Bodies burned black.
The flames continued their feast.
The sun was beginning its journey to the other end of Ayla when a soldier came running in a panicked haze. At first he seemed maddened, crazed from the heat of the sun, or perhaps some over-indulgence in some form of the soldiers' alcohol, a crime to deserve a good
Sethlzaar rested uncomfortably beneath the tenth fashioned for him by the soldiers. His wounds beneath their bandages ached in severe discomfort. He had been patched up by a healer whose name he neither remembered nor was bothered to attempt reminiscence of. The man having done a great job of stitching him up and bandaging him properly had moved on to other men.He turned to observe his veils embedded in the grass. The lost twin had been found by Soartin.
Sethlzaar woke with a start. His hands finding the hilt of the veil beneath his pillow with easy accuracy, he drew it. He stopped, veil halfway free of its scabbard as his gaze focused on what had instigated his action.A soft curse escaped his lips.He clenched his teeth, holding back his annoyance. "Did you forget ho
The next day proved uneventful, and so did the days that followed. Two days became three, and three became four. In time, seven days grew by with boring, unprecedented monotony.The days lumbered by in agonizing sluggishness. Sethlzaar found solace only in the nights he spent with Saelin when she told him tales of ancient times and ancient people.
Morning found Sethlzaar at the smithy after mass. It was as hot as every smithy he had ever had the displeasure of entering. Its walls bore scorches at random spots that had him wondering if the blacksmith shaped only metals or if the man had a propensity to forget the walls were made of stone and brick. Despite the scorch marks, the smithy was in surprising order.Weapons intended for repairs laid arranged at one corner while the man's works dangled from nails fastened to the walls, each sword and axe, a beauty in their form, waiting in hopes that one day they wo
Sethlzaar frowned at the sight before him. This was the tenth time, and yet, there was no difference. Not a stranger to violence? Sethlzaar scoffed, he knows nothing but violence.Foln swung his sword. The action bore all of his power and nothing of precision. Against better opponents it would have cost him, however, Sethlzaar had chosen the youngest and least skilled of the soldiers he could find. He always warned them before they'd followed him. The person they would spar with was not known to hold back.
First light hadn't risen long when Sethlzaar trained Foln, continuing in his training to help the boy attain accuracy along with his power, hoping that in due time he would be able to teach the boy control, something he truly required. The lesson was as vibrant as the activity in the tower. Foln proved determined to beat him, if not learn. And Sethlzaar had half the mind to prove the boy was too inexperienced to achieve such a feat.At noon the fort was drowned in an ominous silence as Sethlzaar walked the grounds. He watched two sisters standing in a corner, one consoling the other as she we
"So you leave the battlefield and she reckons it alright to break the chain of command to follow you. But when she starts running for the battlefield, you—No...We... follow her, simply 'cos you find some horse shite sense of loyalty to follow her to her death for the sake of love."
A distance past the camp blacksmith Sethlzaar caught sight of Saelin. Beside her walked a young soldier doing his best to make conversation with her. It was the third soldier to make an attempt since their return.The third Sethlzaar had seen.Saelin wasn't quick to note him so he slowed his pace and observed them both
Darkness has never truly been a thing of worry here. Basically, it’s most often dark here. Most of us don’t like it, but time is enough to make anyone adapt to it. Still, it’s not like we have much of an option. Wether it’s dark or bright or generally colorless, it wouldn’t matter, this is the life we live. We would claim we didn’t choose it, that it chose us. But I’ll be honest, we chose it as much as it chose us. Every action we ever took has led us here; at least all the actions I ever took led me here.
Maekil snapped his finger in recognition. “Yes,” he almost exclaimed. “The Shadow Child of the Conisoir. Even the Lords employ it to scare their children from bad deeds.” He placed a finger to his bottom lip in puzzlement. “Although, yours is different. Why is that?”“Because it is the true tale.”“And you believe this
Red wine twirled within a transparent cup made of glass and fashioned for the simple and unnecessary sake of aesthetics. By Truth, Maekil never could understand the desire to be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it was because all his life he had been nothing but pleasing to the eye, perhaps it was not. He dropped the cup without taking a sip.He would only taste of the wine when the night was over and the morning greeted him with the light of the sun. Normally this wasn’t the case: not in his manor.
Valerik came awake screaming and gasping. His cassock was soaked in sweat and a terror grasped at his heart as he cried into arms that held him with so much untainted love. But somethings were greater than others and he knew that no love or hate or indifference could triumph over the terror that held him.“What’s wrong, father?” a voice asked.He knew who
Valerik opened his eyes from his slumber, instinct propelled to reach across him to ensure he bow still lay where he’d left it last night when he’d bedded down for the night. The bow was the livelihood of his people. A man with no knowledge of where his bow lay at all times was a failure of a man. Assured it was where he’d left it, he rose from the ground to a sitting position and watched the man who sat on the log on the other side of a fire that was nothing but ash. No doubt it had fizzled out sometime during the night, considering no one had paid it any attention.
Sethlzaar blinked the darkness away, but he might as well have waved away the air. Unable to see, he sat up with ease. The floor was covered in grass and served as a soft bed to his rump, so much so that he hesitated to rise to his feet. But he did.Around him was overshadowed in a familiar darkness, and when he took a step forward he frowned at the sight before him.A rub
They couldn’t afford to let the fight drag on. But if there were no wisps, how could he change its course? If Berlak evaded him at every turn, how could they turn the tide? The answer came to him as quickly as the question. There’s more you can do in the dark.Stepping forward, he moved his hand in as he spun from the cover of Cenam’s back to oppose Berlak. The god turned away from his attack easily, striking a closed fist against the flat of Cenam’s veil.
Sethlzaar saw the moment the fight was decided. The climax to the torrential build up. Cenam swung the veil in his left hand. A downward stroke designed to take his enemy’s head. Berlak reacted as fast as the stroke itself, his longsword striking the veil from Cenam’s grip, taking away the priest’s advantage. But Sethlzaar had seen such decisions before. Cenam had intended it. The strike, although intended to take the man’s head, had never truly been expected to. Not a feint. A sacrifice.Cenam’s second ve
The war raged on within the city walls, though the carnage was not as depressing within as it was without. Sethlzaar carried himself in a full sprint, his previously perceived fatigue ebbing away at the touch of darkness as he followed where Cenam led. Bratvi kept pace beside him and paid no obvious attention to his broken wrist. One thing was certain; even if the Most Reverend could fight, it would be impossible to use both veils.There was no doubt that those who had given the once mythical city of Arlyn its reigning title had never stepped foot within its walls. Still, there wa