Chapter 3:
"Call me your Savior…"
The day came in good graces, it seemed. It was a rare occurrence in that land torn at the center by order. The sun shone bright, for the first time in many years, it seemed. Breaking through the trees that always seemed dead, and finally resting on the skin of that young Elvaan, whose life was no better than the kingdom he served, torn asunder by an order.
An order that held no order
An order divided
Always divided
The stone sidewalks were still cold, as the morning sun tried its best to look through the mystery and fog that surrounded the kingdom of San d'Oria. Peeking over the walls, only to meet a volley of glares from the nobles within, those who would not have their lives told. Those who lived in secret and those who lived in the utter shame of shadows.
But that young Elvaan, so young and so naïve to the world, did not live in the same shame. It did not seem like he did, but not even he could tell. He served those who lived in that shame; he was only reminded as he passed the Temple Knight, who stood keeping watch over the Eastern gate. That knight whose purpose would end in due time, from politics or war.
But was there a difference?
Was there really?
"You there sir," piped the sure voice of a merchant who stepped towards the young warrior, gracing him up and down with his eyes as though they were past friends. "A young adventurer like you must certainly be in need of some medicine. I'm sure of it. Every young adventure…" but his voice only dragged on to leave the young warrior's mind, letting the merchant ramble on more and more before he finally snapped from the forced daydream.
"I don't need your lies…" the cliché response of the warrior who lived alone on the edge came again from Eprisom's lips, passing like daggers he may find some day in his back.
"But come now…" the merchant again persisted, taking another step and offering up a bottle of potion.
"I said…NO!" Eprisom yelled once more, gripping at the aged merchant's throat and squeezing. No more words came out of that merchants mouth as he gasped for the small bit of air that warrior allowed.
A torture worse than anything
Worse than any could conceive on purpose
The anger within Eprisom's eyes flared up in an odd way that day. It was no longer a hatred for someone specific. It was not a hatred for the kingdom he served out of fear for living in poverty, nor was it the hatred seen when he look an orc in the face. It was anger for the world, an anger that would go unquenched, that was for certain.
"You there!" shrieked another voice from about the corner, one that even sent Eprisom to a stumble, dropping the merchant as he stepped ready to fight. The voice came to the body of a taller Elvaan, dressed as a Royal Knight, but his helmet removed to reveal a face of legend.
"Delacroix Neveau…" Eprisom said softly, glaring through his flaming hair at the legendary knight that stood before him now.
"Eprisom right…yeah…that's it…" the knight went on, stepping closer to the young adventurer and the gasping merchant. "I saw you when you came in to San d'Oria…you caused some trouble then too…" the knight whispered on, now standing in front of the young warrior, starring down to him with accusing eyes.
"Trouble tends to follow me around," the cliché playing out in the Elvaan's eyes as he narrowed them to the legendary knight standing before him now.
"I'll bet it does…" was the last thing the knight offered as he helped the merchant to his feet, shooing along the young warrior who only stomped away in that childish fit of anger. The anger flaring up once more before he turned the corner, cursing himself once more before finally calming.
When your only tool is a hammer, they say, you tend to treat everything like it's a nail. They were words that echoed in a millions peoples heads, but they never even crossed the large ears of that young warrior. Those who tend to benefit the most, never find what would truly matter to them.
It's the way of the world
It always has been
It always will be
The world was not fair; no one ever said it was. But when the world spits in your face, you think it should be. This was another fact that you could deny as much as you wanted, but it wouldn't make it false. Just because you deny, doesn't mean it's not true. It would always be that way, no matter how hard you tried, and no matter how much you fought, and no matter who you fought for, the world would not treat you as an equal.
That young warrior, once more overcome with that torrent of emotions that didn't make sense, was now sitting, back against the wall, in the alleys of the city that was regretfully his home now. The city only managed the cloud his mind so very much. But it was all you could expect from a city with dirty politicians and civil wars within the family that ruled.
"Hey you…" that kind a fearful voice sang once more from before the Elvaan. Standing to hold the voice in her hand was a young Mithra, her kind eyes searching for the good in that Elvaan once more.
"Haven't you heard…trouble follows me…" replied Eprisom, keeping his head low, but forcing his eyes to look up through his fiery hair, into the eyes of the young girl.
"Trouble doesn't follow you…I think you follow trouble…" the young Mithra said once again, smiling down to the Elvaan with a large smile that could only have belonged to an angel. But an angel in this city of politics and filth was something that was a far shot.
"Don't jud…" But the young warrior could not even finish his sentence as the young Mithra looked over her shoulder, giving him a small wave goodbye and a soft smile to keep him thinking for days.
Why did this always happen
Why did everything end like this?
Was this a fairy tale?
The young Elvaan emerged from the alley, looking like nothing more than street-trash. But intentions that might have been sincere, he looked everywhere he possibly could for that Mithra that was confusing and clouding his mind more than the politics and royalty of San d'Oria. But he found nothing, he only found a Hume, older than him, staring him up in the face with a glare.
"You're an idiot you know that?" the low and almost gruff voice from the Hume being enough to send Eprisom to a stagger.
"Watch your self old man!" was the only defense the Elvaan found.
"Older than you for sure…only a young idiot like you would be picking fights with both the Royal and Temple Knights…I didn't think that much stupidity existed…" the Hume continued on, shaking his head in a way of disapproval as Eprisom remained for a moment, his mouth hung open in shock.
"You're not my father!" was the only thing that would leave Eprisom's mouth.
"If I was you wouldn't be so stupid…those knights control everything in this city…you've got to know that…"
"I'm not picking fights with anyone…"
"Don't try and lie to me, kid…I know what I saw both times you showed up in this town…" the Hume only continued on as he shook his head once more straightening out his robes for a moment, sighing as he turned his back from the young Warrior.
"W-why do you care anyway?"
"Because I've got people that actually give a crap about you, and I'm not going to be the one to tell them you were flogged to death by the Knights of San d'Oria!" the Hume continued, causing Eprisom to step back.
"You don't know anything about me!" the Elvaan again, yelled in a defense he did not have.
"I know your name…and that's enough…"
"Uh…" something was hit inside Eprisom now, as he looked down and away, almost seeming to be taken by a deep seated guilt, something that no one else could possibly conceive. The sort of guilt you have when you kill someone, someone that you loved. "Who are you?"
"My friends call me Shef…but you might as well just call me your new damned savior!" The Hume, Shef, yelled once more as he poked the young Elvaan's chest, forcing him to step back again in fright as well as pain.
The Hume turned from there, leaving the Elvaan to his own pain it seemed. Leaving him to writhe in the mental beating he just received from someone he'd never even met. The beating would scar him deeper than anything else before, as he buckled down in his own weight, falling to his own knees.
But at his knees now, was a blue orb. More of a pearl it seemed, that the Hume had dropped and rolled on his leave. The pearl glowed in an odd way, one that seemed to have the light dance through it in an inhuman way. As though spirits danced and laughed about within it. Reaching out and taking the pearl as his own now, Eprisom was knocked near unconscious from the shock and mental load that was set upon him.
No one could have seen it coming
But what was this?
End Chapter 3