The longest, yet I beleive greatest chapter yet. I strongly feel this to be my masterpeice although much of it had to be cut out till the next chapter, but read and please review. Next chapter All fighting and what you guys love.
CHAPTER V: The final reminiscence
The day was almost at its end. Frost clung to the ornate windows of the library that allowed Tarus to look upon the outside world. The mystical portal to the fields of white put him into a trance like state. Around him lay the usual cluster of tattered books and parchment; some with polished, scarlet leather bindings, and some with nothing but thick, torn paper. No matter their cover, all books within this library's walls were of some kind of importance. The smell of the room smelled of an ancient dampness. The stench was not distasteful, only mysterious. It was an odd odor, one which is hard to describe, all that can be said of it was that it felt of the essence of age. It was an aura that permeated the wealth of knowledge in the room, and made it that much more magical. A table sat in the far corner. Upon it lay the only light source; a half-melted candle, flickering with the draft. The flame caught Tarus' eye next; its flickering fury reminding him so much of battle, and war. The dodgy motion; ever changing, and always darting here and there with an arbitrary poise. The light cast violent shadows to dance on the wall. The shadows, who danced like savages lusting for blood, danced with a passion as strong as the flame that birthed their dance. Some would have feared this dance, but not Tarus. He saw it as a sort of art, a kind of diversion into the magical world of this library. He looked again at the flame. As he looked at the candle even longer, he realized another similarity. This candle, violently beautiful, reminded him again of the woman he had seen at the prison. She had made an imprint on his mind. A fiery thing that although harsh in some ways, was comforting in others. His thoughts could not turn away from her. The intensity of his thoughts being reflected by the raging candle. Odd was this feeling. Completely alien to Tarus. Only the mind of a warrior could take such interest in a candle.
This was why he came to the library; the magic that it held.
He then drifted off to sleep; slowly, silently, and without care as to the world outside of the library's walls.
He felt at peace…for a moment.
There were two kinds of places within the caverns that were Tarus' mind. There were places of wonder, of peace, of order and reason. And there were some places, dark places, that raged in the depths, tormenting him like a fiery ember embedded in his skull. He had a dream. In this dream, Tarus found himself standing, alone. Around him was nothing, he could see no walls, no floor or ceiling, no structure or physical structure at all. He looked uneasily to try and take in something, anything, but there was nothing, but darkness. He heard nothing either, except the beat of his heart and the breath from deep within him moving rapidly. He finally turned his senses toward himself. He glanced down at himself and took first into account his clothes. They were simple, a peasant's garb, with no royal adornments as he had been accustomed to. Then, suspecting something, he reached up with his hand towards his face. His fingers brushed against…nothing, only soft, un-scarred skin. The mark that the great Thunder had given him- no longer there. His heart rate increased, dramatically. There was one thing Tarus feared. It is what all men fear. The one thing that has terrified us since the dawn of life and time. Tarus feared this as much as any human- the unknown. Tarus was about to lose his wits when a familiar sight comforted him. From the darkness came a mysterious figure. He knew her from the calm aura she emitted, and walked towards her to greet his long lost sister. She did not return the gesture. She only said one thing, a simple greeting not reflecting the importance of their encounter. "Hello little brother"
Tarus knew those words, those painful words. It all came back to him, all of it. The bandits, the fire, the death, the pain, Maze, the guild, training, merciless training, the victories, the quests, the arena, the bandits, scarlet robe, Jack of Blades, and the choice. The choice. The scenes had played in his dream, rapidly. Now came another scene. Tarus once again looked down at his garments. Now an array of bloodstained plate mail. And his sister once again. Tarus could not bear it again. He would rather die than see his sister killed once again…by his own hand. "Not again" he muttered to himself as he fell to his knees. "Rise little brother." She said. Her voice was calm, and hauntingly so. "No more shall you fear your past." Tarus was confused. He stayed on his knees. "This," she said gesturing around herself, "Is what you fear. Your choices, your life. No more hero. Face your fear. I do not hold remorse for your decision, in the end, the means will be justified." Tarus rose. "The end? What end, the end when I die? When the world falls finally in the grips of evil? When there is no reason left?"
"You will see."
"See what?"
"See that fate is on your side."
"Fate… there is no such thing-"
"But there is." Tarus' sister's voice almost rose past the point of being calm, "Little brother there is so much that you can not see, but if you have faith in what little hope is left, you will triumph."
"Fate…faith… this is nonsense."
Theresa sighed, "That is your choice, and I pray you make the right one."
He awoke.
The night still lived on, and so did the candle. Now less than an inch of wax, and small point of light emitted from a gram of burn embers. He sighed, deeply. Tired of thought and talks of fate, faith and destiny, he called out. "Bob." No response. "Ho there, any ale left in the cellar?" He stood up, and headed out into the hall. Bob sat in a chair near the library, flames dancing on a nearby torch. He snored somewhat, locked in a deep sleep. Tarus awkwardly approached him. Bob awoke from his sleep with a jolt. "To the tavern, Bob."
Tarus donned a thick, black cloak with a large hood so as to conceal his identity, and headed off down the main corridor. His footsteps echoed as he walked briskly past the raging torches that lit his path. He approached the door and opened it. As soon as he did, he was met with a wall of freezing air and snow. The storm had grown in power, it raged in the darkness, blowing drifts of snow across the path. He pressed on through the snow, ice cracking under his feet. It had been a long, long time since Tarus had left his manor and associated with the common folk. Perhaps too long. Nonetheless, today Tarus would get out of his home, in all of its mystery and magic, and come back down to the life of the common folk. They did not bother to go to one of the elegant taverns or inns of Bowerstone north, instead, Tarus walked onward into the poorer, southern half of the city. They passed the gate and headed down the stairwell leading to the city, and headed towards the tavern without a word. Tarus reached for the door, and as he pulled on it, a layer of ice broke off the wood, making a loud shattering almost audible over the raging winds. The tavern fell silent as the ominous strangers entered the warm refuge. Tarus reached behind him to shut the door and the Tavern resumed its ambience. Tarus raised two fingers to the bartender and handed him a small heap of coins. The two received their ale and sat at a dark and shady table in the far corner. It was a dismal place, especially at this time of the night. This was the time for the sad and the lonely to drown their troubles. A bard sat in the corner, embracing his mandolin, playing a most mournful tune that he played with a deep passion, and skill. The tune glided on the air, and was carried throughout the halls and minds of the tavern. It was a sad song, yet beautiful beyond measure. The patrons sat in their separate tables, looking longingly at some abstract piece of furniture or the frost-covered window. No laughter filled the tavern as earlier in the night. The room was dark, lanterns and candles burned low. Outside, the storm could still be heard. Wind stirred a nearby home's shutters making them crash violently in the night. Tarus took a sip of his ale. He didn't come to get drunk, only to reflect, think. He thought of his sister, her words. It was a puzzling dream, one which stayed in his mind, festering. Bob merely sat and looked about the room, somewhat uneasy about Tarus and the situation. A few empty stares made their way towards Tarus. Glares from around the room glanced at the hooded stranger from time to time. Bob had only a little concern for Tarus' safety. Tarus cold most likely hold his own if conflict arose, but if the ale got to him, Bob would be the first line of defense. For now they merely sat however, no fighting, no death. The song of the bard continued. Lyric-less, the tune carried on, helping Tarus' thoughts glide smoothly with the music. The gentle tune eased in and out, haunting the souls of the patrons deeply, yet enticing them like the siren's sweet song.
After half an hour of sitting still and silent, Tarus spoke. "Bob." Bob tore his mind off the bard, who continued his song and listened to his master. "Yes m'lord." "Do you know who I am?" "My lord and master m'lord, what else?" Tarus sighed.
"I am the scum of the earth dear Bob." Bob shook his head and muttered his consolation, but Tarus interrupted. "I am. I am that which dogs feed upon. I am that which ravens circle about. I am he who burned Albion to this!" Tarus thrust his head into his arms, yet did not weep. Bob looked confused. "I did this Bob. Dearest Bob. I am he that set aflame this good earth. I allied myself with scoundrels! I pillaged the land. And now I dub myself king." Bob understood. He put a hand on Tarus' shoulder, and listened. Tarus told his tale. The life he had led, the pain he had endured, the evil he had committed. Bob knew, however, that Tarus was not such a person, at least not anymore. Tarus ended his tale with bitter words, "But I regret every moment of it, Bob. Every single second. I hate it all." The bard's song continued its mournful tone, serenading Tarus' tale. It was only now that Bob knew the truth. But he did not reject it. "What's worse is that I happen to be so important, so key to this world. I matter now, and I don't deserve an ounce of it... why." Tarus was silent again. Bob then found it his turn to speak, "You deserve it, m'lord. More than anyone. And do you know why? There aint a reason in the world other than fate 'as chosen you... and fate aint nothin' to argue with." Tarus grasped some understanding. He rose; the bard's song coming to its finale. Tarus opened the door, and headed back into the cold, out into the peaceful quiet. "I think it is time." said Tarus. "For what?"
An angry shout broke the quiet. Tarus turned around just in time to see three men dressed in black, hooded robes running at him with their swords aimed at his throat. Without hesitation, Tarus reached to his side and withdrew a small dagger. Once again, he had been caught off guard with a mediocre weapon. Nonetheless, he lept forward at them, brandishing his blade in midair. He came down on the first one, his blade sinking deep into his attacker's skull. He spun and kicked hard at another, and used the dead assassin for leverage as he shot himself at the third. The assassin with a dagger in his head fell to the ground with a thud. A standoff occurred, the two assassins stood on either side of Tarus, and Bob was slowly approaching the three. Tarus shook his head at Bob, gesturing not to come closer.
The two assassins ran forward, and in response, Tarus thrust his fists to either side, breaking a nose, and sending the other cringing on the ground. Bob tossed a sword to Tarus, with which he executed both attackers. "Are you alright m'lord?" "Yeah." Tarus seemed very calm despite the fact that he had just been attacked in his own city by a band of assassins. "We should head back to the manor, there could be more." Tarus began walking briskly through the heaps of snow. "Damn right there are." He thrust out his hand from which a bolt of lightning flew through the air. Thunder from the bolt shook the air violently. A body fell out from behind a building, smoking from Tarus' attack. Then he began to run. Both of them darted through the town, Bob looking about nervously, Tarus keeping his eyes fixed ahead. As they approached the gate, Tarus called out, "Gatekeeper! Ho!" The gate did not open, nor did the gatekeeper reply. There was only silence. Bob wheeled around to see no less than twelve men dressed in traditional assassin attire running at them. Tarus motioned for Bob to get behind him, to which the guard replied, "What's the point of having a guard then m'lord?" Tarus didn't respond. He ran into the fray, wielding Bob's sword. His first blow sent two men flying, but the assassins soon surrounded him. Without armor, or a decent weapon, it seemed hopeless, but not with Tarus fighting. He quickly summoned inside himself magical power and sent the entire group flying back with a bolt of force. Tarus rushed to the nearest assassin sending a downward blow through the chest, finishing the assassin. He wasted no time leaping back beheading another, and then spinning back killing yet another. The battle lasted only a minute before the twelve assassins lay in pieces on the ground. Tarus wiped a splatter of blood off his cheek as he walked back to Bob. "Might want to clean that off." He said, handing the guard his bloodstained blade.
Eventually, Tarus found a way to climb up the north side wall and managed to get himself and Bob onto the inner wall. Atop the gate they found the gatekeeper, an arrow between his eyes. "We have to get to the manor m'lord! Now. There could be more." Tarus sighed. "Very well."
Tarus led a mournful trek through the snowy landscape. He walked, hunched against the cold, his mind thinking for one last moment about the past. A final reminiscence.
And then, revelation.
It was a day indeed when Tarus made the descision. He quickened his pace, and headed to the manor. They were met at the door by Mergoth, who stood surrounded by four assassin's bodies. The three stood silence for a long time. "Mergoth." Mergoth adjusted his posture and stood tall, as did Tarus. "It is my will that you rid us of it. For once, and forever." Although its simplicity, the scene was beautiful. The snow fell softly now, and the wind hummed in unison. For once, the blackness of the clouds even parted. Evil, although unknowingly, shuddered. The words were spoken. Not another word was said. Mergoth nodded.
Soon, Tarus, followed by Mergoth and bob, walked a slow journey out of Bowerstone. They passed the cobblestone streets, and stepped among the bodies of Skorm's assassins. They continued, until they came to the gate. Bob walked atop the structure, and released the lock. Tarus stood defiant to the wood. Its braces tormenting him no longer. The gate swung open to reveal the forest, equally uneffective to Tarus. Through the forest they went, throughout the trees and the underbrush, and into a place which Tarus had never before seen. The walked down a path outlined only by a mysterious stone every few steps. They came to a large hill, covered in damp moss. They went around it, and as they rounded the side they came to what Tarus least expected. A Demon Door! For many years, the people of Albion had thought them all to be discovered, yet this one remained shut, its face angled to the floor with weariness and age. Vines grew up it, entangling it's ancient marble. "You must do the deed yourself Tarus." Tarus approached the door, leaving Mergoth standing among the trees a long way away. The door remained still. "Awake." yelled Mergoth. The door slightly lifted its head, and parted its ancient lips, causing a great rumble. "The day comes." The door's voice was aged beyond anything Tarus had heard, yet the sound was still pleasant in a mysterious way. The sound was like a whisper, yet it carried like deep grumble drifting of into the trees and beyond. "Let me look upon the face of the savior." it said, moving its massive head higher. Tarus was puzzled, "Savior?"
The door nodded, closing its eyes solemnly, "Indeed."
Tarus spoke again, "I come only to rid myself of that which brings me pain."
The door wheezed in a way that sounded vaguely like laughter, "In this situation, you are not the one to deem yourself savior or not. Fate has done the deed."
Tarus looked only more confused, "So what do I do, just...give you the sword? Here, take the bloody thing."
The door spoke sterner than before, "What you must do is believe!"
The yell flew through the air, it shook the trees, and soon vanished in the distance. Tarus yelled back, "What is this talk of fate, and belief. I only want to get rid of this accursed thing!"
The door sighed, "I was the first Demon Door." it said. "The ancients build me long...long ago to counteract the only force they knew would outlast them."
"Stupidity," said Tarus with a sneer.
"EVIL!" The door's voice was now louder than thunder, its yell shaking the ground beneath Tarus.
"EVIL AND ALL THAT COMES WITH IT TARUS! ALL OF IT! I AM THE BEGINNING OF THE END, THE END WHICH YOU ARE TO COMPLETE! YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TARUS! YOU!"
Silence.
"It is you."
Tarus breathed deeply.
The door nodded.
With a deep roar, the door cracked open. After millennia, the ancient stone cracked and jerked on its hinges, the darkness within finally seeing the dull midnight light.
Tarus walked inside. Within the chamber he found a mold of the Sword of Aeons. Beneath the imprint was a small plaque, engraved with ancient runes of a language long forgotten, and unknown to Tarus. He drew the blade, and looked at it with a flurry of passion. The memories flew back to him, the memories of the sword's power, and the victories it had given him. "Enough."
Tarus set the sword in its place, within the chamber, and away from the hands of evil.
As he walked out of the room, the gate began to sigh and creak again. It slowly began to close, and when it finally closed, the crash heard spread throughout the forests, across the seas, even to the heavens.
The face of the door then closed its eyes, solemnly, but with a small smile, as if its purpose was complete. The face faded into the stone, never again to reveal itself.
As they departed from the sacred place, Tarus asked Mergoth. "There was an engraving inside... do you know of it too?"
"It is a long lost language. No living man but I know its words."
There was a long pause. Mergoth appeared as he would never speak of it.
He spoke.
"May you fulfill fate's call, and defy that which plagues the light. For you are he that is chosen, a right not bought with riches, nor earned with might. Only fate has bestowed this gift, and it is yours for the taking."
Well, i liked it. Now a bit of clearing up and behind the scenes action!
First of all- (brand names cencored for whatever reason this certain IM service has to sue me) i just realized you get censored Satelite Radio on censored Instant Messager, so i listened to rennaisance classical music the whole time i wrote this which really uber'd up my writing..somehow. So i made the Bard in the Tavern to represent the middle-ages inspiration
Second- Noone really knew who Tarus was until now, when he admits his past to Bob. Bob, nor any of the guards, were ever with Tarus on his crusade, so this is a pretty big turning point.
Third- The Final Reminiscence had nothing to do with Final Fantasy, in fact,i never noticed the link until now.
Fourth- Dear Incogito, The Oracle was mistaken, Skorm is higher in the god Hierarchy than the oracle and he has the power to cloud the oracle's judgement. Easy to gnore though.