Author's notes: The Grenth-dialogue is from the Statues of Grenth you can find in-game. :) So… Well, as I mentioned previously, these first two chapters can always stand alone… Or I might eventually finish and upload the parts where Elias is found. Who knows?
Post-searing: Necromancer's Test
I am comforted by my inability to understand.
When I wake from this dream, will you still be here?
Light rushes into my eyelids. I must shut them immediately after opening them, for they are not adjusted to it. Okay--I'll try again. One, two, three... I slowly peel them open.
I am on the back of the lead Charr. He holds me firmly to his back, his claws piercing through my tunic. I do not make any sound, despite the way it scratches at the tender skin on my back. He gallops at a brisk pace with the rest of his warband. He still grips a bow in his other hand, so his arms must be extremely powerful to be able to support me with only one. My arms dangle around his shoulders, while my legs hang limp. I am… Rather short in height, so my legs do not drag on the ground. My head rests sideways against his coarse fur, which reeks of putrid odors and ashes. I raise my head ever so slightly, and sniff the air. The air is coated with ashes. I violently cough, and the Charr grunts warningly. My nostrils are cleared of the ash, although it still enters into my lungs each time I draw breath. How long will my body be able to handle conditions like this?
I now angrily flip my head to the other side. I do not care if I upset the Charr that have captured me. They surely plan to devour me whenever they return to their camps. It is their fault, anyway, for taking me in the first place. I will not give in to them during my final moments. I know it is futile to resist in my current position, however, as their strength greatly outdoes mine.
I now become aware of my surroundings. The sky is dark with splotches of blood red colors. I know this means blood has been spilt, so I mentally say a quick prayer for Dwayna to guide their souls in the Afterlife. And the land around me is nothing but ruin. Ashes lay everywhere, the grass burnt down. All wildlife and vegetation is dead. Only a few burnt tree trunks remain in the desolate landscape. I let out a gasp after seeing all of this, but none of the Charr pay any mind to me. They continue to steadily march on, as I seem to be nothing but a burden to their leader.
My heart now only knows fear. What has become of my family? Deep inside, I know that they have perished. It is only an internal feeling—for I have no proof that this is true. I feverishly hope that my gut is wrong, and that they are all safe. Now as I lock the clues together, I become more aware of what is happening. The Charr must have been finalizing an offensive attack on the Great Northern Wall, the main thing that sheltered Rin from their attacks. With the power of flame they must have destroyed it.
But, surely I have not been out for too long—is the City still being attacked? The Charr warband that travels with me is not nearly as large as the one I had encountered on the path. Maybe this small group is to lead me back to their camps while the others continue the assault on the City.
I lethargically lay my head back down against the Charr leader's strong neck, and somehow manage to drift into sleep as they march on.
When I awaken, I lay in a cage. I rub my eyes and sit up, only to verify that it is indeed a cage. The cage is an oval shape, and the bars that imprison me are made a rusting material. I peer through the bars. The landscape around me is even more barren than before, and reminds me of sand. In the distance I can see a crevice in the land. It may be a deep river bank—much deeper than the ones outside of Rin—but the river that once may have flowed through it is dried up. A few awkward patches of grass remain, their once lustrous green color now dried to a foul orange. I feel sickened at this view. The Charr have invaded our country, and, at one time, all of the land had been as beautiful as outside of the City. Now, though, so much of it lies in ruins.
Charr march around outside of my cage. They seem to communicate with each other through specific movements, grunts, and glances. How can beasts so primeval wreck such havoc to man? A Charr in bronze armor, which blends into his dark fur, gestures in my direction to his companions. I cock my head as they move forward. One of them gives a high-pitched growl and stalks off. He then returns with a scorched piece of meat clutched between his claws. He tosses it into the cage, and I scowl. I am no beast like them and will not eat such an uncivilized meal. Satisfied enough, they leave.
I sit there, rocking in the cage. I'm still drowsy, as well as melancholy. I have no sense of time. How long have I been gone? Ashes linger in the air, diminishing the brightness of the sun. I know it is not night yet, but may be drawing nearer.
Time passes, and my stomach rumbles. I clench my teeth and look at the meat that lies in the dirt. It is thoroughly burnt, so I hopefully will not have to worry about the inside being raw. If they are feeding me, then maybe they don't intend to eat me. I reach out to grab it, my arms stiff with inactivity. I give out a small cry of pain and withdraw it. I flex it in a series of movements and then grab my meal. I hesitantly sniff it. It doesn't smell peculiar. I wipe off the crumbs of dirt that stick to it and begin to it. It is cold, so there's not much flavor to enjoy. I can't put my finger on that animal this comes from—I sure hope it is some type of wild game. Nonetheless, my stomach is satiated for the time being.
I sit in my cage, my eyes lost in a vacant stare. A few Charr occasionally scamper past, but none pay any heed to me. I sigh, already bored in my current state. I amuse myself with a few twigs I find on the ground. With them, I sketch things into the dirt. I sketch frogs and horses. I try to sketch Eli and Efthemia. I sketch the fireballs. I sketch anything that comes to mind as the sky slowly darkens. Maybe soon I will be out of here. Maybe some day I will look back on this and laugh at how the silly Charr held me captive. Maybe some day I can return to my Eli and Efthemia and give them candy. But for now, all I have is my hope to hold on to.
As the last traces of light escape the sky, I roll onto my side. The ground is cold, so I dig my hands deep within my tunic. I curl my body tightly together to conserve heat. Tomorrow will be a new day. Maybe all of my questions will be answered. I shake these impossible-to-answer thoughts from my mind and fall into a deep sleep.
I am awakened to claws prodding at the metal of my cage. I glance up, sleep still encrusted on my eyes. A Charr glares at me. I avoid his gaze, crawling up the ground. The ash in the air has resided and I am able to clearly see it is morning. He gives a growl of duty as he removes the lock from my cage. He gestures for me to follow him. I stagger up, my legs unaccustomed to the weight of my body. This may be my only chance to escape. As I follow him, I scan the area. As far as I can see, we are nowhere near any human civilizations. I think twice about running now—since the Charr do not seem intent on snacking on me, maybe it will be safe to stay with them for a tad longer. The Charr leads me into a rather random field. It is not much different from the area where I am imprisoned, but there are a few full trees and bushes jumbled together. The branched are scorched but they still stand tall. I gaze at them longingly, reminiscing on the trees I had known only a short way while ago. The Charr then begins to leave. I blink hastily. Is he abandoning me here? Am I to instead be a meal to the wildlife that still roams the area? I chase after him. He gives an annoyed grunt, but does nothing to force me back into the clearing. We reach camp again, and I obediently return to my cage.
Sometime throughout the day, a Charr leads me out of my cage again. I grow uncaring of their appearances—they're all the same vile creatures to me. He leads me to a small pond a distance off. The water is not as clear as it is in Rin, but my growing thirst compels me to drink from it. Once my throat is no longer dry, I relieve myself by a tree stump. He then leads me back to my cage. As it begins to grow dark, then, a Charr delivers more scorched meat to me. I down it quickly, the warm residue of the burnt-layer still on my tongue. I eventually rinse it away with saliva, and then it is night.
For a week or so, my days pass under this same routine. I am bored out of my mind. The dirt in my cage is so worn from sketching in it that my sketches now wash away easily, like sand. I quickly tire of the small meals of only meat and water. One morning, however, the same Charr that had lead me to the field returns. I glance at him questioningly as he undoes my lock. I trail closely behind him, taking better notice of the path we take. During the walk, I realize that the amount of trees has slightly increased. We then reach the field. He meets my eyes with his as if trying to tell me something. I frown, as they are unreadable. He leaves.
I stand still for a moment, looking around. What am I to do here? Will he return for me? Surely they aren't just setting me free. After more mental-inquiries, I head to the jumble of trees. There are only five trees or so and nothing exciting about them. I ignore the bushes, and plop down at the trunk of a tree. In a frustrated manner, I run a hand through my hair. It is dark, dirty, and may be infested with lice, for it itches horribly. I am unable to tell if I have a bad odor to myself, for the stench of the Charr greatly outdoes any I may have. As I pick dirt from my fingernails, the Charr returns. He acknowledges me and I climb to my feet. He begins to head back to camp, so I return with him.
Once a week the Charr takes me to the field. Is it to make up for all of the time I spend cramped up in small quarters? My body is deteriorating. My ribs begin to show through my skin and I am unable to grab any fat when I pinch my wrist. I cannot see my reflection in the water I drink from, but I am sure I have lost any attractiveness that I may have once had. Each week in the field I only sit there under my withering tree, gathering pebbles that lie around. I bring them back to my cage, and make up games to play with them, to keep myself sane. Every week I add more rocks to my collection, and soon I have a rather large pile accumulating.
One week in particular—I have lost all sense of time—I sit under my tree, waiting for the Charr to return. It is as I brush off my tattered breeches that I feel a lump in my pocket. I reach my hand in pocket and withdraw my lucky acorn. I scowl. It is not lucky at all. Maybe it is this acorn's fault that I feel such misery. I toss it, but not very hard. It sails into the bushes that I have been too lazy to pay any attention to. I spend more time sitting blankly under my tree, sometimes glancing back at the bushes. I have no possessions the way it is, and cannot afford to lose one. Sighing, I crawl to the bushes, and feel around with my hand. I have no fear of any feral animals that may be lurking. I would enjoy a change; I would enjoy anything to break from my normal routine. My hand brushes something smooth. I clutch onto it and pull it out. I am awed to see a small statue, made of rock. It is of a man in long robes, with an almost skeletal face. Clawing people come out of the base of the statue, desperately grabbing at the bottoms of his robes. The skeletal-man solemnly stands, almost seemingly unaware of those who beg for him.
I run my fingertips over every nook and cranny of the carving. It is flawless. I wonder how in the world it got lost all the way out here. I am examining the intricate details more closely when I hear the snuffling of the approaching Charr. I quickly jam it into the pockets of my breeches and follow him back to camp.
Later that night, I lie awake, my eyes staring into the darkness. I cannot see my own hand in from of my face. I carefully pull out my statuette, treating it as though it is as delicate as glass. The size of it is about that of the palm of my hand. I trail my fingers over the man's skeletal face and the hood that cloaks his face. I can feel horns sprouting through his cloak. Who is the person in this statue? Why are people so desperate for him? I think back to the little I know of gods and other mythology. The only god I know of is Dwayna, who mother had me pray to each night before I lay my head down to rest. I know she is depicted as a slender, youthful winged woman in shrines and poetry. But the statue I now hold in my hands… Who could this be?
I hear stirring somewhere near, so quickly put the statuette back into my breeches. I'm not sure if Charr may have night vision or anything of that manner. Once the shuffling of claws has resided, I cup my hand over my rags where the statue is. I fall asleep stroking it.
I am awakened at daybreak. I moan groggily, for usually I sleep in longer than this. As I roll over to face the locked side of my cage, I see two Charr unlocking my cage. I stifle a gasp as they charge in and drag me to my feet. I wheeze as their claws prod at my very bones. They pull me with no regard for my well-being, further, further. They stop as they reach my watering hole. They snarl between one another, and then one vehemently strikes me to the ground. I land face first in the water, my knees scraping against the dirt lurking around it. I rise and spray water out of my nose, my clothes soaked. I shiver in the new morning sun. The Charr snarl amongst themselves once again, as I feebly watch on my knees. They then finish and one brings me back to my cage.
The rest of the day goes according to schedule.
The next day I am aroused at daybreak again. My shins are battered and hurt every time I step as they lead me back to my drinking pond. They snarl and wheeze and growl at each other, knocking me to the ground. This continues for days, and sometimes they hit me even as I lay on the ground. Sometimes, they even bark and—I swear—I think I hear them laughing in their tongue. It comes out as a low, steady whine, and then climaxes as a whooping screech. When I am sure at least a week has passed, I sit in my cage, hopeful that the Charr will take me to the field once again. Instead, the only place I go is the watering hole—for drinking, relieving myself, and being beaten.
After maybe a month of this steady torture, a third Charr accompanies them. The two Charr who originally took me out no longer bicker but simply laugh with their new companion as they take pleasure in my pain. I wake up battered, with permanent bruises embedded in my shins and knees. My mouth tastes of mud, from the water I land in while being thrown to the ground, for days afterward.
I begin to grow weaker and weaker. I spare no energy on thought of my former life. I sleep constantly, desperately trying to conserve energy and relieve myself of the aching pain I feel whenever I awake. My dreams are my only escape from this new world. I dream of Rin, and mother and Efthemia and Eli. I dream of lush green meadows, and honey that comes from the bees which live by the riverside. I even dream of forging materials. I dream of everything that I had once known. But my former life seems like so long ago, and I grow forgetful of spring colors. In this barren wasteland, the only colors I know of that of despair. Dreary golds and browns and ashes are all that I see.
One night, a heavy rain arrives at night. This is the first time it has rained out here for only Dwayna knows how long. I am chilled to my very marrow and dig my head deep into my rags to shield it from the wetness. I sneeze as I breathe in dust that has encrusted the inside of my shirt and my stomach. I moan in agony once my nose is cleared. I then sob, cursing the gods who have abandoned me in this time of need. I curse the Charr who scorn me, and captured me. I curse the land, for being so barren, and I curse everything I know in this new life. I choke from too much sobbing, and roll my face into the damp dirt to save myself from this coughing attack. I pound on my chest to cease this, and spit up blood in the dirt. I had gone so long without an attack, maybe due to inactivity. I am surprised that none of the Charr's beatings had stimulated any attacks. I roll onto my back again, thankful to be breathing again. This mood is washed away, just like the ants that roam the earth during this rainstorm, when I remember the Charr. I wish for revenge against them. I wish that they may all burn in the Underworld.
It is then when I utter breathlessly, the words forming in my head, "Grenth." I don't know where this name comes from, as I cannot recall from where I have heard it before.
I draw in my breath sharply. It feels excellent to speak again, even if not aloud. I have not spoken in so long. The name "Grenth" rolls off of the tip of my tongue again. I repeat it. I chant it. I cackle manically, uncaring if I wake the Charr with my uncontrollable jives.
The earth rumbles beneath my feet and I am tossed against the bars of my cage. I let out a cry of anguish as the tender bruises on my back are harmed by the impact. I fall to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs as the earth groans. A crack forms, spewing white fog, coated with frost and ice. The earth in front of me freezes over, and small skeletal beings crawl from the cracks. I release a shrill scream at seeing the chunks of flesh sticking to their slender bones. I flatten myself against the bars as the fog increases. I am blinded, and fall to the ground.
Amidst the creatures is a looming cloaked figure. He outstretches a bony hand, and I then feel oddly reassured. I reach out and brush his fingertips. We lock hands.
Words form clearly in my head. My Child, I am your god. Follow me where I may lead, and come whence I may call. Swear allegiance to me in life and beyond, and I shall grant you great power.
My fingers tremble, and He tightens His grip. I swallow, and then make up my mind. This is the only way to be free…
Apparently He has read my mind, for He replies with, I will grant you the power to draw power from blood sacrifice. If you are ever in need of my aid, draw blood, and call unto me. I grow light-headed at this thought. Shall I inflict harm onto myself and use this blood to receive His power?
Grenth releases my hand, and pierces his skeletal hand into my chest. I gag, and quake at my knees. I feel the very essence, the core of my life leaving me. He extracts his arm, his palm shimmering. I cough and I clutch my throat as He fades, submerging deep into to the ground with his minions. I then break into a fit of coughing as the rain clears into a starless night.
I awake the next morning feeling oddly rejuvenated. My veins pulse with renewed vigor and it takes me a while to recall the events of the previous night. My trio of Charr soon comes along to unlock my cage as usual. They then drag me to my watering hole.
I stand solemnly, awaiting my punishment. Before the first Charr strikes me though, a mischievous smile tugs at the ends of my lips. He knocks me to the ground, but the smile remains. After they all receive a turn, it has spread into a grin. I entertain thoughts in my head. This time, when the first Charr lunges for me, I dodge from his attack. He stumbles forward and it takes him a few moments to comprehend my actions. He backs up in fury and forcefully slashes his claw down my cheek. I am knocked down from the impact, my face too close to landing in the water. I stay crouched close to the ground, and look into my murky reflection. Blood drips from my face, and a lone droplet splatters on the water's surface.
I am once again reminded of the previous night. The power from blood…
I lift myself up, running my finger along the rough skin above my wound. All of the Charr glower at me, noses picking up the fresh scent of blood. It is not the first time they have seen me bleed, but I think the smell of blood may entice them. I let it run down my cheek and my chin. It drips onto the ground, although it isn't a very heavy flow. I bow my head, and say a mental prayer. I ask to receive the guidance and power of Grenth through this blood. I ask that I may bring revenge to my tormentors.
The second Charr scowls at the time I spend unharmed. He thrusts his arm to slash his claws across my body, but is suddenly halted in midair. I flinch, as he panics at his disability of movement. It is then that some invisible force severs his arm, and I feel my cheek regaining its blood supply. The Charr howls in anguish as his blood flows to the dirt, and his companions stare skeptically in my direction. I slowly step backwards, but they make no actions to stop me. Once I am about a yard or so away from them, I turn around and retreat.
I keep running, until my throat closes up. I fall to my knees, and cough up phlegm until I regain my normal breathing. I don't know where I'm going, but I must get as far away as possible from those brutes.
I toil over the vast landscape, my leather soles deteriorating with each step. Was escaping the wrong choice? I don't know where I'm going, and I have little vitality to continue. I grow more prostrate as I drift further from my former prison. The only company I have is the soft susurrations of the wind, caressing my scarred face as I march against it. Other than the amount of tree stumps gradually increasing, the only change in the landscape is the newly cast shadows as the day progresses on.
Much too quickly I am drained of what little energy I have. The veil of night is upon me, and I have not yet encountered another living thing. So maybe… I can rest.
After a final surveillance of the place I have chosen to rest—near a stream of tar—I curl up and try to sleep. The acrid smell takes refuge in my nostrils, but I soon learn to block it out.
After pivoting my body for possibly hours, I find escape in my dreams.
From the song Forever, by As I Lay Dying.
