The Festival of Spirits

Celebrated in Heron, the two week-long Festival of Spirits is considered by many to be one of the most important regional holidays, despite its relatively non-religious nature. Non-religious, and certainly non-Chaotic, the festival is a time of merriment and debauchery, featuring endless festivities, rich sweets and beverages, and many activities that would be considered highly improper at any other time of the year.

Even the most devout of Chaotics see the value in the Festival of Spirits. Superstitious types claim that its purpose is to both scare evil spirits away from Heronite settlements and purge them from within the peoples' own hearts, ensuring the community's safety as the nights grow longer and darker. Some take a more pragmatic view, however, seeing the holiday as a way for people to indulge themselves and warm their souls before the desolation of the cold Heronite winter. 

Whatever the origin of the festival or its intended purpose, revelers see the festival as an excuse to indulge in fantasies that would be highly unacceptable in Heronite society during the rest of the year. However, while the spirit of the holiday holds that things that people do during the festival should be completely forgotten once the festival ends, this obviously doesn't always apply in practice. It is common for revelers to wear masks to hide their identities, especially when engaging in behavior that might cause their communities to cast judgement on them. Guards are forbidden from arresting people during the festival for behaviors that might be considered obscene or blasphemous if they do not directly cause harm to another person, so the function of the mask is largely a way to avoid any social fallout of one's actions.

There are many stories about the Festival of Spirits, but one recent example of someone embodying the true spirit of the festival was a brothel in Eydisthorpe who suspended business as usual and opened their doors, for free, to people who wished to spend the festival with lovers who they would not normally be seen with in public, single folks who wished to engage in liasons with people of the same gender, and those who sought to present and dress in ways that contradicted Heron's strict norms surrounding sex and gender. Knowledge of the private party was spread by word of mouth, and the brothel was guarded by a pair of Salican clerics whose sole charge was to keep out those who came with ill intentions towards the revelers. This practice has become a yearly tradition, and one that causes little fuss due to the hosts' care in protecting the identities of the party's attendees.

Fauna of Comalan

Hey guys! Today's update is an excerpt from the Biological Glossary of Comalan that details some of the beasts that can be found in the world of Comalan.

***

Eversprite hound - Native to Tanis, these canine creatures host a belly of tiny sprites whose appearances change with the elements. These sprites are considered the offspring of the hound and will grow into a pup if they live to be three years old. Eversprite hounds are considered to be unisex as each hound has its own horde of sprite offspring. A few eversprite hounds also live in Resta, due to poachers engaging in an illegal trade. To date, the only known hound living naturally in Resta is an old and large beast named Bear, who watches over the famed Flora Field.

Geoli - Rare white wolves that are conjured by magic and controlled by Geos. Considering the fact that they are created by Geos, many consider geoli to be fey creatures. They are however categorized as fauna because, unlike most fey creatures, they can sexually reproduce.

Tanistrider - A four-legged, wingless bird that is found only in Tanis. They are strong animals, despite their hollow bones, and are therefore used by Tanisians as steeds.

Ridgewolf - A species of gray wolves that wander the many foothill regions of Resta. Their hardened skulls are used for ramming their prey and threats before they finish them off with their fangs. Although conservationists worry about the effect of their diminished population in most parts of the world, ridgewolves have come to be associated with Resta since it is now the only region where they can be found. This has led to foreigners to the kingdom using the word “ridgewolf” as a slang term for its citizens.

Lapis Sunfish - A species of freshwater fish found in the glacial lakes of Heron. This vibrant fish is named for its deep blue scales and golden striped fins. The lapis sunfish is displayed on the crest of the Piers Family.

Field Lynx - A feline species that favors flat areas with open skies. They thrive in areas with tall grass and can prey on  animals up to three times its size thanks to its agility and powerful jaws. They are rarely seen alone, as they hunt in pairs. 

Akisian Sorrowfish - Also known as the Akisian Hopefish, this species of saltwater fish is typically found within miles of Midania’s coastline. They are said to have been the lifeblood of the once-proud island’s environment. However, since the curse of Salica rendered the land unsuitable for life, very few of them swim close to shore. The sai’mul view the sorrowfish as a symbol of hope or despair, believing that if they ever plentifully swim close to Midania’s shores again, life will make its return to the island as well.

Heronite Snow Fox - The Heronite snow fox is a species unique to Heron, hence the name. This fox has white fur with a grey-tipped tail and ears, making it an easily identifiable creature when placed beside other types of foxes, but very difficult to see in its snowy habitat. These creatures are known for their intelligence, and are rumored to have magical qualities, but the wealth of cautionary Heronite legends and folk tales pertaining to them tend to discourage humans from investigating further. 

Seresian owl - These white and yellow feathered birds live in the woods to the west of Seres. They are adored by the citizens of the city, who view them as a symbol of Crane, owing to their intelligence.

Dove of Tranquility - A rare white bird that is seen flocking on the day before Day of Tranquility. As they can only be seen once a year, no one has ever seen one up close.

Silverfist - Gorrilas that were once plentiful in the lands of Coronos before its exposure to the Plague of Suffering. They were once trained by mortals as foot soldiers for their strength and relative intelligence among animals.

Firecrab - A crustacean species native to the shores of Galeon and Resta. They spawn on sandy beaches late in the spring and migrate into the deep sea near the end of summer. Their meat is naturally spicy and often served as a summer staple. Adult females are often mistaken for elementals due to the flames on their backs. 

Swampback - A species of apes living in the swamps of Tanis. They are believed to be modern descendents of the Silverfist, but lack the magical affinity of their ancient counterparts.

Mountain Snow Wolf - White wolves who favor low-elevation cold climates. They can be found mostly in Northern Resta and Tanis, but also appear in large numbers on Katrine. 

Kraken - Fierce, tentacled beasts who roam the deep seas, preying on hapless sailors. Although the existence of the Familiar of Salica would indicate that Krakens are fey creatures, no evidence has ever been seen of any living Kraken besides Karashartal displaying magic.

Deepwood Bee - These territorial insects are found primarily in the forests of Tanis. Few roam beyond their native forests, but those who do are believed to be of a different level of strength from the rest of their species. Their stings are poisonous, but the worst injuries inflicted by their species always tend to come from those who’ve strayed furthest from home. It is for this reason that Chaotics from Resta have a deep respect for this species.

The Magister's Rage, Part 2

Back to Part One!

When I awoke, hours later, it appeared that healers had been working on the wound on my forehead. To my dismay, however, I would discover that I was marked in my duel with a long, deep scar raked across the top of my face. This scar is Her brand. That is what the clerics whispered in fear as they examined me. The moment I knew I was cursed for the first time, I was eager to resist the notion. However persistent I was in my disbelief and insistent I was of my lifetime of devotion to purer ideals, it was not enough to stay the dreadful interrogations that followed.

Once my flesh was mended to the fullest extent possible, the priests released me into the hands of the templars. Since I lost consciousness, several bore witness to the end of our duel. Having been told nothing since I awoke, I assumed that nothing had occurred that was of any fault of mine; the exception being my agreement to participate in the duel at all.

My assumption was viciously disproven.

I was required to tell my schoolmates for the remainder of my time at the Academy that the templars were gentle in their interrogation, but I no longer have any reason to perpetuate this lie. The full power of my inquisitor was justified by the Academy in their effort to learn what caused my behavior. I was burned with their light repeatedly in their crusade for answers, but I could not make sense of anything but the pain.

Despite this, however, I did not begrudge them for my treatment nearly as much as I begrudge them now for not having finished me off. My anger is clearly not rational, for I have since learned that if my life had been in jeopardy, they would have been dispatched by the evil spirit the priests were now convinced I carried within me. Even so, a part of me still hangs on to the notion that they were likely unaware of this. For if they did know the danger I posed to them, I doubt they would have risked attempting to maim me.

When they were finally able to accept that I knew even less than they, the templars told me what had happened. Several witnesses had gathered since my blackout to tell the story of my actions. Bellarose, fellow students who were passing through the opposite end of the field on which Ethan and I had clashed, and many Templars all reported what they saw. After sorting out the bias and mistaken falsehoods, these guards weaved a full account of what happened from the facts.

After the gash was opened in my head, a river of blood gushed down my face. I then staggered to the ground, prompting a chorus of triumphant laughter from Ethan and his two associates. Soon, a crimson pool had formed at my head, however, turning their amusement to shock. They would join Bellarose in her panic. As I read up to this point, I rolled my eyes to discover that the boys' fear was for themselves, rather than my safety.

While I bled out on school grounds, an argument had begun between the four students. The group was evenly split on the decision to either send for help or flee. I took this to mean that at least one of Ethan's friends had something of a conscience. Or perhaps he feared getting into more trouble than he surely was in already. Whatever he thought would not save him.

Bellarose ran to find help, while the conflicted boy knelt over to help me. He did not think to remove the sword still clutched in my right hand. If he had, I might not have been able to suddenly whip my arm upward and slash at his chest. That is what the report told me I did and as the boy staggered backward and shock, I stood up. What I purportedly did after that gave me quite a shock.

I licked some of the blood from my face and said. "Delicious! But one never enjoys his own blood as much as another's!"

I then proceeded to kill all three of the young men one at a time. My first victim, the boy who consented to helping me, was stabbed in the chest. The second of Ethan's friends tried to flee, but was quickly incinerated with a wall of flame of my conjuration. Seeing that escape was not an option, Ethan opted to continue our duel. But it was no contest. The fight ended with me slitting poor Ethan's throat and burying my lips in the flood of juicy crimson blood that he spilled.

After Ethan died, the templars attempted to subdue me. But my rampage did not stop there. The report continued to describe the events as I slew four templars and injured another. I only seemed to stop as I nearly turned my blade on Bellarose. Finally, once I had calmed down, the injured templar managed to knock me out once more.

My last days at Hem Academy were littered with assurances that the elders will be merciful. Surely, since I was not in control of my actions, what had happened to my victims was not to be considered my fault. No, it wasn't my fault. Even in my darkest times, I knew that. My friends and I discovered what the true cause of my dilemma was in that time. At first, it seemed as if the entire faculty was evading us. However, coinciding events conspired to lead us to the answers we all needed.

Miles was a member of our group that many would consider out of place. He always received poor grades, rarely talked to anyone, and spent a lot of time alone. But our friendship him was one of great convenience, as his uncle was a senior instructor. This instructor expected his nephew to keep the company of some of his fellow trainees and he chose to favor us because he found our personalities to be "the least repugnant."

To us, however, this meant that we were friendly with someone who could help us. When we confronted the teacher with our questions, he gave me fair warning that we would regret finding out the truth. I do believe it was understood that this warning was for the benefit of my friends. I would not be escaping the truth. Though I asked them all to leave, they insisted on being told as well what was happening to me. My protests were shouted down, and so the elder spoke to us.

Long ago, Maula, the Goddess of Death, set foot on Comalan, aiming to undo the creations of her father and uncle. With her army of darkness, she trampled through the great continent, spreading death with every step. But she was not without opposition. Mortal champions who respectively represented her mother, Serenity, and father, Ragos, formulated a plan to defeat her with an enchanted halberd.

They were aided by Artix Maloran, the first prince of Resta and the elven queen Orion. However, each of them had sworn vows to Maula, long-forgotten in the wake of her atrocities. For their betrayal, Maula cursed them, claiming that she will one day enslave a descendant of each. They underestimated her in her weakened state and failed to heed many warnings not to marry. They would spawn a powerful bloodline of magisters, spellwarriors, and templars and doom two of their descendants due to their union.

When my father and mother arrived at the academy, I learned from my father that I was the second of the family in whom the curse had manifested. Though I shared a fate with my sweet cousin Adamora, I did not share her response. I felt no fear; I felt only anger. This anger would not abate before the headmaster announced that I was to be expelled for dueling. So I never said goodbye to anyone but Bellarose.

When I left, it was never to see any but two of my friends again..

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The Magister's Rage Part 1

Click here to read the intro

My dreams are but a memory.

What else can be said of my ambitions? I have only ever wanted to give my all for the good of my people. This is what I used to tell myself when reflecting upon what has happened to me. It was twenty years ago. If it feels like a waste of time to discuss my old life, I beg you to indulge me. If you are to understand how I could have gone to the lows I have, it is important that you understand where I came from.

My full name is Gyanda Artix Maloran. I am the youngest born of an elven father and a human mother. I was named for the city in which I was born, oddly enough. It can be very irritating, as to speak of one is to remind any I know of the other. It has been the source of many wearing jokes. It is a name that I am proud to bear, though, for Gyanda is the sacred city of Chaos, the King of the Gods. However, it is the only part I lack any disdain for. After all, it was my ancestor Artix Maloran who helped to seal my accursed fate centuries ago.

I was born with a natural affinity for magic, I'm told. From a very young age, my father would always tell stories of the conscious uses of it during my infancy that I'd otherwise have forgotten. It was from him that I learned to control and responsibly experiment with my power. He and my older brother Alphonse were to be my role models. While Mother tried on many occasions to convince me to become an apprentice to some magister or another, all I ever wanted was to take up the same cause as my father and brothers.

It is little wonder that my mother, a templar general, would be disappointed with my desire to be a spellwarrior. To be frank, I understand nothing about her at all. She disdains the profession of my father and elder brothers and yet, both of them love her. I cannot say whether I have ever shared this bond.

She was always insistent that I distinguish myself from them. Delightful woman that she was, she was certain that my talent would be wasted in their shadow. She is wrong, however, because glory is not my goal. I had nothing but the purest intention in mind when I told my family that I wanted to go to Hem Academy.

It was always my dearest ambition was to serve as one of the elite. The Order of Spellwarriors are defenders of the weak, enforcer of the peoples' justice. While templars exist to relay the commands of the Gods  of Fadal to us, it is the spellwarriors who reply with the hopes and fears of mortals. What is deemed unimportant for the Fadalians' touch falls under the sole authority of the Order.

In those days, I was both studious and pious. Though I'm certain you could guess which of these qualities I have since discarded, you would find that same quality would answer any question as to my motivations in youth. I believed that the heroism of the elder men in my family was a sign that it was in their life that the talent with which I was blessed would shine.

And so, it was with the recommendations of three spellwarriors in good standing and a passionate display of magical prowess that I was accepted into Hem Academy. It was this prestigious school that served as the headquarters of the Order and remains the only institution in which potential recruits are trained. And although I yearned to pledge my life for the good of my people, it was when I had finally entered these halls that my nightmare began.

To be fair, my first year was as a dream. It was there that I met some of my oldest friends; sweet memories made bitter with the memory of how each friendship ended. In my furious quest to avenge my stolen future, I ultimately alienated them all. The only one of them who still speaks to me is now my wife. But back then I had them all and I was grateful for their friendship.

Through my rigorous studies, I swiftly absorbed the magical abilities offered in the renowned training program. I could not have been prouder of my academic history, but it has given me a great deal of detractors. I never called for the enemies I made, but they responded regardless, so to speak. The only protections I had were a small circle of friends and my developing spell work. Thankfully, it was enough to ensure that I was rarely ever endangered.

One duel. That's all it took for me to lose everything to which I had dedicated the majority of my life. Among my enemies in Hem Academy, one Ethan Reed should have been remembered as the biggest problem during my studies. And were it not for the very consequences of agreeing to that duel against him, he certainly would have been.

That one duel was the biggest mistake of my life.

The terms were dubious from the start. Early in my second year, my dearest Bellarose lost a precious buckler. This small shield, the last gift of her treasured grandfather, was too precious to accept as gone. Together, our friends collaborated to locate the favored armament, only to discover that it was stolen by Ethan. However, when Bellarose and I confronted him Ethan responded with evidence that the buckler had truly originated from the private collection of a member of our nation's royal family. I believe he was referring to Prince Clark.

It pains me to say that I would have accepted the duel again if allowed to relive that day. When he threatened to report her for her possession of royal property, he said the only way to stop him was if I defeated him in a duel with weapons and without my spells. To protect her, I elected to trade the spells I spent months mastering for a sword with which I had little practice at all.

I had agreed on this match, only to discover that, instead of the training swords we use in our classes, he had come into possession of true bladed weapons. Naturally, though I managed to hold my own at first, the duel did not go in my favor. I fought bravely, but the rest of the fight in me drained through the blood Ethan spilled that day with a cut to my forehead. I lack any recollection of what followed, but the events that transpired will forever haunt me.

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Death Touch Chapter 9

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Clint

Seth Midas had made one hell of a mess. It was only out of personal obligation that Clint had agreed to stay at the infirmary and help to put everything back where it was. Clint decided then that if he, Sara, and Alexis managed to bring him back to his senses, he would owe them big time. Climb aboard everyone! We’re all going to the Summer Festival and the fire crab’s on Seth! He had mentioned this thought to Alexis and she nodded vigorously in agreement.

Graciously enough, Sara had agreed to stay and help even though everyone else involved had insisted that she didn’t have to. In response, she only shook her head and explained that Seth was a friend of hers now whether he knew it or not. Alexis smiled in spite of herself and Doctor Clark remarked at how much he appreciated the help.

One of the first major issues was to figure out what to do with Albert. As it turned out, he’d had no living family or any acquaintances besides the doctor. It was he who decided that Albert could be buried just outside. After that was taken care of, they set to the solemn task of cleaning the clinic with Doctor Clark reminiscing about memorable shifts he and Albert shared that Clint was sure included more than medical work. Clint was not even remotely fascinated with the stories-- all of which seemed to confirm that Albert had been exactly as boring as he had always seemed-- but he knew that talking about him would make Doctor Clark feel better, so he made an honest effort to listen.

When the clinic had finally been restored to its previous condition, it was with some guilt that they left Dr. Clark alone. He waved them away, saying that he had no patients that required his attention and therefore no reason to take up any of the time that could be spent worrying about Seth. Clint had considered the royal doctor to be one of those who could join in that worry, but he did seem to agree. So, Clint and his friends returned to the Midas house to see if Seth had returned there. They found that his possessions had been disturbed and determined that he had hastily packed to leave the village.

“The only ways he can go are north and west,” Sara pointed out somewhat unhelpfully. “Would he stick to the roads?”

“That would depend on where he’s going,” Clint replied as he replaced some hastily upended trophies Seth left on the shelf in his bedroom. “If he’s in flight, I doubt it.”

“Then probably not then,” Alexis said quietly. “He was clearly panicking when he left.”

Clint strode for the door and threw it open. “Stay here. I should be able to find his trail. When I do, I’ll be back.”

“What do you expect us to do?” demanded Alexis, rather fairly. “We aren’t going to find him if we just sit around waiting!”

“Then ask around for anyone who might have seen him,” Clint suggested. “I’ll be able to track him better alone. If he’s really as spooked as you say he is, then one wrong move will cause us to lose him again and with his training, we won‘t get another shot.”

Sara sounded impressed as she asked. “You sound like you really know what you’re talking about.”

Alexis rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage him. He already thinks he’s the master of everything that goes on outdoors.”

That was an unfair accusation, but not entirely untrue. He liked to think he’d always been rather humble about it, but he did seem to have a deep understanding of nature. He could practically tell where a starling had been and what it had eaten for every meal in the last season. It was exactly this trait that made him such an effective hunter. He may not have been the quickest man to stalk through Resta’s open plains, but no amount of speed could help an animal to elude him.

Unfortunately, it took two hours to find out that Seth had defied his expectations and left the village by road. Feeling foolish, Clint decided to never again ignore the obvious in favor of conjecture. Desperate to make up for lost time, he found the scuff marks made by Seth’s black boots near the edge of town where the cobblestone met the dirt road. He had left behind a long streak as if he had been running the whole way. This worried Clint, who had expected to find the more obvious paw prints of a wolf the entire time. Why would he leave on foot?

Clint followed the road as carefully as his haste would allow. He knew that the further along he went, the more footprints there would be to obscure those of the fleeing spellwarrior. So it was with some relief that he noticed that Seth had left the trail as it curved to the northwest towards Beldor. Whatever he’s looking for must be due north. Either that or he isn’t thinking straight.

His search continued into the afternoon and the trail still continued steadily. He had just stopped for a break when he encountered a nearly impossible coincidence: his brother. The first thing one would notice about Richard Blackstone is that he looked out of place in direct sunlight. His pale skin was a firm testament to the rigor of his studious nature. The younger brother did not seem pleased to see Clint, but he did not seem to be surprised. The man could be told just about anything and act like he had known it for ages. It was then he remembered just how devoted of a Crane worshipper Richard was. He would make a better champion of Crane than me.

Richard could not even manage a brotherly smile as he said, “Clint.”

Clint’s legendary patience led him to respond, “Last time I checked.”

Hatred etched into the lines of Richard’s face as he asked, “Why you?”

It seems we’re in agreement. “I don’t know. I assume we’re talking about Crane’s interest in me?”

“You’re a buffoon,” Richard snarled. “I have followed the way of Crane my entire life and yet he chose you.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m so sorry for you, but I don’t really have the time to debate the way of Crane with you right now. What are you doing here?”

Richard harrumphed and turned his back to leave. “The temple elder sent me to find you. You won’t get far if you can’t even understand Crane’s voice, you know.”

“I understand his intentions just fine!” Clint snapped impatiently. Damn those omniscient priests. “If that’s all, I need to get going.”

Richard shook his head. “You won’t find what you’re looking for. The best thing you can do now is return home and meet with the elder.”

“I’m looking for another champion right now! I have to find him!” Conversation is beautiful when you don’t have to explain anything.

Richard shrugged and walked away. “Fine. Waste time if you want. But the Champion of Ragos won’t be found until he’s ready and if you continue to delude yourself otherwise, you won‘t be ready when the time comes.”

Clint had been underestimated by Richard his entire life. The little academic prodigy would be surprised if his older brother managed to tie his own boots without assistance. Now that he was alone once more, he resumed his search. But less than half an hour later, the trail went cold. No further signs of Seth’s presence, or anyone else’s, could be seen further ahead. Damn that smug know-it-all.

***

Seeing no other option, Clint decided to take his brother’s advice and travel to Seres. The trip wasn’t long since the trail had taken him closer to his hometown than he had been to Palon at the end of it. Still, Clint was anxious about his decision to leave Sara behind. He didn’t doubt that whatever the High Priest of Seres, the holy city of Crane, had to tell him was important. But his fellow champion of the divine should be there too, shouldn’t she? Being a fellow Crane adherent, albeit less of a devotee than to Serenity, she might have some insight to share.

Well, worrying about her now won’t do much good. The ornate marble pillars that comprised the border of Seres were already in view. He supposed he would just have to find a way to send a message to her later. The owls native to the region were some of the smartest letter-carrying birds in the world, even if he would have preferred the speed of a blood falcon. So the first thing he did was stop at the city’s postal office and compose a letter telling Alexis and Sara where he had gone and what he had learned about Seth. He had it sent with haste, then made his way to the Grand Temple of Crane

.

He had seen many of his kin along the way, but was surprised yet again to see his brother sitting in the temple pews. Richard determinedly refused to look at Clint as he slowly approached the amphitheater on which Crane’s altar stood. As he did so, the light that streamed in through each of the magnificent stained glass windows disoriented him. When he found himself face-to-face with a statue of the intellectual god, he was greeted by a friendly voice.

“Clint! It’s been a long time!”

Clint spun to spot his uncle before he could trap him in a rib-cracking hug. Even being prepared for such constriction did nothing to make the embrace of Rolf Blackstone pleasant. He bore it as well as he could and, when he was released, smiled weakly.

“Good afternoon, your holiness.”

Uncle Rolf slapped Clint on the back and laughed. “Oh, there’s no need to be so formal with me, my child! I know you’re chosen by Crane, but you’re still my nephew!”

Clint’s patience had always rewarded him well, so he was content to reply, “Maybe, but I’m a nephew with an important mission now.”

The High Priest nodded vigorously and flipped through an ancient copy of The Codex of Crane. “Yes, and what an unprecedented calling it is! There have been those who saved the world at the request of Serenity and Ragos before, but there’s never been a champion of Crane before!”

Clint shook his head. “True, but it’s not that unprecedented. We’re supposed to be doing the exact same thing as the first champions.”

Rolf turned his attention to a specific page of the codex and recited, “Where there is conflict between mortals, the Gods merely observe. Where there is conflict between Gods, the mortals must aid us. So it was that my brother said to Nicholai, ‘You must defeat my daughter if you are to live,’ and the gentle princess said to Helen, ‘If my daughter is successful, we will be alone again.’ It was with great regret that I confess to my inaction. Should our glorious and necessary creation ever again be threatened, I shall not hesitate to defend it.”

Clint had listened to this random recital of scripture with some interest. But when Rolf had finished, he only asked. “So what?”

Richard clicked his teeth impatiently, but Rolf ignored him. “This passage is a prediction of current events. Crane knew that Comalan would not always be safe, even with the Gods to watch over us. So it was ordained that Crane would choose a champion this time. If you read on, you find that he’s passionate about the idea. But have you ever wondered why Champions are needed in the first place?”

Clint shook his head. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him to consider just what he was expected to do that the Gods couldn’t on their own. But now that he had thought of it, it seemed like a good question. “Not really, but I am now.”

The elder opened to another passage and began to read once more. “For although we control this world, our power has limits. Only the mortal kind can walk upon it while we must observe from a distance. But if the living constructs of Comalan let us into their hearts, we can see our creation through their eyes and speak with their tongues.”

Clint thought about this passage as his uncle read and when he was done, he’d had no trouble understanding this time. “The gods can’t actually set foot on Comalan without a mortal host.”

“What a surprise,” Richard said, standing up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you figure anything out that quickly.”

Clint turned to rage at Richard, but he was already leaving. “Ignore him,” Rolf said with a slow shake of his head. “For all of his devotion, he doesn’t understand Crane at all.”

Clint looked up at the face of the statue sadly. “I’m not sure I do either. How can a guy like me be the face of Crane’s intellect?”

Rolf flipped to the back of the book to read one more passage. “Although knowledge is a gift that all must appreciate, those who seek knowledge rather than simply consuming it will be most richly rewarded at the time of neosynthesis.”

The priest closed the book and smiled at Clint. “You don’t need to absorb every piece of information in the world to be smart, my child. Your intellect will flourish on the frontier of history. You’re right, though. You do need help to understand Crane a little better. You‘ll recall that only acolytes and priests know the ancient language of the Gods, but it‘s about time that you learned, don‘t you think?”

Next Chapter

Death Touch Chapter 8

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Seth

Luna was, in fact, able to compliment someone.

Seth had been stunned to learn this fact when he picked up the trail from the site of the massacre. He couldn’t take full credit for this achievement as he had relied primarily on Inkfang’s instincts. Still, it felt so good to have someone believe he might be a decent spellwarrior yet, he allowed himself to enjoy the praise. From what he was able to tell on his own, however, they were tracking six enemies with a highly unusual footprint. In the growing darkness, they could just make them out in the grass. Whatever these things ran on were three-clawed abominations.

Seth’s first guess had been massive birds, but Luna shot that theory down with, “Do you know of any birds that spit acid?” And since he did not, he simply resolved to continue following the tracks to find out what they were dealing with.

It was nearing midnight when Luna finally dismounted and motioned for Seth to do the same. By then, they had already ridden far to the west, near the border into the forest nation of Tanis. As the wolves vanished in their wake, Seth began to study the tracks. They seemed fresher and, now that he thought of it, he could hear deep, booming laughter in the distance--that was probably why Luna had dismounted. She pulled him close to her so he could hear her speak in a whisper:

“They’re close, but we don’t know how close yet. I want you to make yourself invisible and move slowly. I’ll mark this spot for a rendezvous point. Watch out for locals, and come straight back when you get eyes on these things. Don’t-- and I do mean don’t-- try anything reckless.”

Seth nodded his acknowledgment of these orders. At this point, he did not really need to be told to be careful. Inkfang had already done enough to make him nervous. As they drew nearer to the spot where they had to leave the wolves, she had balked several times, clearly unwilling to approach whatever was ahead of them.

With the plan clearly laid out, the two spellwarriors split up, traveling in opposite directions in an attempt to flank those who were the source of the noise. Seth crept from tree to towering tree; quite unnecessarily due to his invisibility spell. Regardless, he began to feel knots in his stomach that seemed to accompany a certainty that the enemy already knew of his presence.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because the sight of the creatures alone nearly sent him into a panic attack that nearly broke his concealment-- which required additional oxygen and was weakest when the caster hyperventilates. Their skin was the color of coal and was rippled with powerful muscles. Their hands and feet bore the three-clawed form that had been seen in their tracks and their grotesque faces were marked with three horns; two from each side of their foreheads and one curling outward from their chins. But what really caught his attention was their tails. They seemed to sway back and forth, never drooping or otherwise remaining still, and were each tipped with a bone spike the length of a knife.

As they had heard before, the creatures were laughing. A cursory scan of the area around their campsite was all Seth needed to understand why. Around the campfire, he could see several clumps of what could only be described as human meat. He could barely tell this much as he could see that some of them still had heads. Revelry filled this campsite as they sang about their kills and stoked the fire with clearly human bones.

Savages.

Though they were indeed savage, there was something more disturbing to them. Only as he saw a pair kicking a head between each other was he able to put his finger on it: these things were pure evil. The worst of his kind would be described as desensitized to violence, but these dark creatures actually seemed to revel in it. Nowhere in the darkest depths of his imagination could he ever form an image of so many simply playing with human remains as if they were toys and the indignity of it all brought out something unexpected in him.

He was angry.

Who were these repulsive things to drag off the innocent and mock them in death? Oh, they had certainly had an easy enough time picking off unscrupulous merchants, but Seth had decided then that they would test their savagery against someone who was actually strong enough to fight back. All thought of Luna’s orders forgotten, he went to work.

Even with a mind full of wrath, Seth was still a clever man. He didn’t seem able to say the same about the enemies he spied, but he could tell they were strong and anyone could tell that he was outnumbered. So it wasn’t enough to rush in with his sword blazing; he had to pick some of them off to even the odds. Seth quietly counted them all. Eleven.  But as he considered how best to tackle this plan, he noticed one of them fainting. As he fell face first into the campfire, a deadly hush fell over the camp. Seth could tell that this was magic and was suddenly reassured. I guess she doesn’t like this either.

A second maulan began to roar in pain as boils erupted over his body, this time from a spell Seth had attempted. So, fire and disease are both on the table. Good. As the boils burst into a swarm of insects, the Dark Hunters wedged together around their violently acquired supplies of gore and stolen goods. Dark Hunters. Sounds like a good name to me. Seth found that their formation told him a great deal about what the spellwarriors were dealing with. They absolutely were stupid. Their phalanx was far too small to protect them from being flanked-- something they hadn‘t even considered based on the single direction in which they all faced. Even with the fire behind them, they were still vulnerable to projectiles and--as had just been demonstrated-- magic. These were just carnivorous buffoons pretending to be soldiers.

Luna had apparently gotten the same impression as Seth because she wasted no time in charging through the campsite like a tornado. Seth couldn’t help admiring her sword style as a pirouetting leap had allowed her to cut into one neck, but just as quickly, she had ducked underneath the swipe of the next one’s tail and responded by removing the spike with a rapid cut. He could only appreciate her form for a moment before his mind formed the words, help her, fool!

Not wanting to approach the path of carnage that Luna had made for the sake of his own safety, Seth had reverted to the casting position. As the magic in Luna’s blade had created so much wind and it had worked so well before, Seth cast a spell that caused the flames in the campfire to spike behind them. The extra flames grew intensely with the added air to encircle everyone else in a ten-foot tall inferno. Fortunately, Luna’s sword strokes repelled the fire long enough for Seth to protect her with a fireproof charm.

It was a perfect victory as far as Seth could tell when the flames died down. Only one Dark Hunter remained standing, his entire head aflame, and within moments, he had sprawled to the ground with a rattling gasp. Seth rushed into the clearing with a grin and when he caught Luna’s gaze, she smiled. “You did well, Seth.”

“I disobeyed your orders,” Seth said with a failed attempt at false modesty etched into his face.

“Funny, so did I. Seriously, you were--”

Seth never got to found out what he was, because one of the Dark Hunters was still alive. Faster than the human eye could possibly track, a tail spike plunged deep into the small of Luna’s back and she gasped. Even so, it had all appeared to happen in slow-motion for Seth, who felt his chest leap as he watched the satisfaction drain from her face only to be suddenly replaced with horror. He could hear the wound sizzling, but tears came when her stomach had melted away, revealing that damned spike. With a wailing roar, Seth wrenched the tail out of his dying mentor. He ignored the sudden stinging pain he felt in his hand when he grabbed the exposed bone and labored desperately in an attempt heal the wound with his magic. But the hole only continued to grow with a series of crackling pops.

Eventually, the venom the Hunter’s tail emitted had begun to dribble from within and he was forced to let go lest he be dissolved as well. For no other reason than to avoid watching any longer, Seth drew his sword and began to hack at every piece of Dark Hunter within reach. His weapon seared with magical flames, only reminding him further of the triumph that had turned so quickly into tragedy, but he was trained to turn pain into a weapon. When there was nothing left of them to cut and burn, he collapsed. He was drained and battered with the resistance the Hunters managed to put up, but also dizzy. His right hand began to burn as his vision faded to white. Damn. It got me too.

He was rescued by a search party hours later who had followed their trail from Luna’s emergency beacon, but he barely took any notice of their presence. The physical pain that had built up in his hand and his grief were so intense that Seth thought he remembered hallucinating. He could not see anything but darkness as a dark, female voice assailed his ears. “Hello, can you hear me?”

Seth did hear. As he thought this, the voice said in a boastful tone, “Ha! Talking to mortals is easy! How do the others have such… difficulty?”

Seth didn’t understand, but as his hand continued to burn, he felt the rest of his body go cold with dread.

“You have made the biggest mistake of your life!” The voice declared with venom in her words.

Seth tried to look around, but he could not see. Could not move. Who are you?

“I can feel the petty questions rolling through your empty head,” the woman declared with a trace of mirth in her voice. “How very like my father you are, always cleaving through anything that offends you when things don’t go your way! What would you say if I told you the fate that awaits your precious mentor? She should feel honored! She’s been chosen for the Soul Forge!”

Luna in the Soul Forge? Seth’s dread deepened as he struggled to recall the significance of the term.

“That’s right! I said the Forge! There, she will burn in the embers of our grand machine for the sin of defiling my beautiful creations!” She laughed before adding. “Oh, but YOU! YOU had to survive! This is surely the work of my father, but he won’t protect you forever! Oh no! Someday, I will claim your soul as well and, when I do, you’ll see how SWIFT and HARSH my judgment can be!”

Seth wanted to scream at the woman. He wanted her to know that he didn’t regret what he’d done. As his heart filled with rage, he felt a spike of pain in his hand.

“You will regret crossing me some day, spellwarrior!” The presence hissed waspishly as she spoke, adding, “Until then, I will show you that there are far worse things in this world than death. For destroying the love I have put into my art, I will destroy all that you love! From now until the day you die, all that you touch will turn to ash! You will never again know a day without terror! One day, you will beg for the sweet mercy of eternal damnation! Sweet dreams.”

That made no sense to Seth until he woke up in a bed at Palon’s infirmary. The comfort of something close to home did not even compare to the shock of seeing a male nurse sprawled on the ground beside him. He wordlessly slid to the ground for a closer look only to confirm his suspicion; this man was dead. His hand began to burn again, prompting him to glance down; it looked fine, but still hurt. Focus!

From what little he could tell from examining the body, there didn’t seem to be any external cause of his death. It was possible that he had died from an internal cause that he wasn’t qualified to determine, but the last words he heard before then were fresh in his mind. It didn’t seem likely someone could suddenly die while giving medicine to someone else, no matter how he thought of it. Another problem occurred to him as well; he was alone with a man whose last act in life had probably been to touch him. Faced with the trauma of everything in his recent history and brutal present, Seth did the only sensible thing he could have done -- he began to panic.

He started by overturning the bed and clawing through every surface, nook, and cranny. Find a weapon. Clothes! Gotta find out what happened! Alexis!

His sister had just rushed into the room with a groggy Dr. Clark in tow. When the doctor saw the corpse at the foot of Seth’s upended bed, his shock was noticed only by Alexis; Seth had already been plotting his escape. He got his chance when Dr. Clark knelt to check the body. He bounded past the open doorway and sprinted out into the morning sunlight. He squinted as he tried to figure out his next move, despite his hysteria. He had attended enough seminars in school to know the signs of what he suspected.

Sudden onset pain with no visible cause.

Random death.

And, last but not least, hallucinations.

Seth had no doubt in his mind that he was cursed. Whoever he had heard was no hallucination, but a magic user who was linked to the Dark Hunters. She was angry at him for surviving the same battle that they did not and was exacting a toll. But the seminars had served a purpose; he calmed down and assessed his situation. His first priority, bar none, would be to find a curse breaker. He sprinted home and gathered what he needed. Sword, combat chain, clothes, money. When he was fully prepared, he left the village, trotting north before anyone could stop him.

He needed to find Professor Marzett.

Next Chapter

Death Touch Chapter 7

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Sara

The lock clicked as, with a turn of a key, Sara made her way into room 9 of the Windy Pines. By that point, she had spoken to a deity, fallen down a hill, and performed a rapidly exhausting ritual to heal her wounds. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when she collapsed onto her pillow as soon as she closed and locked the door behind her.

The next morning, she awoke with a purpose already in mind. If she was to find the other two champions in Palon, she would need some help. The best place to do this, of course, would be to inquire at the local temples. As she recalled, Palon was host to temples of Serenity and Ragos. To her, the choice was more complicated than she had considered, so she left her room without a clear idea of which to go to. On one hand, the Serene clerics wouldn’t be much help; after all, she was already sure of who would be representing the Goddess of Tranquility. Unfortunately, she felt certain that she wouldn’t even be welcome at a Chaotic temple.

There might be some compact between the local temples, though, so Sara ultimately decided that she would ask the Serene clerics for help. Assuming she could get their cooperation, they might have been able to speak to the Chaotics on her behalf. Of course, that assumed that the local champions weren’t those chosen by Crane and Salica. She had no way to know, so it was with some distraction that she had found herself stopped in the inn’s lobby by a tall man with cropped red hair. His presence felt somewhat familiar, and he seemed to be smiling at her.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “You might not recognize me since you were unconscious, but I was the one who took you to Dr. Clark’s last night.”

“Well, I don’t recall seeing your face before, but what you say explains the familiarity of your presence,” Sara said diplomatically, unsure of what to make of this man’s appearance. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The man nodded slowly. “I was wondering if you could give me some spiritual guidance.”

Sara shook her head awkwardly. “Oh, I don’t think I’m qualified to do that! I’m merely an acolyte! But if you are interested in the Serene path,  there’s a temple nearby.”

This time, the man shook his head. “I don’t think a bunch of Serene priests can explain the message I got from Crane, but I’ve had the strong, inexplicable feeling that you can all night.”

To say that this string of words left Sara dumbfounded would have been a colossal understatement. Here she was about to start her harrowing search for her fellow champions and the secret trail left by their predecessors and one of them had simply shown up unbidden. Still, to take this as simple providence would go against the diligence she had recently been praised for.

“I follow the ways of Crane as well,” Sara said uncertainly. “So I may be able to assist you, but I can promise nothing. What is this message you speak of?”

When the man had finished explaining his vision, however, she no longer had a trace of doubt in her mind. With hardly a hint of hesitation, she asked, “Might I know your name, sir?”

The man nodded. “I’m Clint Blackstone. I’m from the Orchard.”

Blackstone Orchard, close to the holy city of Crane, was a top producer of food for the rest of the kingdom and its owners were descended from the first templar. She had always revered Karla Blackstone, so she was pleasantly surprised to find herself in the company of one of her descendants and that he was to be a part of her quest.

“That’s quite a prestigious name you have, Clint Blackstone,” Sara uttered humbly.

“Oh, we only have the one paragon to our name,” Clint replied with an awkward chuckle. “But there are a lot of important Marles in history.”

Sara had not even thought to ask how Clint had come to learn her name already, because she was preoccupied with his obvious flattery. Marle was a common name, which most tended to think diluted the legend of people like Colton and Iris Marle. Even so, neither of them were as distinguished as the founder of the Kingdom’s modern clergy. Still, she certainly had more important things to think about. She cursed herself for digressing and smiled politely.

“It is kind of you to say that. As for your dream, I believe Crane was telling you the same thing I was told by Serenity yesterday. The only difference is that you are not of the clergy and therefore can’t communicate in the Gods’ ancient language. This prophecy was an alternate means of telling you that you are among four people who are meant to protect this world from the Goddess of Death.”

Clint took a moment to absorb this explanation in silence. When he finally found the words, he replied, “Of course it is. It all makes sense now! That dark cloud is Maula and you are one of the three people who stood beside me in my vision. So that means we’re going to have to find two more and…”

She did not blame him for trailing off where he did. He clearly had not been able to glean as much information from Crane’s will as she had from Serenity’s words. “And then, we will follow in the footsteps of the champions who protected our ancestors in the name of the elder gods.”

Clint nodded. “That makes sense. If a record of what they actually did exists somewhere out there, we’ll find it. But first we have to find the people chosen by Ragos and Salica.”

Sara would freely admit that she had underestimated Clint when she first met him. But to hear him talk, it seemed to make sense that Crane would have chosen him. While most would associate Crane devotees with academia and hard science, Clint seemed to possess a more worldly sort of intellect. Common sense, some would call it, but there was more to it than that. He was probably the sort of person who preferred to learn from his personal experience with the world around him over a secondhand source; a sharp, rapid kinesthetic learner.

Sara nodded. “Precisely. Serenity said that I would find two of the other champions here. Do you remember anything about your prophecy that might help us identify them?”

Clint seemed to wrack his brain for a minute before replying. “I couldn’t make out anything that could help us identify the girl with Salica’s presence. All I could sense from her was wrath. But the Ragos guy felt a little familiar to me. If there’s another champion here in Palon, we’re probably looking for him.”

Sara frowned. After her stroke of good luck in finding Clint, she had not considered the fact that she’d still have to meet with the Chaotics. Seeking to avoid that, she asked, “Do you know of any followers of Ragos offhand who might fit the description?”

Clint shook his head. “I go to temple in Seres, so I don’t know any of the local Chaotics except for my friend Seth and his sister. But Seth is in a coma right now. He won’t be championing anything.”

Sara sighed. “Well, I suppose we better consult with the local clergy. Are you a member of the Chaotic following?”

Clint nodded and chuckled. “Yeah, but I can’t go to the temple they have here. Some dumb prank, you know.”

Nearly scandalized that Clint would dare to make fools of the clergy, even Chaotics, Sara groaned. “Okay, we’ll talk to the people in the Serene temple.”

Fortunately, consulting with the Serene clerics had turned out to be a good idea after all. The two champions quickly learned that the local temples were a shadow cult, those who believed that the balance of war and tranquility was the way of the future. She had never seen Chaotics and Serenes who coexisted so happily. She could only be so happy for them since she was no fan of Ragos herself, but the Serene clerics did manage to get the Chaotics to let them into their temple. There, Clint and Sara found a lone elderly man praying to a statue of the god-king. He turned toward them with a look of disinterest and said, “You must be the people Mother Maxine told me about.”

Sara bowed in a gesture of universal respect and whispered at Clint to follow suit. When both backs had bent and been re-straightened, the priest coughed. “State your business,” he ordered sharply.

Caught off guard by the priest’s rudeness, Sara had lost her ability to speak. Fortunately, Clint hadn’t lost his tongue. “Your holiness, my name is Clint Black--”

“I know who you are, you dirty vandal!” the old man barked in interruption. “What I don’t know is what you want of us!”

Clint blushed a furious crimson, but managed to reply, “We are looking for one of the local Chaotics. Someone who may have been chosen by Ragos for a divine quest.”

The priest laughed for several seconds, but when he realized Clint had been serious, he harrumphed. “What are you doing wasting my time with talk of quests? We don’t deal in dogma here, boy!”

In her indignation, Sara finally managed to find the words. “But sir, there must be someone here who seems unusually important to Ragos. We’re certain the man we’re looking for is here in this village!”

The priest rolled his eyes and turned back toward his statue. “We don’t claim to have the foresight of Crane or Serenity here, but what a Chaotic never fails to see is power. And there is a large concentration of it nearby. It’s centered around that heathen doctor’s infirmary!”

Clint and Sara both turned to look at each other. The latter quickly remembered what the former had said about a friend in a coma, but she didn’t even need to ask. Clint had already nodded urgently.

“Thank you, your holiness, you’ve been most helpful,” Sara said with sincere gratitude.

The priest just shook his head and pointed toward the door. “If that’s so, then get out! Your timidity is stinking up my temple!”

As they rushed back to the infirmary, Clint smacked his head. “Doctor Clark told us that Seth might be waking up soon. There‘s no way to know when, but if he‘s the guy we‘re looking for after all, it could be any time now.”

So it was with great anticipation that the two of them had burst into the nearly-empty infirmary. What they found there, however, was far from expected. Dr. Clark sat on one of the open beds wearing a visible mask of shock and grief. Alexis was with them along with an elderly man dressed in a similar set of robes to hers.

The other nurse was dead.

“What happened here?” Clint asked urgently.

Alexis had been in tears as she pulled him in tightly and locked her arms around him. Sara couldn’t help notice the possessive edge in this gesture as the nurse buried her face into Clint’s chest.

“I think it’s a reaction to the infection,” Dr. Clark said shakily, clearly unable to think straight

“Wait, what?”

As Clint sputtered in confusion, Sara felt a sinking sensation in her stomach that spoke clearly of a complication in their plan.

Then, Alexis confirmed her suspicion. “Seth woke up this morning. But somehow Albert was giving him some medicine and he just… died!”

Clint seemed to be catching up now. “Because of the wild source matter?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “Whatever happened, Albert’s body was the first thing he saw when he woke up. He just began to panic and… now he’s gone.”

I wasn’t prepared for this to be easy, Sara thought.

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