That They Might Not Suffer

In retrospect, he thought, it was a foolish assumption. They were still young. The two were a force to be reckoned with. One was a lauded mercenary, a borderline legendary hero; the other was a druid with exceptional mastery of his art. They thought they were invincible.

They were wrong.

Both sides had their downfalls. For example, the druid had succumbed to illness early in his life and was blinded. He learned the art of elder magic in an attempt to regain his lost eyesight. He did not succeed, but he learned to see through the aid of his magic.

Neither side realized the inherent flaw in his actions until it was too late. With good reason; they thought, after all, that they were invincible. The invincible have no reason to be worried about death, especially when they still had incredible strength in their body. On the rare occasion that they thought about what would happen at the end of their lives, they simply laughed. They may not have been the youngest around, but death was not about to come knocking on their doors. That pair, the near-legendary alliance of a hero and a druid, could tackle anything without fear.

That hero was on his knees, mourning the loss of his friend. It was difficult for him, he realized. He knew nothing of prayer. He knew nothing of church. He knew absolutely nothing about holy teachings. But he knew how to mourn the death of a man he could have called his brother.

Renault had realized that inherent flaw in Kishuna's sight; that it revolved around magic. All it took was a man with a Silence stave getting lucky enough to catch the druid off-guard. From there, the ambush party wasn't fighting Renault and Kishuna, they were fighting Renault.

They were still no match for him. Renault was a hero for a reason. The only problem was that they had caught the pair in the open; Renault could not force Kishuna into a corner so to protect him. He hadn't noticed. He was focused on killing these fools who had robbed his friend, albeit briefly, of his sight.

When he was finished, he realized with a shock that they had not robbed him briefly—it was permanent. Kishuna would never see again, nor would he hear his friend's panicked words or feel his friend shaking him, trying to get him to move again. The handle of a dagger was protruding from his hood, straight into the back of his head.

That, Renault thought, was a week ago. He was uncomfortable here, in front of his friend's tombstone. The two were always close and always being mistaken as two brothers rather than friends. It was difficult for him to be on his knees in front of the last remnants of his body. Although he did not believe in spirits, Renault gradually stood from his position and left without a word, hoping Kishuna's soul would not mind.

It wasn't fair. It couldn't be fair. His friend—nay, his brother—had been taken from him far before his time. Kishuna had already lived a life of strife, turmoil and pain; had he lived a year longer, he could have stopped fighting and settled down. The two had earned enough money over the years that they could afford to no longer work for whoever had the most money. With a hint of greed, Renault realized he could stop the mercenary business now that he owned Kishuna's share of the profits.

He took his friend's money and left. However, he was not about to settle down. He may have been a strong fighter, but he knew nothing of magic. He believed that if magic could help his friend see again, magic could bring his friend back.

He simply needed to find it.

However, no one was interested in helping him. They all focused on their own interests, especially the sages. The sages needed the spirits around them to cast their magic and while they used the spirits of nature, a resurrection, they told him, would disrupt the flow of the spirits. In short, they would be deprived of their power. Renault left, disgusted with them. How could they want their stupid elemental powers over his friend's life? It was because he was a druid, wasn't it? Damnable sages always had a problem with druids.

He searched out druids reputed throughout Elibe for their knowledge, but even if he got an answer out of them, they all laughed. All that elaborated all said the same thing—mastery of magic could elongate life to thousand-year lifespans, but nothing could bring a person back from the dead; after all, it would disrupt the flow of nature. Again, Renault cursed the bones of these druids. They had given their all into researching how to cheat death and that was the best they could come up with? They must have been keeping the information within themselves, using the same excuses as the sages. After killing a few of them, Renault came to the realization that it wasn't doing much good and returned to Etruria.

Finally, in a fit of desperation weeks later, he went to the Eliminean Church. He did not make a pretty sight; while he was well-dressed, there were still spots of blood all over his clothes. He spoke with a bishop, being rude and almost demanding at times, but nevertheless, the bishop tolerated him and explained the situation. Not only did the idea of resurrection go against the teachings of Elimine, but, and Renault was sick of hearing this excuse, it would disrupt the natural order of things. At least in this case, he uttered a few choice curses at the bishop before stalking away.

There were some mercenaries who made a small profit off Renault's intense search. Many of them got together and devised a mythical artifact that they named the Valkyrie Staff. In their story, the staff would bring back a person of significant power back to life, no matter how long it had been. They spread this story throughout the land after making sure Renault had paid them good money to hear the tale and purposefully vague clues of its existence and location. He had followed the clues to the harshest areas of Ilia, hoping to find a staff and instead finding several jeering signs that he had been duped for almost a year.

Renault had come back and added a few more bodies to the local burying grounds.

With all his options drying up, he resorted to alcohol, attempting to drown his worries away. The other patrons always jeered at him. "See that drunkard? That's what happened to the legendary Renault without his buddy Kishuna around to back him up. He ain't so tough now, eh?" While the patrons who challenged him still died just as fast, life simply wasn't the same without his friend around.

News of his downhill spiral reached across the land. Where his name was once feared, it was now ridiculed. A man who killed thousands and couldn't cope with one. Very few people felt any sort of pity or sympathy for him; most everyone in Elibe had known someone who was affected by Renault's killing streak.

The one person who felt the most for him, arguably for ulterior motives, was Lord Reglay. He had earned enough money to be finally considered a noble and hired Renault and Kishuna frequently for jobs. With Renault drinking himself to death, he was no longer getting any work done. He tried to talk Renault into taking more jobs, explaining that focusing on the heat of a battle could distract him better than alcohol. Renault agreed to try this approach, but did not find it helped shortly after completing the job. Thus, he would take jobs and drink himself away regularly.

By the end of the year, his name was all but forgotten. His name was not lauded across the land as a force to be reckoned with; it was lauded by the bartender as the man who held the pub's record for most drinks in a single night while still being able to pay for it. Renault was digging himself an early grave and eagerly digging faster.

That is, until he came along.