Chapter 1
The Celestial Pinkness
After a hard night at the forge, Yulgar opens up his Inn for business. As he sees everyday, once he opens up he sees an empty and a lonely town, that's soon to be filled by passing soldiers that go in for only about a week, then they go out into the field again. Indeed, these are hard times.
The town's garden square has deteriorated, leaving only a few crops of wilted grass and dried up trees. The wooden buildings have aged greatly in the last few months, weakening them, making them more vulnerable to termites, and causing them to "wrinkle" and crack. Most of the townsfolk has either died or moved to another town.
Two hours after sunrise, a platoon of soldiers could be seen marching in the distance. Some holding spears, some swords, and some just shields. They wore the signature gray plate with a yellow accent, accompanied by a red cape. The Guardians approached, tired and weary from a long week's battle. And among them was a person no one expected to come, but was generally joyful that he did. The remaining people of Battleon was exulted at his arrival, because after almost a year of not dropping by, after almost a year of battling the undead in Greenguard: Artix von Krieger has returned. And with him he wielded his golden-undead-slaying axe, which has killed over a thousand undead soldiers.
Yulgar opened all the doors to the Inn. Under normal circumstances, he would prepare a lot more than 2 kegs, but shortage has brought him to serving sweetened-water. The Paladin leader went straight to Yulgar's desk, while the other soldiers try to find comfort in the lounge and living room, cheering and toasting to each other, all the while they try to hide the immense feeling of fear and regret.
"Hm." Yulgar scans his now-filled Inn. "Your numbers decrease every time you enter this place. I recall just last summer you needed all three-floors. But now you're barely occupied the first two." He grabbed a glass mug from under the tabletop. "Here," he glanced around. "One of the very few quality drinks left. You seem to need it."
Seem to need it was what he said, but that was a great euphemism. Artix looked like and undead paladin. There were bags under his eyes, his stature was grimly thin, but yet he kept the strength to carry on the guardian army. His hair was no longer formal and orderly, it was wavy, curled, and just plain messy.
"Thanks Yulgar. This might be getting hard for you, huh? Everything's just falling apart." Artix stares at the alcohol-filled mug. He looks at his reflection, and the reflection of the other soldiers around him. "Everything's just falling."
The ambient happiness of the soldiers was dubious too, at least, sarcastic, until they got to cheering Artix' battle prowess.
"Did you see how he killed that Undead hell-hound with just one swing?" Said one.
"The skeletal Goliath that took 12 soldiers to wound, took him 3!" Exclaim the other.
"How about that time when Mir took a spear to the shoulder, Artix healed her almost as easily."
"We will never lose!"
The others repeated the chant.
"They seem rather optimistic." Yulgar wipes the mug in his hand. "Of course, soldiers of war should celebrate every moment they could outside the battlefield, in the comfort of safety. But with an undead threat and the Plague, well, one could only say."
"Yeah well, anything to get the memory of battle out of their minds. At least, for just a moment. But it's a bit too late for it to get out of my mind. See this Yulgar?" Artix removes his right hand-glove. "This mark."
The Innkeeper saw burned skin. Yulgar saw something else. "W-where did you get that?"
The mark burned a symbol into the target's hand, no matter where the spell initially hit him. It was a mufti-layered circle that got more severe the closer it got to the middle. What's so insidious about it is that only an ancient kind of undead can cast such a spell, and that it casts a cursed wound that can never be healed and worsens over time.
"I didn't know any undead magus was capable of this. So far only two people have been hit by it. Me, and that man in the corner." He pointed to a helmeted soldier, presumably sleeping, leaning his head on the corner of the wall. "I don't think he's noticed it yet."
"How well do you know him?" Yulgar asked, because that soldier was the only one with the helm on. "Seems pretty distant from the others."
"I don't know. Just showed up to the army one day. Fights pretty well, so I never questioned his identity. As long as he fights for our side, then that's good enough. One thing though. He's not the typical warrior. I've tested him once in a spar. He doesn't use a long sword that well, but the moment he drew two short swords, that was a different story."
"Oh? That's surprising."
"That's not all though. I've tried and met each one of these soldiers, at least before they go to war. I haven't seen his. He's very adamant about removing the helm. The kind of adamant that possesses either masked convicts or those with a bad past.."
"If I were you, I'd go up to him right now, get to him face-to-face. Because in my years of war experience, if the tide of battle turns, almost always there would be the one guy that gets selfish. Don't let that anonymity be the reason." Yulgar puts down the last mug. "Now if you'll excuse me, Hans and I have to finish cleaning up the Forge. The weapons-"
"Wait." Artix went behind the counter. "We actually, need less the usual amount this week."
"Yeah, I know. I anticipated this much of a loss in numbers, I decreased the weapon-count in conjunction."
"No, that's not it. Uh, I actually don't know how to tell you."
Yulgar's been working at the Inn almost his whole life. So long actually that he accidentally studied the behavioral patterns of his customers when they are in discomfort, or when they're trying to deceive him, or when they're genuinely happy. Kinesics, haptics, all kinds of nonverbal languages. Such is the trade of the Innkeeper.
What is Artix... you're showing me signs of nervousness.. of, oh. "Concealed dissapointment."
"I guess I don't have to tell you then."
"It's not my fault. Beer-stocks' been running low, and we all know damn well why."
"What? No, it's not that. But rather, a question has been forced to become asked, and such a question was, I thought, would never become applicable to you, Yulgar, considered one of Lore's best smiths, probably the best one there is on land."
Yulgar glanced around the Inn. That's when he saw what Artix might be referring to. At first he didn't believe it, but now that he's seeing real physical signs of it, it has to be considered.
"Oh."
"It's not your fault man. Divinity's just on a whole different level than Lorean weaponry. Somehow the Plague couldn't get to Adder's weapons, or at least, gets to them slower, but it completely deteriorated yours after a few clashes with the dead."
"Excuse me." Yulgar leaves to go to the back room. He ordered Hans to take care of the customers in his absence.
Artix was sad, because he knew how much Yulgar takes pride in his weapons. But the Plague is getting in the way of that ,and that made Artix frustrated, even angry, to the point that he cracked the wooden floorboard with just one step. Everyone looked at him for a moment, but he ignored the surprised soldiers and went to the one who wasn't. The helmeted soldier who was probably the best one he had left.
Every now and then the Guardian army hires an adventurer to Guardianship, and usually this act of hiring increases the number of soldiers. But as time went on, the number of keen and battle-curious adventurers decreased, resulting to the only two new recruits that they got for this year: Gom and Boa.
They were siblings, very odd siblings at that. The army's fond to have them around. They have no real battle-value, but they make up for it by their attitudes. Gom was older, stronger, fatter. Boa was younger, and the exact opposite from his brother. Over the armor, almost no other difference could be seen between them. They had the same blond hair, golden eyes, and the same height. Gom's voice was higher and thinner, Bom's was deep and low.
It was the middle of the afternoon. Most of them were asleep, except for the brother and sister. Bom was on a hill top, a little up north from the Guardian Tower, observing the vast fields of grass that's wilting away. Gom was behind her, looking upon the town, a shadow of its former self. The spring breeze felt like winter's. Slow and cold.
Bom raised her collar against the cold wind. He wore a sleeveless jacket, not because he wanted to, but because it was a special gift from his brother. The sleeves were torn away during an accident, and so he made a fresh alter to the whole clothing for consistency. He never bothered to remove the metal-leggings, because he believed war's close enough that he'd put them back on again anyways. Why not leave a piece of armor on indefinitely?
"Haven't you ever thought of it as a dome, brother?" Bom inquired, even though he knew Gom wouldn't even think deeply about his answer back.
"Hm."
"We don't have the technology to leave Lore. Abandoning the planet isn't an option. And we also can't just cure it as easily. I mean, even if we a cure actually existed, we could either be dead by the time it's found or we it might be diminished by the Plague for all that matters."
"Oh, huh?" Gom raised his head sleepily. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
"You're never paying attention. But that's okay. Ignorance is bliss."
"No sis, it's not that." Gom clenched the grass and soil beneath him, getting a sense of the dying world they live on. "What's the point of contemplating? Because there is such a thing as hope and despair. People think their the opposite sides of the same coin, but they're not. Hope is an eraser, it deletes sadness and melancholy, brings about clarity, happiness. But this..." Boa looked to where his hand was. Dirt and soil turning as fine as sand. "This is despair. It's not written by ink; it's carved in stone. Hope can only do so much."
Boa grinned. Not out of surrender, but of surprise. "You barely say things like that. From mom's death, to joining the army, to the plague. Maybe it is a dome after all, trapping us here, forcing out change when we don't expect it. We were always taught that to change the world, you have to change yourself. But the world is change. Even if you don't want to, you'll be brought along with the river, carried to unknown shores with everyone alive."
"Look sis I appreciate everything you're saying but right now it's not making any sense to me. I just want to grab some rest under the pale pink sky."
Silence.
"Wait, what?" Boa gazes up immediately, upon the cherry-blossom sky. "What is this?"
"I don't know. But it's expanding. I've been staring at it ever since we came up here."
"You don't think that this might be... Gom?"
"The plague? Is it affecting the sky too?"
They stood up from their resting place. The siblings hurried down to the town-square and split up. Boa went to the Inn and Gom hurried to the Guardian Tower. The two roused every sleeping soul in town, because weirdly enough, no one seems to have noticed.
After only a few minutes, everyone gathered beneath the Guardian tower, except for Artix. Gom was with a few officers atop the guardian tower.
"What on Lore is that?" someone asked.
"Isn't it not clear? It's the Plague! It's eating the ground, and now it's draining the sky!" An old man from the back of the crowd shouted.
"It's the work of the gods! They're telling us something! Isn't that right?"
"It might be a random mutation in the atmosphere!" another one imposed.
For the first few minutes of observing the growing pink sky, many theories were thrown around. Most of them threw the general public into chaos, such that the guardians had a hard time keeping order.
Near the Inn, Yulgar and Hans were also looking upon the strange scenery. They were one of the first who noticed it, just before Boa got to the Inn to warn them.
"Hans." Yulgar closed the window.
"Yes, sir. I want to doubt it, too, but at we're seeing here,"
"When that crack in the sky first appeared, we were assured by the Eternal that it wouldn't do this. Because when it does-"
"It signifies a bad future." Hans continued. Taking off his glasses, he heads down to the forge.
"Tsk." Yulgar watched his apprentice walk down the metal steps. "I never thought the day would come when Hans returns to the forge. When he shows what he's really capable of. But what about you, hero? Where are you now? We need you."
