them down before they all fell on top of him, ending him. Ness and the ranger doubled back to their knight, who had successfully managed to fend off four warriors all on his own by deft and threatening thrusts from his lance. The ranger unsheathed a pair of shortswords, and Ness drew his longsword free of its sheath with a growl.
"Damn him…He knew we were coming!" The swordsman snapped, watching angrily as the Grey Shadow gave them all one last look before vanishing to the south, leaving the orcs to their work.
The ranger shook his head. "I should have known better than to take this assignment…you're going to get us all killed!"
One of the orcs got in close, and Ness dispatched him with a swing that cut across his chest. The fire in his eyes only got larger. "They haven't killed us yet, woodsman." He looked around and kicked his horse in the sides. "Hyah!" He shouted, urging the mount on. The horse whinnied and took off at a gallop, Ness' surviving comrades followed up behind him, and the surprised snaggle-toothed aggressors in the front stared open-eyed.
Ness bared his teeth and raised his sword high. "Ride on! We must escape the ambush!" The orcs in the front roared and lifted their rusted weapons up, but Ness knocked their feeble strikes aside with mighty blows and rode over one in his haste. The knight and ranger followed, but by the time they reached the edge, the orcs were more prepared. A hail of arrows buried itself into the flank of the knight's horse, and he tumbled to the ground with a shout of dismay. The woodsman turned about in horror and cried out to him, but it did the knight little good. Pinned under his horse, he could do nothing when the overwhelming horde of orcs bore down on him and drove the head of an axe through his armor and into his chest.
Ness bit his cheek at the sight, but whistled to the ranger. "There's nothing we can do for them now, boy! We must ride on or our fate will be theirs!"
The woodsman turned his horse about and galloped after Ness, but the tears in his eyes showed all the grief and anger he might have expressed through combat. "Those were good men, Benson! Those were my friends!"
Ness bit his lip and said nothing back. Somehow, he imagined, nothing he could say would appease the fury his tracker was feeling at that moment. He didn't have the time to settle their differences, though. The orcs claimed one last life that day, and it was the ranger who rode beside him.
Riding on, there came a sharp whistling noise just before a pointed shaft embedded itself through the chest of the woodsman. He let out a panicked gasp of air before his punctured lung fell flat, and slumped against his horse. The two rode on, but it was clear that Ness's last comrade had been dealt a fatal blow.
"Blast it all! No!" Ness screamed, looking over to the woodsman. "Hold on! If we ride on just a few more miles, I can…"
Blood bubbled up from the man's lips as his eyes began to glaze over. "It's…too late." He wheezed, his lifeblood leaving him fast and giving his mount a red coat. "Looks like you…get to live again, Benson."
The shouting orcs fell behind them, but Ness was too blinded by his tears of frustration to notice. "No! You can't…"
"You kill…everyone who works with you." Ness' last ally continued, his breathing short and pained. "You truly are…The Cursed Blade."
The ranger shuddered for a moment, and then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Ness could do little as the man's horse slowed, then stopped. His body slumped from the saddle and fell to the ground. Ness clenched his eyes tightly shut and kicked his horse on, burning into the distance. He lifted his head up and let loose with a scream so loud it echoed in the hills behind him.
Ness Benson; the Cursed Blade, as he was called. The unluckiest swordsman ever to trek Ashra, some would say. Once again, he'd escaped death.
He rode on, for it was all he could do. And in his burning blue eyes, Ness knew that somewhere, the Grey Shadow had heard his scream of anguish and vengeance.
He was probably laughing, too.
The Temple of Calyssa
Outside the grand city of Knighthold, the Wild Shores
The Realm
The Temple of Calyssa was usually a quiet place, serene in its halls of beautiful tapestries and artwork, glazed over with the faint incense that permeated the entire shrine to the goddess of beauty. The citizens of the grand city a day's walk distant would come for prayers or charms to aid them in their romantic pursuits, and the temple had long been a part of the community, albeit one not ever really mentioned publicly.
But today was no ordinary day, and the usually quiet, serene Calyssans bustled about in activity. It was a special occasion for the burgeoning clergy within; They had been invited to send missionaries to a distant world, so long severed from the cosmos that only five hundred years before had it become known to the more observant and knowledgeable individuals of the planes. It was a relatively quiet world, with a past that few knew. In fact, outside of the knowledge that its inhabitants did not worship any of the guardians of The Realm, only one thing was known about it.
It was a place called Terrus.
The head instructor of the temple bustled about, her blue silken garments and fiery red hair waving about as she darted through the crowds packing their bags and talking excitedly. "Please, my students, please! A little more decorum!" Her voice did little to silence the excited youths, the men and women who had only recently been confirmed as true servants of Calyssa's code. She sighed in exasperation as another person bumped past her and put a hand to her head. "May the Rosequeen give me patience."
Beyond the main hall, one of the younger servants of Calyssa was in her room, the door closed to keep away the sounds of the bustle beyond. Her own supplies and clothes were laid across her bed, prepared for the journey ahead of them. At the moment, though, she was more focused on the letter she was writing at her desk by candlelight.
A knock at the door broke her concentration, and the girl lifted her head up and away from the parchment to the interruption. "Yes?" She called out politely.
A male voice beyond the door chuckled. "Are you decent?"
The brown-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Of course, Parwyn."
"Can I come in then?"
"You've already made a nuisance of yourself, you may as well bother me a little bit more." The girl sighed.
Her door opened, and a gaunt young man about the age of seventeen walked in, smiling from ear to ear. "It is an exciting day, isn't it? Are you packed and ready to go then, Rachel?"
The young woman motioned to her supplies arranged on the bed. "Naturally. And what about you, Par?"
"I've been packed since yesterday." He said, no lack of gusto on his part. Taking a second glance about, he motioned to the parchment on her desk. "What's that, Rachel?"
"I thought I would write a letter to my family…Give them some notice of where I'm going." The auburn-haired Calyssan said, offering a half-smile. "My father always did worry about me."
"Well, that certainly is thoughtful of you." Parwyn answered her, folding his arms with a beaming smile. "Is it finished then, Miss Ashbury?"
Rachel Skyler Ashbury, the sixteen year old servant of Calyssa Rosequeen took another glance down at her work. "Close." She said appraisingly. "It would be done if I didn't suffer so many interruptions."
Parwyn got a gleam in his eye as he looked over to her bed. "You know, if we hurried, I think we might be able to get in one last…"
"Par!" Rachel admonished him, having the good grace to blush a little while glowering at him. The young man laughed and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair.
"It's just a suggestion, is all."
"I've already got everything organized for the trip." She said, still shaking her head. "And besides, you and I parted company ten months ago. I've no desire to rekindle that hearth."
"Much is the sorrow in that." He said quietly, shrugging his shoulders. "But I suppose that your favor's turned elsewhere. Are you excited about the trip?"
"I'm…anxious." Rachel admitted, shaking her head. "I really don't fit in well here. Perhaps going to this new world of Terrus will provide me with the environment I need."
"Well, it's not going to be easy." Parwyn agreed, leaning against the doorway. "You know, I heard that we're the first foreign missionaries to be allowed on this world?"
"Really?" Rachel responded, lifting an eyebrow. "How unusual. Haven't they known about it for five hundred years now?"
"Well, some people have, but it's not an easy place to get to." Parwyn said. "As a matter of fact, they had to send for a Druneweaver powerful enough to cast the magic needed to get to Terrus."
"Curious." Rachel mused, turning back to her letter and beginning to write again in flowing script. "How are the others? Are they worried?"
"Oh, some are." Parwyn nodded. "Bethany Anne and Lilah in particular are frightened stiff. But that's just because they aren't adventurous spirits. Not like you or me."
"You or I." Rachel corrected him, not bothering to look up from her work. "So I take it you're ten sorts of excited, Par?"
"Naturally!" Parwyn laughed. "All I have done has been for this one journey, this one day in time! Just think of it, Rachel! We will be spreading the beauty and message of Calyssa to a people who have never felt her glowing smile before!"
To that, Rachel couldn't help but grin to herself. One of the curious things about her was that she wasn't like the others. They needed to stare at books, memorize long and often cryptic prayers to tap into the might of the Rosequeen's divinely given strength. Rachel did not use books…rather, she just felt it. Parwyn talked of giving people Calyssa's glowing smile, but Rachel felt it every day just by living.
"So when are we leaving?"
"In an hour's passing." Parwyn responded. "The Headmarm is quite frustrated at the moment; she never could deal well with the giggling the rest of our women Calyssans put out when they bring themselves together."
"That will be adequate." Rachel said, nodding her head. Her quill pen continued to scratch away at the paper for a few more moments before she looked up, not at all surprised to find the blond-haired knave Parwyn still looking down at her with that smile of his. "Ehh…Par, is there anything else?"
"No, not that I can think of."
"Well then, could you…" Rachel began, glancing towards the door, "…Let me finish my letter in peace?"
Her former companion lifted his eyebrows. "Oh!" He exclaimed, catching on. "Well then, if you'll excuse me, Rachel…I'd best go make sure that Thomas and the other men are ready for the journey."
Rachel blinked her blue eyes and nodded at him thankfully, going back to her letter as he closed the door behind him.
"He truly is something else." She said quietly, shaking her head back and forth. And she didn't miss having him as a lover for a moment.
She went back to her letter. For all she knew, it could be the last correspondence her family ever got from her for a few years.
Maybe forever. There was a brief pang of remorse in her heart at that, but she stilled it and shook her head.
No, she felt Calyssa's call better than most others here in the temple. And she knew, clear as day, her place was not here by Knighthold, trapped in quiet, unsatisfying service for the rest of her days.
Think well of me, and keep me in your prayers. No matter how far away this Terrus is, I shall always be close if you hold to that. Give my best wishes to my little sister Casie…She always did the same for me. If I can, I will return to you, and have many stories to tell.
I will look forward to that day.
-Your daughter,
Rachel
It was a good conclusion to a long letter. Smiling as she glanced over it one last time, she folded it up and poured the wax from her candle over the flap, sealing it shut with the stamper kept on the desk. When the red wax had hardened, she turned it over and wrote in her family's address.
"Protect them." Rachel whispered, offering up that quick prayer to the Rosequeen. She kissed the letter and went over to pick up her things. She would make sure the letter got delivered before she left. There was little else left to do now, except go and wait with the others.
And maybe then, when they'd crossed the planar boundaries and ventured onto the world of Terrus…
Rachel could finally start living.
Korleen, Central Continent of Ashra
Terrus
The band of green goblin raiders had presumed them an easy target; of course, that had been before the tall figure hidden in his black cloak and hood had lifted an arm up and fired off two magical bolts, ending the life of their leader in one smooth motion.
The others had fallen soon afterwards, either paralyzed and left helpless by the fluttering leathery winged creature's sting accompanying the man, or knocked out cold by a few solid blows to the head from a green six-fingered hand that had appeared out of nowhere.
One of the goblins trembled on the ground, the paralyzing venom of the tiny imp's sting beginning to wear off. He didn't dare move while the same creature rested on his chest, the barbed tail of Morris Redtail gently waving back and forth above his vulnerable throat. "Thought you could score out an easy target, eh? Maybe mug and kill some unlucky passerby, make off with their money and valuables? Morris cracked a toothy grin at the beast. "Well, you messed with the wrong pair today, pal."
Marik stood over the lot of the subdued greens with a passive stance, his glowing mage hand sifting through the meager valuables that the raiding party had had on them.
About thirty silver pieces. A few gold dragons, too.
Morris glanced over to him. "Is that all they were carrying?" He tsked. "Shame. Not even a stinking shiny rock? Goblins are supposed to love shiny rocks!"
Marik used his Sorceror's hand to pocket the money. I'm afraid not, Morris. But it was still a profitable encounter.
Morris fluttered off of the goblin, glaring down at him. "I say we kill 'em all and be done with it. Goblins are nothing but trouble."
Without their leader, they're harmless. Marik responded over their telepathic link. He motioned briefly to the singular corpse in their midst. It will take them forever to decide a new pack leader…and they'll kill one or two more of themselves in the process. They don't need us to help them with that.
Morris pointed a finger down at the creature he'd been resting on, not taking his eyes from the thing's beady eyes as he landed back on Marik's shoulder. "You're getting off lucky, you sorry beast. Next time, think twice before coming after travelers!" He managed a brief raspberry before Marik set off along the southern road, moving at a clipped, but casual pace.
It's not a bad start to our journey, is it my little friend?
"Aah, what do I know?" Morris grumbled. "You earned a few coins and we helped to keep the road safe. Isn't that in line with your faith?"
Keeping the road safe is a lauded thing in the Traveler's path, yes.Marik nodded, his hood bobbing up and down. But we shouldn't dwell on it. It's getting late, and we need to find a place to rest for the evening. Preferably somewhere where raiders won't come with a knife at our throats in the middle of the night.
They crested a hill, and the imp could make out an inn at the roadside in the distance, its chimney letting out wafts of pale pink smoke in the dwindling sunlight. "Hey heeeeey! That place has possibilities!"
Marik gave it a scrutinizing look. Convenient…But I was hoping to save some money.
"Oh, come on Marik!" Morris Redtail goaded him, his tail swishing back and forth across the Sorceror's shoulder. "Live a little. It's our first night out! Let's celebrate in style!"
Marik managed a long sigh before he nodded his head in acquiescence. All right, Morris. We'll spoil ourselves tonight. But after that…
"I know, I know." Morris said, interrupting the comment. "We can't live like kings forever."
We'll have to use that little trick you and I practiced.
Morris looked up at him, surprised. "Already? Are you sure I couldn't just…"
If I terrify men, you frighten them. In the hood, Morris.
The imp let out a petulant and feeble groan, but climbed inside of Marik's hood, brushing a wing against his friend's cheek. "I tell you, it feels weird being in here. It's weird to be your voice in general, but this is something else."
The only difference with this is that they think that I'm talking for myself. And you know why, Morris. The same as I do.
"It's just you and me, I know." Morris agreed, the inn coming up closer on them. "Everyone else can't be trusted."
Marik nodded gravely at that. It was a truth he'd long ago come to accept, and a truth he and his familiar would have to keep in mind as they explored the world.
The world was a dangerous place, especially to the likes of them. It was better to trust no one than risk trusting somebody and being killed for it. Marik brooded over that thought as they approached the inn's door.
Morris wondered if they had stewed rabbit.
The Island of Nessene, Southwest of the Central Continent of Ashra
Terrus
Nessene had an almost tropical climate to it in spite of its latitude, but there was a reason for that. Long ago, it had been home to a powerful nymph Sorceress who had permanently reshaped the weather to her liking, and because of that, the island was named for her. Now in the New Era, Nessene Isle served as the home of the portal between Terrus and all the other worlds and planes.
The portal itself was a majestic triangular gateway made of obsidian, granite, and various metals which helped to better channel the energies necessary to keep the interplanar rift open. People walking by would be quick to notice the guards and mages about the entrance circle, who were kept there to make sure that nothing ever went amiss. Today, they were especially numerous. A group of new arrivals was coming, sanctioned by the Nessene Elders. They wanted nothing to go wrong with the transit.
From the triangular doorway of the planes, a party of fifteen individuals, all garbed in silks and satins of every bright color, yet predominantly red, emerged through the glimmering white light. Disoriented for but a moment, they took stock of their surroundings.
A robed man, one of the mages in Nessene's guard, stepped forward to an older woman and presumably the leader of the assembly in the front of the pack. Calmly he pulled out a pen and notebook. "Names, and the purpose of your visit?"
The middle aged woman was still beautiful enough to make young men stare, and her bright red hair made her all the more exotic. She flicked it back and set a hand to her waist, drinking in the attention. "We are the servants of Calyssa Rosequeen, the goddess of beauty. We hail from The Realm, come to this distant world to spread her passionate message to the masses."
The man chortled as he finished writing in the ledger. "I see. Well, welcome to Terrus milady. I don't know how effective your…missionary work will be, but for what it's worth, good luck." The gatekeeper bowed one last time and departed.
Parwyn wrinkled his nose as he looked around. "It's rather plain here." He muttered dourly. Apparently a tropical climate and lush greenery surrounding the remarkable edifice of transport was not impressive.
Their leader, the headmarm laughed at that. "Oh, that can change. Come along, everyone!" The assembled missionaries began to shuffle off, but one young woman with long brown hair hesitated, looking around in wonder.
"Rachel! Rachel Ashbury!" The headmarm called back to her. The girl, as beautiful on Terrus as she had been back at the convent outside of Knighthold, let out a squeak of surprise and glanced forwards, stopping her daydreaming. "We're leaving, Rachel. Stop dawdling and come along!"
"I'm coming." Rachel sighed in exasperation. She hefted her traveling bag over her shoulder and trotted after the rest of her peers.
Unlike Parwyn, Rachel decided as she glanced about, this world had much beauty to behold. It was hard to see, true, but real beauty usually was.
"It's not Knighthold, true." Rachel said to herself, brushing her long brown hair back. She didn't finish the sentence, choosing to keep that in her mind.
But there is much about this world that Calyssa would love.
Somewhere in the eastern Crannogh Heights
The shepherd had been minding his own business, tending the flock of woolies calmly grazing on the grassy tundra of Crannogh's hills. That had been his first mistake, to be at that one particular region. The assassin had fallen upon him and ended his life in a moment, severing his head clean off with a quick slicing blow from one of his serrated silver-edged shortswords, stowed back away as quick as it had come. The sheep had bleated a few times, but didn't panic, too obsessed with feeding their stomachs.
They called him the Grey Shadow. It was a grim name, he mused as he gnawed away at his prize. The precious life-giving fluids within the shepherd's head were a sweet nectar to his perverted taste. It also served to hide his kills from those gifted with magesight. Perhaps he truly was a shadow in their eyes…he of course knew better.
But far be it from him to try and end any dreaded mythology surrounding him. In the same moment he was pleased with himself, he was concerned as well. He had targeted that precocious nobleman in Sorvindal as his most recent mark. The job had gained him the promise of a thousand gold from a distant mage and a great deal of notoriety, perhaps more than he would have liked. The bounty on his head, as he understood it, was now three times what he had been offered as payment.
He finished his snack with a loud slurping sound, holding the now empty cask of the shepherd's bushy-haired head up with one hand. Pity. He'd had better, of course…but he couldn't always be choosy. Not while he was being pursued by that stubborn warrior. Nash? Niles? It was something like that, but the Grey Shadow could have cared less. Far more memorable was that fool's nickname, 'The Cursed Blade'. The assassin doubted he'd done that man any favors by paying off the local orc dissidents to ambush him and his team of adventurers. He didn't know how many of the swordsman's party had survived, but he knew the man himself had.
He'd heard the scream.
The sun was setting, and soon it would be night. The Grey Shadow was looking forward to that; like all others of his profession, and his ilk, he worked and moved best in the darkness. It made him stronger.
He took a moment to resecure his mask, once again covering his face behind the wall that hid his true self from the world. As for the empty head in his hand, he would discard it a few miles from here, in a hidden location where it wouldn't be found by anyone connected to the case. A skilled enough constable or kingdom guard might identify the headless corpse of the shepherd as the work of the infamous Grey Shadow, the assassin that came in the night through closed windows turned mysteriously open and left without the barest trace of his gruesome work, save the headless body. But that would be tomorrow, or the next day, whenever someone got worried enough about this unlucky shepherd to send out a search party.
By then, the Grey Shadow would be miles away, on a sloping westward track to the opposite side of Ashra. Once he reached Istus, he would simply vanish into thin air.
That poor cursed swordsman would be none the wiser. The sheep looked up at the curious noise the assassin made as he walked in the opposite direction of the approaching darkness, to the last vestiges of the sunset. Ness had been right, though he was miles away and off of the assassin's trail.
The Grey Shadow was laughing at him.