At an inn somewhere in Alderan.
A man is sitting alone at a table, an empty mug before him, staring into nothingness. He came here to drink. He wanted to calm his nerves but it was all in vain, his heart kept beating unsteadily. The air was heavy with a humid warmth, it made every breath hot and bothersome.
What was to come? In two days he would be the one to officiate the tourney that was to be held alongside the festival. He didn't like it, not one bit. Just thinking about it, about all the people that were to come and take part in it, it didn't sit well with him. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the handle of the blade that sat on his back, as if checking to see if the scabbard lay there still.
It did but that did not put him at ease, it did not change anything. It merely confirmed that he was who he thought he was, that he didn't somehow die in the night only to wake up in another body, living another life.
He stole a glance around the tavern. He was surrounded by chairs and tables, all neatly ordered. Old and tattered banners hung lifelessly from the walls of the lodge, faint torchlight touching their raggedy edges ever so softly.
The tavern was empty, except for him and the keeper. He sat a bit away, his face awash by candlelight, a book in between his meaty fingers. Duras turned away, his ruminations returning.
The urge to abandon everything inched its way up from the bottom of his being, scratching just below his skin. That is why he was known as a coward, despite everything he did. He didn't mind his moniker for he knew there was truth behind it. He was a crook, through and through. His hand trembled all the time and he could barely wield a blade anymore, he was a far cry from the young man who faced Thorn the terrible so many years ago.
He wanted to leave all of this behind, to start anew. He could, if he had the heart for it. There was a way out of all of this, he had the money and the connections to make it happen but something kept him from doing so.
What kept him from stepping away? That was a question he had no answer to. He looked for one but he could never find it, feeling as if he was doomed to die ignorant.
The sound of creaking wood cut through the peaceful silence of the tavern as the door swung open. Someone walked in.
Duras sat with his back turned to the entrance. His muscles tensed to turn around - but no, he knew better. He pulled his short blade out, his fingers stiffening around the soft leather of the handle as he hid his weapon under the table.
Steps rang out, each accompanied by a metallic clink. Whoever it may be, they must be familiar with the innkeeper since no words were spent between the two of them. They must have nodded in greeting as soon as they walked in.
The steps were heavy, it was obvious they wore some kind of armor, Duras could tell by the clinking. Each step made his heart tighten, his breath becoming shallow. "Remember who you are.", he told himself while he exhaled, his fingers growing cold around the handle of his blade.
The steps stopped right beside him yet he was unable to see anyone in his periphery. His eyes darted from side to side, seeing nothing but still feeling someone breathe down his nape. He did not dare turn around.
Duras was in no mood to pick a fight and yet, his being was telling him to act. Had he been his younger self, he would have sprung up, blade drawn, by now. But he was not and he wanted to avoid trouble as much as he could.
Who could it be? Who could have gotten word of him so soon after he reached Alderan? Was it someone he wronged? Maybe a ruffian sent by a noble he angered by turning down their request? A thousand questions raced through his neurotic mind, his heart thumping with anticipation, body stiff yet ready to act.
Then, the figure sat on the chair beside him. Had he not recognized the man, his gut would have been met by the tip of a blade from just below the table, Duras letting him know that he should not make any sudden movements. Thankfully, that was not the way things would have to play out. He let out a sigh of relief as soon as he laid his eyes upon this enigmatic figure. It was Danse McCorrick, a friend of his, a paladin of the saronite faith.
He had a wide grin plastered across his face as he spoke, smacking Duras on the shoulder, "Well, what do we have here?".
Duras gave a shrug.
"Have you no manners?", he scoffed, shaking his head and crossing his arms, "You come back after so long and you don't send word for me?".
"Sorry, but...".
"But what?".
"I am not planning on staying long.", he raised his blade from under the table, there was no need to keep it drawn any longer.
Danse's gaze fell on the steel, "Why'd you have that out?".
Duras spun the short blade in his hand before sliding it back into its scabbard, "You know how it is in my line of work. You can never be too sure.".
"Ah, you always think of the worst.", he sat back, arms folded on his dirty breastplate, "What brings you back?".
Duras looked away, "The festival did. I got a letter, asking for my presence. I don't know why I was compelled to come but hey, here I am.".
Danse raised an eyebrow, "A letter? From who?".
"I do not recognize the name written on it.".
"And yet, you still came?".
"It would have been rude not to.", he lied.
"Don't act like you care about that.", Danse shook his head, "But really now, what brings you back?".
"I am to officiate the tourney.".
Danse's smile morphed in confusion, "You mean to tell me you came for that? Since when are you one to take part in such a thing?".
"Call it a new leaf - don't know how long it will last though.".
"Aha. Anyways, good thing you are here.", his smile returned, "Since I have a request for you.".
"And that is?", Duras smiled as well.
"I need you to come with me when the time comes.".
Duras leaned back, hand resting on his chin, "I don't know about that. Hmmm, I can't. Not anytime soon.", he shook his head after a short moment, mindful of the real reason why he came back.
"I doubt it. You always turn away...", he spoke before Duras cut him off.
"I have an assignment I have to attend to after the tourney.", his eyes locked with Danse's for the first time since they started talking.
"Is that so? Must be pretty important then, seeing how you took it. They must be paying you a fortune, eh?".
Duras reached for the small bag that was tied to his belt, spilling its contents onto the table. Out came three golden coins, each thudding lightly as they met the wooden surface, one rolling off of the table and onto the floor. Each minted with the visage of a stern old man, one from the east no doubt.
"That's it?", Danse spoke as he took one of the coins in his hand, looking at it with confusion, "This has to be a joke. It's a joke, right?", he looked up as he put the coin down, the metal was scratched and weathered.
Duras shook his head. That was his payment for the assignment, he was paid upfront with those three coins. He didn't like it, preferring to be paid after his mission was complete but the people who reached out for his help were too desperate to consider it.
"That's my pay. I think I'll be able to retire after this one. Wouldn't you agree?", each word oozed with sarcasm.
Danse did not laugh, much to Duras' dismay. None of them spoke, it seemed as if Danse was picking his next words carefully.
His face went blank, "Why are you doing this to yourself? You're getting nothing from this.".
"You think I only do this for the money?".
"Yes. You don't like fighting! What other reasons could you have?".
Duras' head dropped slightly, a bitter smile curling upon his lips, "I have been asking myself that too. No answer yet, dear friend.".
"Why not withdraw already? You're well off, you can afford it!", he slammed a hand on the table, the hit rang out against the quiet in the air, the sudden noise made Duras wince. Danse was fired up, not because he was angry but because he wanted the best for his friend.
"It's not as simple as that, Danse. I thought about it too.", Duras responded, turning one of the coins in his palm, the old man was looking up at him, "I thought of buying land, of working the fields for a while. I have always wanted my own garden. But then again, whenever I feel like quitting, I get another letter. People need my help, Danse.".
"Haven't you given them enough already?".
"No.".
"What about your arm?".
Duras did not respond, he merely gazed down instinctively. His eyes wandered to the mantle of his armor. Dark fabric was sewn in between the metallic plates with silver twine, in such a way that it hid the right side of his body, from the shoulder to his waist. To most, it looked like the centerpiece of a stylish suit of armor but it did a lot more than just look fashionable. It hid his shame.
It hid his right arm. The stump that remained of it.
Some days he could feel it, his right hand still grasping at something. At what? He didn't know.
"How much more are you going to let them take from you?", he spoke before letting out a long sigh, his eyes dropping toward the table, leaving behind an air of embarrassment.
"I'll quit after this one.".
"We'll see.", Danse folded his arms before speaking again, "Have you found anyone to heal your arm?".
"I've looked far and wide but no luck.", he shook his head, "It's strange that people still seek my help even though I'm a cripple. I always thought that it would drive customers away. I hoped it would, in fact. Then I would have an excuse".
Danse's smile returned as he spoke, "I'll tell you why people keep coming after you. They know who you are. They know what you did. They know they can rely on you to get the job done. Who better to hire than one of the Eight?".
"Fair enough but, I am being honest this time. This is my last job".
"Can I ask you to reconsider?".
"What's got you so desperate for my help?".
Danse's expression took a turn for the worse. The lines of his smile drew themselves straight as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze heavy with thought. Again, it seemed as if he was picking his next words carefully. It was only normal he would, he didn't want to squander this opportunity.
He closed his eyes for a moment, only to open them once he was ready to speak. "You know of the path, right?".
"Somewhat. I only heard about it from you.".
"We were waiting on an acolyte to come, so we could start our path.", his gaze locked with Duras', "But, he never showed up.".
"And? Maybe he decided against walking the path.".
"No. No one deserts. All acolytes are steadfast in their faith, none would dare abandon it.", he shook his head, arms folded.
His gaze fell to the floor, "We sent a letter, asking for another. They are to reach any day now and we have to start walking the path before long.".
Duras did not respond.
"Something is amiss. That is why I need you. I need to you walk the path with us. I need someone I can trust out there, not some cleric who just got their first assignment. I need someone capable, someone who won't hesitate to act. I need someone like you.".
For a moment, neither of them spoke. It seemed as if Duras was going to refuse but his heart would have never let him. He couldn't turn away the last friend he still had.
"I'll cover you but only after I am done with my mission.".
"Good.", he nodded, "You got a place to stay for the night?".
Duras nodded.
"Let me guess, Benedict already gave you a room?", he asked.
Benedict, the older brother of Danse, was a large man, a man who held a large appetite for food and an even larger one for life. He ran this small tavern, he called it "The Weeping Angel". Benedict welcomed Duras with open arms, embracing him in a bear hug as soon he stepped foot into the tavern. His initial reaction was filled with surprise, surprise that bled over into joy and nostalgia as soon as the two of them started talking.
A storyteller at heart, he was eager to hear what Duras had to share after living in the east for so long. Duras indulged him, for the most part.
"That he did, roaring that no friend of yours is going to have to pay while he's around. ", a smile broke across his face.
"We don't forget our friends, Duras.".
They spoke late into the night, sharing stories. Benedict joined them as soon as he got bored of reading. He brought with him three mugs, mugs filled with beer he brewed himself.
"It lunged and then, I stepped to the side and I plunged my blade in its neck!", Danse spoke of his recent confrontation with a gryphon. He said it had made its den just outside of Alderan and thus, he and another by the name of Cyra have been sent to dispose of the foul creature.
Gryphons. Terrifying winged beasts that walked on four legs. Duras had been unfortunate to meet quite a few throughout his life. He always approached them with caution, aware of what their claws could do to a horse or a cow, much less a person. He remembers still the fervor with which his heart beat when he encountered his first gryphon, the thrill of narrowingly avoiding its swipes and the joy of finally felling the creature. Those feelings of uncertainty when faced with a challenge, those same feelings that made him feel alive once, had soured over time.
Benedict spoke of the festival. He knew every important person who was to attend, he heard rumors about each and every one.
He spoke of a man that came from the north, clad in gleaming armor, a strange sword sitting at his hip. In spite of his appearance, only one person accompanied him, not a retinue of servants or soldiers. His companion was said to be a tall woman, a half-drake at that.
That last detail caught Duras' attention.
"If you are to reach early, don't hesitate to come and see me at the black keep. I'll be staying there for the entirety of the festival, just make sure to ask about the horned one and you are sure to find me...", he remembered the closing segment of the letter. Could this half-drake Benedict spoke of be the person he is looking for?
Then, he spoke of a woman that came from the west, from beyond the ridge. Every word that left Benedict's mouth sounded like a lie. Everyone knew that life on the ridge was harsh, life beyond it had to be insurmountable. The land was too dry, the heat too overwhelming and the water too scarce, nothing and no one could survive it. And yet, here he was, speaking of a woman who came from the west. She came here with soldiers and servants, they came bearing gifts and banners, banners foreign to everyone.
The last he would speak of was a man they were all aware of. The 12th emperor of the eastern empire, Sug Jia Puk. The unhindered, the man who was promised the world and the one who will act on that promise. The man whose face was minted on his three coins. He was invited to the festival and he was yet to reach. He was sure to bring a great spectacle upon his arrival, there was no doubt about that.
Now, it was Duras' turn to say something. The two looked at him with expecting gazes and yet, he felt hesitant. What could he share that they haven't heard already?
Should he speak of the wyrm hunts he partook in? Simple monster slaying would sound redundant after Danse's tale. What about that one time he foiled an assassination attempt? No, it had too many details to keep track of, it wouldn't make a good story to tell alongside a mug of ale.
He put a hand on his chin, trying to come up with something as he let his shoulders slump back. After a moment, a smile cracked his visage wide open. "Watch this, you two.", if he didn't have a story to share, he might as well show them a trick.
He raised his hand. In the beginning, nothing happened. The two, Benedict and Danse, looked on in confusion, looking at one another before turning their collective gaze back to Duras.
"Look". His hand was slowly beset by an orange hue that intensified by the second. It kept getting more and more bright before erupting into a small yet tender flame. It danced in his palm.
Danse's gaze widened in surprise, "When did you learn magic?", he asked before taking a sip from his mug.
"After I left. I had all the time in the world to.", he lied again.
Truth be told, he couldn't use any magic in his youth and yet, after his entire being was shattered by Thorn, he finally could. Following his mutilation at the hands of the terrible, something had awoken in him, something besides fear and doubt.
Something dark. Something hungry.
Something that was sure to consume him if he didn't feed it. And thus, he left, trying to satiate the new hunger that was borne out of his defeat.
He then made the flame spiral in his hand, creating a small vortex of orange that spun akin to a hurricane. He let it fester still before closing his fist around it, putting an end to the display.
"It's not every day you see something as rare as that..." Just as Benedict spoke, the door of the tavern creaked loudly as it swung open. In came two people, a man and a woman, both young in appearance, both very much unwelcome.
"Who'd barge in at an hour like this?", Duras couldn't help but to wonder out loud. Drinks were shared the entire evening and by the time the pair showed up Duras' nerves had already been quelled. His hands were steady and he felt relaxed as he stood up, reaching for the handle of his short sword.
Danse grabbed him by the wrist before he could step away, "There's no need for that, Duras. How about we see what they want before we throw them out, eh?", pulling his arm gently, urging Duras to sit back down.
Duras let out a sigh as he sat back down. He puckered his nose, there was a whiff of filth in the air. The pair were dirty, reeking of sweat. He could feel their odor from more than a few paces away. He could feel it, the faint trace of sin on one of them. They approached the men's table and introduced themselves, asking if this was "The weeping Angel" they were supposed to find.
Duras scanned them from head to toe, his gaze ever careful and methodical. The young man, Crimson Dawn, spoke of how he journeyed all the way from the Temple of Yermina just to walk Saron's path. As luck would have it, he would be the acolyte Duras would have to accompany after he completed his mission. The young man looked soft, his wrists thin and his face gaunt, shying his gaze away as he spoke with a quivering voice. All of that made Duras question whether this boy had what it takes to walk the path.
The young woman, Sadia, something about her felt off. She smelled, not just of filth but also of blood, of sin. For anyone but Duras, Sadia would have appeared akin to the average woman of her age but to him, she was not someone to be overlooked. Something wasn't right about her, her eyes looked dark and her expression seemed empty. Her gaze was cold and detached, it made his stomach sink. She must have seen her share of blood being shed, she couldn't hide that fact.
The two of them were to be housed at the inn as well for the few nights they were to spend in Alderan.
It wasn't long after that their gathering had dissolved entirely, each heading to their own room.
As Duras lay down in his bed, his short sword hidden under his pillow, he knew that tomorrow would be a long day. Danse had asked him to take their guests into the city, to show them around. Duras had insisted that he was unfit for the job since the Alderan he left behind wasn't the same one he had returned to. Danse would hear none of it however. "You'll just get to see everything you missed alongside them!", Danse's words still rang out in his foggy mind.
Looking up at the hard wood of the ceiling, he lay on his back, considering what tomorrow would entail. The presence of the two unexpected guests was a bother, one he could not easily overlook, mostly because of the young woman. People like her were unpredictable, she was a liability and he none too eager to get to babysit her.
Duras wanted to meet up with the person who sent him the letter, he wanted to see why they would ask him to officiate such an event. "Donaris Venerat", that was the name written at the bottom of the page. It didn't ring any bells. Whoever he was, he requested Duras to officiate and referee the duels that were to take part during the day of the tourney. Before he could do that, Duras wanted to sit down and talk to the man, he wanted to see who would take time out of their day to write him a letter of such little importance.
Had it been any other time and he would have failed to show up. He came only because his current assignment would have drawn him close to Alderan regardless.
Tomorrow? He'll find the man he's looking for. The day after tomorrow? He'll hold the tourney. And after that? He'll leave for the bellowing marshes, he still has a mission to complete and little time to do so. But what about tonight? He wanted to sleep but he couldn't. His heart was quiet and his mind was tired and yet, sleep wouldn't take him.
He rolled around in bed, unable to get a wink of sleep the entire night. By the time light started pouring in through the window, he was already up, doing his best to put on his armor. It wasn't easy to do so. It took time to fasten every strap with two working hands, much less with only one, so he made up for it by getting up earlier.
He pulled his sword up from under the pillow, a short yet beautiful thing. Its edge was heavy, perfect for chopping down an opponent and yet, it still retained a viciously sharp tip. Its handguard was short but practical, so as to not get in the way when he inevitably had to spin it in his hand. He gazed upon the blade with a small smile. It was a friend of his, a dangerous and volatile one but a friend nonetheless. His heart always jumped when he lay his hand upon its handle, wielding it always bore a sense of uncertainty that Duras could never outgrow.
"Înfumurat", that was the word engraved where the blade bit into the handguard, a reminder of what everyone thought of him during his youth.
He stepped out of his room and into the hallway. Going down the stairs, every odd step let out a bellowing creak as it had to endure Duras' weight bearing down on it.
The tavern was once again empty. It didn't surprise him, dawn barely broke after all. He picked up the book Benedict left on the table last night. "Dragons and Freaks" the first page read. And thus, Duras lay down reading up until everyone awoke. Dawn and Sadia came down the steps, talking to each other. The filth from last night had been replaced by the smell of cheap soap and yet, the smell of iron still clung to the young woman
"What are you reading there?", Dawn asked, a small smile on his face.
Duras snapped the book closed before tossing it aside "Nothing. Ready to head out?".
"Maybe we should eat something first?", Sadia butted in, her face as straight as an arrow.
"I got to meet with someone by noon. I am going to the keep, there's bound to be food around there. Care to join me?".
Stepping outside of the tavern, his eyes were forced to narrow in pain, the outside world was too bright for comfort. Duras walked ahead of the pair, each step thudding lightly against the stone brick of the road. The sun bore down with a gentle warmth that could be felt in the air, alongside the aroma of the flowers that sat on each side of the road.
Dawn was talking to Sadia as they walked. About what? Duras couldn't tell. There was too much noise going around to be able to make out any of the words that were spoken. The air was heavy with the sound of steps and chatter, music could be heard somewhere off in the distance.
Gazing at the two from the corner of his eye, Duras could tell that something was wrong, the contrast between their expressions was too stark. Dawn smiled as he spoke to which Sadia would nod and reply from time to time, her face blank, her eyes heavy with thought.
He could still feel it, her foul shadow looming over them.
By the time the three of them reached the square, it was almost noon. The square sat in front of the keep. It was filled with stalls and with men looking to peddle any type of good in exchange for a hefty sum of gold. Everything could be bought here. From exotic goods to strange potions to fine clothes to finer blades and to even finer women, all could be bought with enough coin.
People swarmed the square akin to an army of ants, each walking about at their own pace with little regard for what others were doing. Looking at the strange sight before him, Duras hesitated to move forward, he didn't yearn to become one with the writhing mass that overtook the square. They all moved in bizarre unison. Each and every person walked independently and yet, their movements were bizarrely synchronized.
"So that's the keep you were telling me about?" Dawn asked, a hint of wonder could be felt behind his words.
Duras' gaze shifted toward the keep, its black bricks shining softly in the sunlight, a myriad of stained glass windows littering its sides, colorful banners adorning its outer walls
The keep used to be a fortress around which Alderan was built, that was a long time ago however. Now, it's nothing more than a relic of the past, its walls a reminder of what happens when the half-drakes come marching in, of what happens when the strong tread on the weak.
"'I'll be there if you need me.", he told the pair, the three of them agreeing to meet up in front of the square by late noon at the latest.
Duras made his way around the square, his eyes fixated on a pair of banners he didn't recognize, his heart swelling with anticipation with every step. As he walked into an adjacent alley, the noises of the swarm slowly died out, the air becoming still and quiet yet heavy with the smell of sewage.
And then, as he walked, he heard something. Footsteps. Someone was walking behind him. Not only that, each little thud he heard came a mere moment after Duras stepped forward, they were trying to match his pace.
He did not turn around - not yet, there were too many ways in which his stalker could slip out of the alley. He kept walking, gazing at the keep, his eyes on the two banners he did not recognize, his fingers curling up into a fist. He could feel them closing in from behind.
Eventually, only his steps could be heard, he knew what that meant, they were finally walking in unison. And then, the moment he was waiting for arrived. As he advanced, all he could see were white-washed walls. They closed in from both sides, there was little room to work with but there was also nowhere to hide.
Duras turned around on his heels, his mantle swirling as he spun, his steel leaving its sheath, coming face to face with a young man. The pale figure didn't flinch nor budge, he just smiled, even with the cold of the blade at his throat.
"I'll give you a moment to explain yourself.", Duras spoke, fingers stiffening around the handle of his blade, "Don't waste it.".
He smiled wryly, "There's no need for that. I am merely walking to the keep. Just like you, I presume?", his eyes were cold, just like Sadia's.
Pale as moonlight, his dark hair was tied behind his head, his clothes black, sewn with silver strands - a lord's garb, one hand steady on his belt, the other on the handle of the blade that sat at his hip.
"You presume right. May I have your name?".
"Of course I do. As for my name, just call me Dacian...", he bowed lightly, his smile cracking ever wider.
The both of them walked out of the alley and into the open road. Duras was now in front of the outer gate of the keep. He watched on as Dacian stepped ahead and into the yard, moving about the place with the presence and posture of someone who had the utmost confidence in themselves.
Now that he was closer, he could finally make out the shapes on the banners he didn't recognize. One was pitch black, a white serpent coiling on the dark fabric. The other was white, a black bird spreading its wings in the middle of it, a cross in its mouth. Both sat side by side, in between the banners of House Rause and House Tarel. Could one of these banners belong to Donaris Venerat?
Now, all he had to do was go inside and ask about "the horned one". Stepping inside the yard, he wasted no time in heading towards the entrance of the inner citadel. The grand wooden gates lay open, revealing a long hallway, two men standing at its end. The men were guards. They asked what business he had there, they only let him in after he had presented his summons. "Up the stairs, fifth door on the left. That's where you'll find him.", they told him before he went inside.
His nose was beset by the smell of lacquered wood as he stepped inside, the stone of the hallway being replaced by the red fabric of the carpet that seemed to be ever-present within the keep. He saw the great spiral stairways the guards spoke of. He walked past them, there was something else he had to see first.
Walking further, braziers started lighting the way, leading Duras deeper inside the stone archways. After a few moments of advancing, he could tell that he was nearing the feast hall, everything was just as he left it.
It wasn't long until the stained glass windows started coming into view. The first few were of little interest, the one he longed to see was just before the hall and thus, no time was wasted in his pursuit.
He stood there, in front of the hall, gazing up at the window, a small smile on his face. Looking up, he saw an angel, his angel, the only person he could never forget. The window depicted a woman. She wore armor befitting her status as the leader of the Eight, a blade in one hand and a standard in the other, her visage proud as she stepped on the head of a red wyvern.
Just above her left shoulder, a white wing was made manifest, tiny drops of light breaking away and falling toward the ground. Duras could still feel the surprise he felt in that moment, when his dear Victoria was finally chosen.
Oh, how he missed her.
"I am sorry I haven't come to see you in so long...", he mumbled to himself, a seed of sorrow taking hold.
"Who are you apologizing to?", a woman's voice asked as she stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Duras.
Turning his head, his eyes were met by the blue fabric of a pourpoint jacket.
A hand reached for his chin, "Eyes are up here.", she spoke as he gently guided his head upward.
Horns. Two jagged horns sprouted from her head, her hair short and as black as the night, her hands coarse, her skin shimmering with scaly ridges. Her eyes shone akin to molten rock, narrow slits sitting where the pupils should, her gaze burning against her pale gray skin.
His arms and legs stiffened, his muscles tensing subconsciously. His mind jolted back to when he stood across from Thorn, to when he found himself inside the dragon's maw, to when he was chewed to pieces.
"What's wrong?", a toothy smile gave way, a flash of sharp teeth splitting her visage open, "You look as if you have seen a ghost.".