Chapter 9: Dreams
Only dust remains. Dust and emptiness. I do not know what I am. I had a name, but it is gone. I am nothing. I am locked in darkness, tumbling without end through broken memories. I remember blue. The blue sky was slashed red by the fire. I could smell smoke. There were castle walls on the horizon. Fire leaped from cracks in their sides.
The dead were a slick carpet on the ground. The warrior stood amongst the corpses, his gray armor spattered, his mouth open like a dog panting for air. His pupils were black bullet holes in amber irises.
Blood pumped in my veins, roaring in my ears. I was running, firing as I moved, churning the dead into bloody mud with each step. The magic crossbow in my hands shook with a thunderous rhythm. The gray warrior snarled and leaped to meet me. Rounds hit the ground around him, raising red craters in dead flesh behind his feet.
He had an axe, head a chest-wide span of black iron, its cutting edge curved like a skull's smile. I remember it singing in the air. The axe hit me in the side. It cut deep.
I remember the pain, star bright, and ice cold. I bled, red liquid running over silver armor, over gold, red drooling onto the ground. I looked up as the warrior pulled his axe back. Blood fell from the blade edge. It glittered in the sun, crimson against the blue sky. I put him down then, I shot him until he was broken armor and folds of meat.
I killed him before death could take me. I remember that I felt anger and joy at that moment, but I do not know why. The memory fades. I am alone again.
I have a shape. It is a shape like that of a man, but I am hollow. I am just the outline. I have hands but cannot touch them. I have no mouth, but I have been screaming since I began my fall. I want to breathe, but I cannot. I cannot remember what it is to breathe; only what it is to drown in an abyss, to sink without hitting the bottom. Time passes. I can feel it passing, like wind burying a statue in the sand. I had a name once.
It is an echo, fading but never vanishing, forever beyond hearing. I was once flesh, but that is gone.
"Christoff" The voice comes to me out of the black night.
I know the name, but I do not remember why. I remember the fire. It was white, the stark white of a sun's heart. It roared from a black sky and remade me.
I fell to my hands and knees. The ground beneath me was red dust, the color of rust, the color of dried blood. Pain, hotter and sharper than any wound, filled me. I could not see; the fire took my eyes first, and then it took my tongue before I could scream. Inside my armor, my muscles bunched, straining against metal.
The fire burned through me, blistering my skin. I felt mouths open across my body, a thousand mouths each with razor teeth, each babbling a plea for the pain to stop. The fire pulled through my body like hands through wet clay.
I was suffocating as if sinking in sand. The acidic touch of panic burnt my flesh. I could not breathe. I could not move. Everything stopped. It is like a razor drawn through the memory, a hard-line severing me from everything that came before.
I felt nothing. I stood slowly, the dust spilling from my armor. I begin to walk, one slow step at a time. A dull haze shrouds the world. Besides me, other shapes move. They are lumbering figures, like walking statues. Somewhere in the distance, I can see a cluster of figures. Golden light outlines their shapes. They stand as if waiting. I walk towards them, towards the light. I cannot remember my name. The memory breaks, and I spin on through the empty dark.
"Christoff" It is a dream voice shouting from the darkness.
I can see light. It is distant, like a moon glimpsed from beneath the waves. The light is getting brighter and closer. I am rising out of the dark. Hands that I cannot see are pulling me. I can feel fingers gripping flesh that I do not have. I try to stop. I cannot stop. The light is getting brighter and brighter; it is a sun that I cannot look away from.
"Christoff" the dream voice says again.
I am drowning but I cannot breathe. I thrash my arms. Cold metal holds me still. I am a swirl of dust rattling in a skin of metal
"Christoff." says the voice that is a thought. I know the name.
"Christoff"
It is my name. I can see. The world is movement, fire, and the roar of distant sounds. I am standing on a plain of leaping fire and melting snow. Beside me is a figure. He wears armor the blue of the desert sky, and his helm rises into a high crest of lapis and gold.
Silk robes flutter around him, though there is no wind. Golden light glows from him, filling my eyes. He is more real than anything else I can see. It must have been his voice that called me from my sleep; I know this but do not know why. He turns and points. I step forward. I have a weapon in my hands.
I see an armored warrior moving toward us. His armor is the gray of storm clouds. I fire. Blue trails of flame find the gray warrior, and he staggers to his knees before he burns. I am moving forwards, turning my eyes on the world around me. Other figures in plate armor advance beside me; we move as one.
There are more gray warriors moving towards me. They are tall but hunched with speed. I see axes, swords, and gray armor painted with bright colors in jagged patterns.
I see black pupils in wide yellow eyes. They shout as they come. I can hear them. I can understand them. They are screaming for vengeance. A blow strikes my shoulder. There is a cut in the metal of my armor, a dark gash through metal to the black void within. I feel nothing. The cut glows; it breeds green maggots of light and then closes like a silenced mouth. I turn my head. I see a warrior pulling back his blade from another strike. His face is bare and his beard is wet and red with blood.
A cut runs across his face from temple to cheek. I can see white bone in the open lips of the wound. He is a pace from me. I do not know how he got so close. I fire. My weapon is low and the bolts tear the warrior's legs off in a blaze that burns even after he falls.
His flesh begins to cook inside his armor. I take a pace forwards, stepping through the flames. I pause. Memories swirl in the darkness within my skin, rattling like sand against bronze. I watch the gray warrior burn, become ash, become dust. I know this should mean something, but in my memory, there is only the emptiness that drowns all else. I am an outline held in a dream of falling, and this moment means nothing.
"Christoff!" The voice calls out again
After being shaken awake, he finally wakes up and practically jumps out of his bed. He had been breathing heavily, he looked around the room to see Scama. The candle had flickered as if it was anticipating an awkward one-sided conversation already.
It had taken Christoff a few seconds to acknowledge her, but soon he had turned to her
"What do you need?" He replied, seemingly not harboring the same hurry she had.
She let out a sigh "Everyone is already waiting for you, we have to leave soon."
Christoff shrugged "I am only human, that is not my issue."
Only Human. His own words rang out in his ears and the ears of Scama. They were both human and surely both of their parents had expected them to outlive war or conflict and live beyond it. But at the moment, all they had known was war and they had already seen too many friends come and go. Scama could easily hold a conversation, but Christoff could not. They were two sides of the same coin.
With the sound of her teeth smacking against her lips she turned "Fine, please do try and hurry or we will leave without you."
Christoff replied
"I will only be a moment."
His response had caught her off guard for a moment, she was expecting silence. Any other time she said something that warranted a reply, he would be quiet
"We were born for more." Christoff muttered
The female adventurer looked at him. Christoff had realized he had spoken out loud and unguarded. Christoff was about to brush his remark off to the side but Scama had held her gaze. Scama had simply nodded, her eyes betrayed a sad hint of empathy.
"Yes, we were." She said, "Born to fashion a future."
"And enjoy it." Said Christoff
"Enjoy it, yes. Be part of it, not just as some midwives. When we were born, the future seemed as if it were full of possibilities." Scama said.
"And now there is only war." Christoff muttered.
Scama exhaled and then let out a light laugh. She reached back behind her head and rubbed the dyed white hair that she had.
"I am sure we will prevail, Christoff." Scama said "One day you will be able to break your sword and hang up your shield and you will sit and laugh from a window, see children playing in the street again without fear or aegis.
"You believe that without any hesitation, don't you Scama?"
"I have to, the alternative is unacceptable." She said
"But from how you spoke, you do not see that as your future then?" Christoff spoke
He had clearly worded this wrong as Scama had gotten red in the face once again, which had puzzled him. The room was a decent temperature, yet it looked as if she was overheating.
Before she could respond, the door swung open again and the blonde priestess had shown herself. Christoff bit the side of his cheek, he truly did not want to deal with this hassle the first thing in the morning.
"Scama dear, we must hurry."
"I am aware, Lilyette."
"I have to say goodbye to Father-in-law-sama!" The priestess exclaimed
Christoff raised an eyebrow, this woman was beyond comprehension. He had seen his share of people, but for some reason, this priest acted like everything else but one.
"I can not believe I had to give up such ripe fruit." The priestess exclaimed, "This is truly unfathomable."
For once, Christoff wished he had to deal with the elf. Though he disliked her, she was not a constant annoyance like this Priestess had been. He wondered how Scama put up with her, but if they are close friends that would explain it. Obviously, they were, why else would they be traveling together?
"Why must you always speak of ripe fruits?" Christoff spoke, aggravation had been growing more apparent in his voice. Scama let out another sigh, as Christoff had cut her off from speaking right before she was about to.
"You don't know, huh? The woman shrugged "Well, the older a person isthe more unrip-"
"Enough, I have already grown bored of your explanation. Perhaps you can see another priest and get your psych examined."' Christoff had cut her off, he already knew where the conversation was going. What a foul woman this one was.
"Enough both of you." Scama spoke finally "I don't want to hear the both of you bickering the whole way to the Theocracy."
Christoff rolled his eyes, how was this even considered bickering? The two had finally walked out and he readied himself, quickly following behind.
Christoff is acutely aware that he is simply a cloak for this party, an instrument placed at the edge of a table so the others can speak unguardedly. His nothingness to this party gives him great value, even Scama who had talked to him the most had not really paid him any attention.
The other three members of the party barely see him, they do try but even with their heightened senses they still struggle. A piece of stained light in which the image of a worn-down knight appears, if you strain to look. But they do not. Harder still to bear, Christoff is but an ache in their joints and the taste of bile in their throats.
Christoff is able to see everything for once.
Christoff does not participate, for he is really not there to talk. Occasionally, he watched the flames in the candle flicker as he grew bored hearing the trio go back and forth. The flames on the candles are never the same shape twice, almost as if they are snowflakes. The rising smoke streaks of the wicks that had died what seems like moments prior. The whorls of the wood on the tabletop had tight lines in them marking the years that had gone by. The stone walls that had been on the inside of the Inn had been uneven. They had been covered in emblems before it looked like, but now whatever insignias had once been there were faint.
Christoff thinks the party he is with would make good myths and he hopes they get the chance. He admires Scama the most out of the party, currently, she is speaking with the Rogue about the best possible route. She seems to be the focus of the party's trust. Everything hangs upon her, like the heaviest set of armor that had ever been forged. Her armor is surprisingly plain save for a brown cloth that had been wrapped around her thighs.
As she speaks, Christoff does not pay close attention as he believes he is not there for his opinion. He finds himself wondering if she would even expect him to listen or if she assumes that his bluntness is as external as it is internal. She talks of different routes, routes a contact had already laid in. Battle formations, what to do if a death knight appears. Christoff is not sure how she keeps the surfeit of detail so readily at the front of his mind, he is impressed.
The Rogue listens and makes comments regarding the strategy. He follows as well as Christoff does, which is fairly well but not well enough. Christoff had likened him to Nate just by how he acted, but they are a lot different. His armor had also been bland, leather armor with a hood that covered his eyes. A rogue had always been a liability, in Christoff's eyes but when it came to planningthey occasionallyknew best. At almost every point, he countered Scama but it amounted to nothing as she was dead set.
Lilyette had listened silently. She was the second oddest person that Christoff had ever had the displeasure of meeting. The woman was attractive, though her personality was atrocious. That was something they had in common perhaps. She wore silk white robes, almost too short for her with her staff sitting next to her. She was not paying attention, she had her hand under her chin sulking.
His gaze goes back to the candles, he watches their flickering light dance on Scama's polished armor. He smells the dead smoke, the oil in the table's wood, and the dust that had been lodged in the rafters. Though what strikes him the most, is Scama who smells of balms. The rest of what he smelt, stood out as the most sweet-smelling thing. The clean body odor.
He found himself wondering that if when his time comes, will he even register any satisfaction, or fulfillment for what he has done. Duty is cold, and he has done his part. It is functional like plate armor and it served a purpose but it never filled the hollowness that had dwelled within Christoff, especially during these recent times.
Scama continued to re-emphasize the importance of leaving and taking the routes that were given to her, but she is missing a key thing. The Theocracy only knows so much, though it is better than going in line. It would indeed be a calculated risk to take that route.
"Christoff, what do you think?" Scama asked, her blue eyes staring so fierce they felt as if they were piercing through him.
He shrugged, such matters were beneath him.
"I do not mind what path we take, so long as we continue the fight." He stated
The Rogue let out a sigh "Such an attitude will lead to the death of us, now not only does Scama have such a distasteful attitude but the newcomer does."
The inner drama of parties had always annoyed Christoff, even when he was a mithril adventurer. Had people spent more time fine-tuning their coordination and strategies instead of bickering, death would be a rarity in the world of Adventurers. As aKnight you are told what to do, though you may hold internal conflicts regarding the order there is little you can do about it and most orders have a place in the grand scheme of things.
The Priestess continued to sulk, she was present but her mind was elsewhere. It was people like this that annoyed Christoff to no end, it was people like that which also attributed to him quitting being an adventurer the first time around.
"A rogue such as yourself who has likely never fought in a fair battle once in their despicable life has no claim to say such things. When you learn of honor, you can say that again." Christoff spoke, his gaze shifted to the man and then back to the sulking woman
"You continue to sulk like you are a puppy who did not get what they desired, get over yourself. Such incompetencies are what leads to Adventurer groups meeting their end." He finished.
He meant to remain silent, but he could not bring himself to do such a thing. Their mannerisms had annoyed him, they had reminded him of why he did not miss this life. How Scama dealt with them was beyond him, how he was going to deal with this group until they got out of the Country had also been beyond him.
The Rogue cackled, he shook his head and was about to speak but decided not to. One look at Scama would reveal why he shut up. Even the Priestess who had been sulking half the meeting had diverted her attention to the woman. Scama was furious, Christoff had figured it was because of his outburst not that he cared anyway. She was grinding her teeth or so it seemed.
"Enough!" Her voice boomed throughout the Inn; anyone that was present in the Inn had now had their attention on the party.
"There is some truth to what you say, Christoff." She said, her voice switched to a calm and monotone voice which had slightly unnerved the man.
"You are not the one to say such things to my party. This is not your party, your party is gone. Keep that in mind, I have no problem with removing you from my party. Whatever you think, it would be wise to keep that in your head rather than saying it aloud to those who can hear you." She finished, her gaze still locked on Christoff as if she was waiting for a reply.
"I apologize." He muttered, that was the best response she would get from him. Defending his actions to these people would be pointless, it is best to agree and move on.
"There is a tunnel to the southwest, if we take that it can get us close enough to the border of the Slane Theocracy." She said "That is where we will go, we are spending precious time debating when we should be getting a move on."
With that, everyone got up from their seats and went to collect their stuff. Christoff had very few items to begin with, his waterskin had been full but rations were at an all-time low. Luckily, there were some vendors in the city so he would be able to get resupplied. Tunnel's had never been Christoff's favorite thing and with this whole war, he is going to hate to see how they are. Many monsters dwelled within the sub-sectors of this land and now there were luckily undead who found their way down there.
The Sorcerer King was not stupid, everyone knew that. There was also a chance that he had cordoned that tunnel off which if he had, that would cause major complications. Anything that he did was beyond Christoff's understanding so if the tunnel was left alone, it would likely be for some reason that would perplex him.
Christoff rummaged through his bag while in his room, he made counts of how many rations he had as well as other perishables. No knock had been heard on his door, which brought him some form of comfort. Being alone was a blessing and a curse at the same time for him, not dealing with that woman made him feel at ease.
Fifteen minutes later, he met the rest of the party outside of the Inn, and without a word they departed.
It took longer than they expected when it came to navigating through the foliage to the tunnels, but they had finally found it. A large cavern was in front of them with nothing in sight, no sign of the Sorcerer King's forces or anyone else for that matter.
"This is it." Scama said, walking forward.
The other two followed behind her but Christoff hesitated, this was it. The last he would likely see of his former kingdom, soon he would be going to a nation he hated. Christoff did not know what plans they had in store for these adventurers but the fact that they had been taking in adventurers prior meant that they were likely going to be used in a front-line role. He wondered if he would even find the Blue Roses there, though if he did he was not sure how that would go since he deems them, traitors.
Christoff was not much different, he is abandoning his Kingdom but the difference is that the Re-Estize no longer exists so technically he cannot abandon something that is a fleeting memory.
Gripping his sword in its scabbard, he finally followed behind the other two and descended into the darkness of the cave.