Chapter 29.5
November 11th, 2022
Authors Note: This is the continuation of the narrative from what I wrote by hand. Editing required.
Authors Note: This is the continuation of the narrative from what I wrote by hand. Editing required.
Zechariah rode hard, passing civilian and watchmen alike as he raced towards Stormridge. The ever raging storms hurling winds in a great siege against the small, fleeting settlements of man. The winds however, were cooling and welcome against the onslaught of the Barren's roaring heat and though strong, they unwittingly created a habitable environment, if somewhat aggressive.
Cloak clapping furiously in the wind, Zehcariah approached the open gates, and rode in a hurry. Quickly and blessedly, the town guards readily accepted his explanation of needing a Physicker to help with an infected farming accident. They kindly directed him to the Moonglow Apothecar, where he found Endmus. (Placeholder name)
"Physcker Endmus?" Zechariah asked as he hurled himself through the door surprising a weather worn man in his midlife, as well as a rather stocky looking elf wearing leathers and reaching for a cudgel by her side.
"that is I." Stated the man who turned towards Zechariah with a slow and disapproving gaze. "Who is it that asks?"
"Zechariah Feldman." Zechariah answered with haste. "I have a friend who is injured and infected by a farming tool. Please, he unconscious and needs immediate help."
Frowning in distaste, the man released a heavy sigh and nodded. "Very well boy, bring your friend in to the back and I'll see to him."
"I can't." Zechariah said stopping the man as he turned to go into the back. "He's not with me. He is too ill to travel, so I had to leave him to come get you to follow me."
"Follow you?" Endmus asked incredulously. "No young man, I can't do that. My assistant is out and I can't leave my practice, nor my patients unattended. Give me the name of your farmstead and I'll get there as soon as I am able."
"No!" Zechariah said in frustration." He's not at his farmstead. I have him in a cart not one Fall from here."
"So, you expect me to follow you, a total stranger, out into the country side somewhere while carrying valuable equipment and herbs at my side?" Ridiculous. You could be a bandit for all I know. Give me your farmsteads name and take your friend back there. Aleen willing, I'll be able to see him in time."
"That's not good enough!" Zechariah exclaimed in frustration, stepping forward only to be met with the wooden and cold eyes of the elf who stepped in his way. "He could die by then!" Zechariah pleaded.
"Sir. I need you to leave." Said the elven woman in an accented firm tone.
"No! Endmus! Please! I need your help!"
"Remove him." Endmus said dismissively to the elf who took Zechariah by the arm forcefully. In frustration and quite reflexively, Zechariah twisted out of the elf's grasp. Not having much of a plan for what to do after, he grasped the woman and made to throw her to the ground. Wide stahnce, a deft push and...she didn't go down. He suddenly felt what he thought was her elbow slam into hsi chest and then he was spinning. Twisted around, losing his footing he had his ass thoroughly kicked as he went sprawling out into the streets of Stormridge, the elf coming to stand in the door way staring down at him, daring him to face her again. Until suddenly, she looked up, bowed her head and stepped back into the Apothecary.
Looking up, confused and humiliated and flustered, Zechariah locked eyes with a sight he would never forget.
Before him, reclining upon a palanquin carried by a host of man servants, was a woman of surpassing beauty. Blue eyes as deep as the a crystal's thunder, hair radiant and golden as the sun. She sat as a goddess, clothed in pale silkon ribbons that fluttere dabout her in the winds, wrapping her in the appearance of a misty cloud. Through the aggressive fluttering of her robes, Zehcariah could see flashes of pale skin occassionaly being glimpsed, naked beneath the strips of cleverly sewn cloth. She was beautiful beyond anything Zechariah had seen before. Nawfa was beautiful and mighty. The red-headed woman from h is dreams was largely a bad omen, a burden he was cursed to bear. Yet here, in this moment, his heart stopped for what seemed an eternity as he gazed upon this goddess, this Avatar of Shimara, while he lay in the dust and mud.
"What is going on here?" She asked in a commanding and melodic tone.
"He was causing problems for the Physicker so I had to throw him out Milady." answered the elf bowing before her again.
"My friend is dying!" Zechariah exclaimed hoping for a new and sympathetic ear. "But the Physicker refuses to help me!"
"Why is this?" the goddess asked the elf.
"He wants Endmus to follow him out into the country side. A ridiculous request for someone as important as Master Endmus."
"Indeed. You did right Elf." She declared and Zechariah felt his heart fall as he heard her pass judgement upon his actions. "Peasant, the time of a PHysicker is too valuable to be..."
"My Lady." One of the goddess' followers interrupted and approached her. He leaned in closely to whisper into her ear and share some secret council. As the moments passed, her eyes locked with Zechariah as he picked himself up off the floor and tried to dust himself off,only to realize with embarrassment that laying in the dirty road had barely made him any more filthy than he already was.
"What is your name?" the goddess finally asked as the wizened man withdrew. "Family name and place of birth if you please."
Zechariah paused, unsure of whether or not it was sfe to share that, especially considering his recent desertion. However, safe or not, he needed gerb and so he put his faith in the strange woman. "Zechariah Feldman, Arrongar'son from Hyran." He answered trying to sound more confident than he felt.
"Hyran?" The goddess asked quizzically.
"Yes, it is a small town up by..."
"I know Hyran, and Arrongar." She said both interrupting and surprising Zechariah. "I have been there once before, a long time ago. Come Zechariah of Hyran, tonight you will dine with me. I have questions for you."
"I'm...afraid that I cannot accept...your Majesty. If I can't find help for my friend then, I should at least be there when he dies."
She considered things for a while, studying Zechariah hard for a moment before she waved her hand. "Can you instruct my men as to where to find your friend?"
"Yes your Majesty." Zechariah answered eagerly, hope rekindling within his breast.
"Good. Then do so. If your friend is as you claim, then we will heal him to the best of our ability should your answers be found honest and freely given."
Yes. Of course though I do not know what answers I can give you. I am not a man of knowledge or influence."
"That may be, but I believe the fates are on my side today. Come. Send my men and follow me."
Zechariah did the only thing he could, and obeyed. Giving orders as best he could, he watched with anticipation as the soldiers rode off with the goddess's advisor. The palanquin began to move seemingly with out prompting, and Zechariah fell into step behind it following this strange being dutifully. Street after street, alley after alley they made their way towards the keep and to the visiting noble's quarters. A full wing of Stormridge's impressive fortifications.
Upon entering, the goddess dismissed him, telling him to be bathed by her servants before he dines with her. He acquiesced her requests and went with her servants to be cleaned up. It was a very uncomfortable experience for him. Not only was he unfamiliar with such extravagant baths but also having nine scantly clad women stripping him naked and scrubbing and touching every inch of his naked body. Though it hardly was a pleasurable experience as they scrubbed him hard from head to toe, removing his outer layer of skin as they went, it did feel good to finally be clean. When it was over Zechariah found himself clothed, perfumed and adorned in rich flowing robes which were designed to be wrapped and fastened around any body. Fashionable and flexible it turned Zechariah from a weather worn farmer bandit, into a prince. Albeit a weather worn prince. But his trimmed beard was a nice touch.
Zechariah stood in front of the mirror stunned as he observed himself in this moment of silence. He was darker than he remembered, more weather beaten. Running his hand through his now clean and also longer hair, he thought back to his mother and the last hair cut he had had. His heart ached, missing his family dearly. Guilt for not having thought about them for a long time. Even though he missed them, he was also reminded of the betrayal of his family, as he rubbed his left hand feeling the numb bubble scarred flesh. Despite his parents best efforts to suppress and hide him from the demons who haunted him, they had failed. Opening his palm as far as his tightly stretched skin would allow, he traced the lines that were carved deep in his hand. Scarsed caused by his own hand.
At first he had thought it was due to the heat of the Barrens. However as a chilly breeze flew into his room from the Turmolt, a heat seemed to be growing from inside his scars. His palm was certainly hotter than the rest of his body and it began to tingle. His heart began to race, as fear tried to grip him once again as this head began to spread up through his forearm. As he examined his palm more closely he could almost see his skin twitching and writhing before him, writhing as though his own skin were trying to crawl off him.
He stared transfixed in horror, his mind reeling from what he was witnessing when suddenly, he nearly did jump out of his skin as a voice called to him. "Sir?" One of the young ladies in waiting who had bathed him asked. He turned to face her eyes wide and face ashen. "Supper is ready and Milady awates your company."
"Yes, of course. Um...I'm ready." Zechariah replied though this was not apparently the proper etiquette for the young woman blushed at his blunder, supressing a smile. He hoped desperately that he would not offend this goddess, and he resolved to actually discover her name. If he could do so without acidentally upsetting her that is. He felt like his guard was higher than ever.
November 12th, 2022
November 12th, 2022
Following the maid through the corridors he saw that they were designed to confuse their pedestrians, though with how preoccupied his mind was Zechariah was unsure he could have remembered the way, even if he tried. Regardless his thoughts were interrupted as he was led into the dinning hall and saw her once more, reclining amidst cushions and before a low table with food of meat, cheese and delicious looking fruits neatly prepared.
"Come. Sit and eat and let us talk a little while." She said gesturing to a cushion before her, intentionally positioned to be lower than she was. Zechariah winced as his palm seemed to burn, the heat steadily intensifying. Gritting his teeth, trying to ignore the pain, he sat, and held back his urge to eat as his stomached joined in the choir of discomfort and pain.
"Tell me Zechariah Arrongar'son, what is a Hyran doing all the way out here in Stormridge?"
"I...was sent out here to...work on my uncle's farm." He said as quickly as he could, cursing himself for not thinking ahead and preparing himself for this. He just hoped that it was convincing enough.
"Oh?" She asked seemingly genuinely interested. "Pray tell, what is your uncle's name?"
Shit. "Oh, um..." his palm burned hot, his stomach growled and despite the chilly air and breeze which kept the goddess' silk robes flowing even indoors, he was sweating. "His name is Beldrid." Why he chose that name instead of any other, he didn't know. "Distant uncle of course. NOt really sure what his familial connection is but, family is family. Your Majesty." He added as an after thought.
Her stormy gaze pierced his soul.
"I believe our agreement was that you answered my questions honestly." She stated flatly, her apparent humor gone.
Steeling himself Zechariah answered, "You also said 'freely given', and yet you blackmail me with the life of my friend." Zechariah countered, though he spoke far more confidently than he felt, something inside him rebelled, growing tired of having his destiny determined by others around him.
"You speak well Zechariah," She replied more softly, "A trait not commonly found among farmers. I concede that it is devious of me to hold your friend's life over you, but know that my servants know to do everything in their power to save your friend. The ... blackmail as you put it, is entirely just a pretense in order to encourage your cooperation. One it seems that has failed. I apologize for the pretense and request that we can still communicate openly."
Zechariah dearly wished that he was better versed in these sorts of things, but woefully was very inexperienced. "Very well Your Majesty. Let us speak openly then."
"Wonderful!" Exclaimed the goddess flashing a brilliant smile suddenly. "Firstly then, you must stop calling me 'Your Majesty'. I am of the nobility, but I am far from royalty. You may call me Lelia, or if that makes you uncomfortable due to the expected pomp and circumstance, you may call me 'My Lady'."
"Very well Milday. My name and place of birth I spoke are true." Zechariah replied bowing his head respectfully to her.
"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you Zechariah Feldman. So, what is it that brings you out so far from home?" She asked again, pressing him for an honest reply. Reluctantly still, Zechariah gave her one.
"I'm looking for someone...a red-haired woman." Zechariah shifted uncomfortably, his palm burning, his hreat racing as he never really shared much about the person from his dreams before.
"A red-haired woman?" Lelia asked quizzically. "Do you happen to have a name for this mysterious woman?"
"I...no. I'm afraid that I do not. She, well...she is a bit of an enigma to me." Zechariah answered honestly. Lelia gave him a most curious look, struggling to understand this apparently insane farmer from Hyran. The pause was long enough to make Zechariah speak further. "I dreamed of her." He said quietly.
"Wait, it's not even someone who's wronged you or something? You're chasing a figment of your imagination?" Lelia asked incredulously.
"No! I saw her once...Look, that's not important. Have you seen any red-haired women in your travels?" Zechariah asked trying to get off the topic of why he was looking for her.
"Several actually. They may be rare but not that rare."
"Where have you seen them?"
"Uthar mostly, but there are others. Why do you want to find her?"
"She...I believe that she can help me find answers."
"Answers to what?"
"Pardon me Milady but...I would ask you some questions too." Zechariah said reaching forward to pick up a couple of mouth watering fruits, wincing as he leaned upon his left hand.
"Of course. It is only fair to do so. Ask away." She said eyeing his flinches of pain.
Zechariah sighed a brief breath of relief as he managed to, for a time, evade further questions about his pursuit. "Why do you want to talk to me?" He asked her frowning. "What do you want to do with me? What possible interest can a lady, royal or not, want with me?" He hadn't meant to load her with so many questions but had simply got caught up in his need to know why she had summoned him to dine with her. Lelia sighed and idly played with a stray ribbon that blew in the wind as she considered her words.
Instead of answering him directly, she proffered her hand to him saying, "Show me your hand Zechariah. The one you've kept tucked away this whole time."
Zechariah froze, mouth partly open. "Why? Why do you want to see my hand?"
"I....have a theory," she said slowly, "Please, indulge me once more. I believe we may be able to help one another." Lelia said nodding soothingly to him. His chest was tight and his hand seemed to burn all the more. He couldn't. Could he? Could he afford not to? He brought his hand up in front of himself and looked down at his cloistered palm, and his eyes widened in horror and wonder as the rune carved into his hand, fully glowed. It was faint, but very clearly not a natural phenomenon. All the while his skin writhed before him, a restless nightmare before his eyes.
"What is it?" Lelia asked curiously leaning forward. Zechariah extended his hand, palm up, in stunned silence. Lelia's eyes also widened but not with shock or even horror as Zechariah had anticipated, but rather with delight and even excitement. "Yes!" She exclaimed gleefully. "Yes! This is it! Your the one I've been looking for. The Runesmith."
"The what now?" And, you've been looking for me?" Zechariah asked bewildered, his mind racing.
"Yes! Look here," she said as she reached into her gowns busom and pulled forth a pendant. A pendent he recognized.
"That...that's one of mine. How...and why..?" Zechariah stammered as he looked upon a pendent covered in intricate runes carved into hard wood from the forests of Hyran. Carved by his own hand.
"Several posts ago, I found this pendant while I was walking the markets of Uthar. The intricacy of the carving was breath taking, but something struck me as odd and so I purchased it on a whim and brought it back to study it. My suspicions were correct and this pendant isn't purely artistic. It is in fact, a very complex ruinic symbol but only part of one. I went back to the merchant and tracked down another he had sold. Once I had acquired this second piece, it became obvious that I would need to find a third piece to complete the rune. I managed to find the third piece about the neck of a Silverkin, who was performing in the palace. After trading a flower for the piece I was able to study the rune in it's entirety. It was a beautiful prophetic rune combined with a staged tracking spell. The first was locational, here in Stormridge. The second stage was more temporal in nature, the time and day. The third piece stated that it's master would be from the scars of fire and dust. You see? Stormridge on the eve of today's last rise, I find you with a burnt hand laying in the dust of the streets. And your hand, glowing this night? Who are you Zechariah Feldman? Where did you learn how to carve runes like this and how do you posses such prophetic gifts to be able to lure me here and...and what do you want from me?"
Zechariah sat still, hand resting in hers as she caressed the runes carved into his hand. He popped a grape into his mouth. "You're crazy." He finally said flatly taking his left hand back and tucking it away agian.
"I beg your pardon?" Lelia asked quite taken aback.
"You're crazy." He said again beginning to laugh to himself. "Look at me! I'm an uneducated farmer from Hyran. I can barely count let alone read and you think I planned for all of this? That I'm some kind of genius or mastermind capable of predicting the future? You're crazy! And for once, I can say that to someone instead of having it said to me!"
"Do you deny that you are the craftsman behind this pendant? That it is not in fact carved by your hand?"
Zechariah felt his laughter fade as he pondered her questions, his eyes locked upon the pendant as it hung hypnotically between her breasts. It was his, that much he could not deny but... "Someone else must have enchanted it after I sold it. I am no wizard or man of power at all. I truly am just a farmer from Hyran."
"There must be more to it than that. There must be more to you than just a farmer." She eyed him, watching him shift uncomfortably. "There is more...isn't there?" she discerned.
"I....I can't say..." Zechariah's said his mind racing.
"Why not?"
"I...I can't say..." Zechariah repeated.
"What's stopping you?"
"I...I want to say, but I can't..."
"Is something stopping you?" Lelia pressed relentlessly.
Zechariah nodded his head.
"Is it a someone? Or a something?"
"Somethings." He emphasized.
November 14th, 2022
November 14th, 2022
"Things? How many?"
"Three."
"Fascinating..." she said awed and intrigued. "What are they? How long have they been with you? What are they like?"
Zechariah took a deep breath, taking a deep drink of his wine. "They're terrifying but...I've never seen them. They haunt the shadows and only speak to me...showing visions and...tricking my waking eye. They make me hurt people and myself. They've threatened to destroy my home if I didn't leave. Said they would flay my father. They're horrors. Terrifying and evil."
"Wonderful." Lelia whispered to herself.
"Wonderful?" Zechariah exclaimed in disbelief. "How, by the Ten Divines is there anything wonderful about what I've just described?"
Instead of answering him, Lelia continued her own line of thought. "Zechariah, I believe that we could be able to help one another."
"Yeah? How do you figure?"
"I am a student of the arcane and a priestess of Shimara. I would like to study you and, perhaps, I can offer you some protection against these, things, that haunt you so."
"Study me?" Zechariah asked skeptically. "How so? What would you want to do to me?"
"Don't worry. It would not be anything too torturous. I would mostly just be observing how your essence reacts to various arcane stimuli, though there may be need for further more invasive tests later on. No tests however, of any kind, would be conducted without your expressed and informed consent. Unless...of course the nature of the test demands your ignorance of it." Lelia explained directly.
"Explain that last one to me."
"As you wish. Some tests say, tests of reflexes, require the subject, yourself, to not be aware of the circumstances or even the test itself in order to get an accurate understanding your reflexes. If I told you that I were to test your reflexes, you'd be prepared for it and it wouldn't give an accurate result."
Zechariah scratched at his newly trimmed beard. "I suppose that makes sense. Also, what do you mean by 'invasive'?"
"Certain tests may require the drawing of your blood but nothing too extreme or macabre. I am scholar, not a butcher."
"And in return you'll protect me from these daemons?"
"To the very best of my knowledge and skill. Yes."
"Why though?" Zechariah asked again, still feeling like there was more to her interest than she was letting on. "Why do you want to study me? More than just curiosity. You traveled across almost the entire kingdom just to study a farm boy? No. There must be something more. Some reason you were enraptured by my carvings before. Why were you so driven to find the master of those runes? What made them so special to you?"
At this it was Lelia's turn to sit in contemplation as she picked at her food. "I can clearly see Zechariah that you are more clever than your lack of education would suggest." She paused for a moment further before rubbing her forehead as Zechariah remained silent. Finally she asked, "What do you know of the Order of the Lost Archmagus?"
"Isn't that a dead cult or something like that? People who believed the dead wizard would come back and save the Barrens from the Draconian invasion?"
"Kind of yes." Lelia said fairly perturbed. "I was one of the Order's final members, before the King disbanded the Order and forbid the use of valuable resources when we should be focusing on the war efforts. The Order initially was comprised of the Archmagus' students, but after his disappearance, others came to join the hunt, hoping for a reward."
"Sorry to interrupt you but...disappearance? You mean death right? Didn't the Empress parade his corpse on a banner after they dueled?"
"No. She paraded around a puppet to try and demoralize us. But we were not fooled. We don't know where he went, but he took his tower with him. A tower that we've yet to find."
"What? Wait, you lost his tower? What kind of Order is this?"
"No." Lelia said tersely. "We did not lose it. It vanished. The day that the Archmage 'died' his entire tower of the Arcane Arts vanished along with him. It is one of the reason's why we don't believe that he is dead. Why would his tower have vanished into thin air if he had just been slain?"
"Maybe a way to ensure that his knowledge didn't fall into the wrong hands?" Zechariah suggested.
"There must be another reason. Somehow, for some reason Ashuriel must have taken himself and his tower to safety. That is what we in the Order are all about. Trying to find the lost Archmagus and his tower and restore him to his vigil over Uthan. He has the power to end this war. We just need to find him."
"Assuming his is alive as you say, which I find highly doubtful, what if he doesn't want to be found?" Zechariah inquired.
"I don't follow. Why would he not want to be found? Why would he want to vanish and abandon his people?"
"Beats me." he replied with a shrug. "But think about it. If he really is still alive and has the power to stop the war, then why doesn't he? Why vanish if he could so easily win? He clearly either abandoned Uthar or, and far more likely in my opinion, he died as we already know."
"If he's dead then where did the tower go? How and why?" Lelia asked becoming fairly animated at the conversation.
Zechariah frowned uncomfortable. "I don't know. But I also don't know anything about magic. Could someone else have taken it? Maybe after the Empress defeated him she stole his tower for the knowledge and secrets it has hidden within?"
"That's a possibility but we've already studied it as best we could and The Archmagus didn't have many enemies. Certainly none with the power to steal an entire tower. And even if Maharrani did kill Ashuriel as you seem to believe, how would she have managed to remove his tower from half a country away? That would take incredible teleportation magic, the likes of which has never been heard of before."
"But it's possible for Ashuriel to have done so?" Zechariah countered.
Lelia fell silent, her enthusiasm for the topic seeming to perish slightly with Zechariah's reasoning. "I suppose that's a possibility. But I just don't think it's likely. If Maharrani indeed does have access to the Tower's secrets, I doubt we would have managed to survive these past thirty revolutions."
"So, you think he's not dead but defeated enough that he's had to flee into hiding." Zechariah said prompting her attention again, feeling bad for having naysaid so vigorously.
"That is the most commonly accepted hypothesis among the Order's retired members. I don't believe that he is dead, but even if he is, his tower holds a vast wealth of knowledge that could save us. Either way, I believe that the search for the Achmagus' tower should continue."
"I guess that's a fair conclusion. But regardless, what does the Order of the Lost Archmagus have to do with me? Or your interest in me?" Zechariah said bringing the conversation back on topic.
"Oh, well..." Lelia answered readjusting her thoughts. "Whether you understand it or not the runes carved upon your palm are extraordinarily complex. I'd hoped that one of the Archmagu's acolytes was trying to communicate with me, or be found. Or that it might in some way to help bind the tower. Whether or not you intended it, is irrelevant. If it is not your hand then someone, or as is more likely in your case, something, is controlling you. Or at the very least, telepathically transmitting things into your dreaming mind."
"You're saying that someone might be mind controlling me? Is that even possible?" Zechariah asked bewildered.
"When it comes to the knowledge that the Archmagus had, anything might be possible. But otherwise, yes. Mind control is a very real possibility through not as you might commonly understand it. So that or demonic possession if, indeed what haunts you is truly demonic."
Hesitating and waiting for further information Zechariah prompted, "So..."
"So you may not be what I expected or hoped for. But I will not yet lose hope that you are a lead to the whereabouts of the tower. At the very least however, you should prove to be an interesting study.
"Wonderfull..."
"What do you say? Allow me to study you and your very unique situation? In return I will endeavour to provide you with protection and answers."
"Where would this studying take place?" Zechariah inquired.
"In my home, in Uthar, you would stay in my guest quarters during your participation if that is agreeable of course."
"And...my friend?" Zechariah asked hesitantly, "would he be permitted to stay also? Even if he is a man of ... a colored history?"
"I don't know. That may largely rest upon what is meant by a 'colored history'."
November 15th, 2022
November 15th, 2022
"I don't wish to be rude, and indeed I do desire to find answers and help, but I believe that is a question that he and only he should answer. However, if you'll accept my opinion graciously, I would say that I have found him to be honorable. He has helped me much in this last while. Indeed, I should say that it is unlikely I would have survived the struggles of the Barrens were it not for his strength, both of body and character."
"I cannot, simply on your own word, promise you that I can help him as there is more than just good character and deeds when it comes to potential criminality. However, should I find him genuine and that his assistance has indeed led to your survival, then I do promise to try and find an amiable solution to whether or not he can accompany you. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes your...Ladyship. It is as fair as I think is possible, and gracious." Zechariah said trying to bow in deference but finding it uncomfortably difficult whilst reclining.
"Good!" Lelia said taking up some food once again to continue her grazing. "Then let us move on from such serious conversation and instead have some merriment for this is after all, a joyous day for me. Revolutions of searching and finally, the beginning of some answers! So tell me for your home, Hyran, and of your journey thus far. I'm quite certain that you have much to tell."
With food, wine and beautiful company, Zechariah finally began to relax as he began to speak more freely than he had in a very long while. Indeed, perhaps in his entire life. For once, there was a gentle and kind listener that was not fearful of him and who genuinely wanted to hear all about who he was. He felt the tightness in his shoulders begin to relax, and the stress and exhaustion of his grueling journey begin to fade away as he reclined comfortably in the presence of this lady. He began to recount the tale of his travels, of his dreams of the red-haired woman, of his pursuit of her to Perdale. Of how he followed her across the Barrens, about the Jundar, the Rock Wyrm and his training with Nawfa. He told her of how he had failed to reach his destination and his capture at the hands of the Draconians. His rescue, his draft and his treason. His journey back into the Barrens and being pressganged into banditry, of meeting Gerb and finally coming to Stormridge.
Lelia remained silent through much of it, asking insightful questions along the journey of his tale, though she seemed particularly interested in the Jundar and Rockwyrm, but more so, of his meeting with Maharrani. She ate up with voracity every detail of the Draconian magic that Zechariah had witnessed and indeed, called a servant to bring her parchment and quill for she began to take notes of his tale. As his story began to reach it's conclusion Lelia shared more of her own life, and journey to Stormridge and finding him. Of her visit years ago as a girl to Hyran to witness the binding of an Anomoly there, and her tutorship as an Impelsor. However, her stories were cut short as, due either to exhaustion or wine, Zechariah began to drift off and was clearly having trouble staying focused.
With the weariness of the past cycles catching up to him, with immaculate manners, Lelia politely closed up the conversation and led him to his quarters. Had he been in a more attentive state of mind he would have marveled at the lush cushions and rich blankets and carpets that lined 'his' room. A fire was already crackling in the hearth to ward off the chill of the Turmolt breeze at night. He was passively glad for his bath and grooming for he would have refused to soil such a room with the filth of the Barrens upon him, but bathed as he was he was eager to drift asleep in the feather down pillows.
Lelia wished him fair well and quietly shut the door leaving him alone in grandeur. He rested upon the edge of his bed sinking into the lush softness and began to dissolve. He paused, unsure of his privacy, though he'd been naked in front of many people, they had been among smaller groups of isolated people and the idea of an entire castle being able to walk in on him unarmored was not a pleasant idea. He stood already half naked, and dragged a bedside table to block the door. It wouldn't keep a determined or cautious invader out, but it should at least give him some warning, and he undressed with far more confidence and fell into his gigantic bed with a deep sigh. Tucking a pillow into his arms he was not sure that he'd be able to fully rest in such a luxurious bed but by Shalzar, he was going to try.
He succeeded.
Authors note: Rewrite of beginning of story? Potentially add scenes of Zechariah as a child to help lay the foundations. Lelia having met him as a child. Additionally, whilst removing some more cumbersome chapters of Zechariah's journey, include other chapters of Lelia's story.
Next Chapter
Authors note: Rewrite of beginning of story? Potentially add scenes of Zechariah as a child to help lay the foundations. Lelia having met him as a child. Additionally, whilst removing some more cumbersome chapters of Zechariah's journey, include other chapters of Lelia's story.
Next Chapter
"Master Zechariah? Please open the door sir." Zechariah groaned, rolling out of his bed as he wearily blinked his eyes open at the sound of a fist pounding upon his door. Still dark save for the embers of his fire he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door feeling dizzy. He hauled the table back a bit and opened the door a crack peering through the crack. The brilliant light of day filled the hall and blinded him as he blinked dumbly at the short man standing outside his door.
"What is it?" He asked irritable as his head pounded rhythmically against his skull. "Who are you?"
"I'm just a servant here in the Lord's estate. I've been sent to inform you that your friend is conscious and wishes to see you."
"Gerb's here? He's awake? One moment I need to get dressed then could you lead me to him?"
"Certainly Sir. I live to serve." He said with a small bow. 'Live to serve'. Zechariah paused for a brief moment before shutting the door quietly. Odd. He knew servants and slaves existed yet this was the first time he ever encountered one in the flesh. Well, he had been bathed last night but, bathers existed even in Perdale. For a silver drop one could visit the bath houses in Perdale, and for the more extravagant cost of three silvers, you could pay for a bathing girl. Of course servants also likely existed in Perdale but somehow he felt they were different. He was sure that the bathers that attended him last night were not the same as the ones in Perdale though he had never had the fortune enough to attend. Having this man though, waiting on him, was odd. 'Live to serve'. He supposed in one way or another everyone in the kingdom in one way or another 'lived to serve' the king. Except for the criminally inclined he supposed. It was a strange thing to consider that all his life and all his labor of the fields and all he did was ultimately for the benefit of another, but there was little else to be said or done with it. At least his current journey, his pursuit of knowledge, was his own. For himself.
"Feeling uneasy, he dressed quickly and followed the manservant quietly through the winding corridors until the reached a door as regular as all the others that he had passed. Zechariah stepped into a small room. Certainly no where near as lavish as his own quarters, but much nicer than any room a peasant, much less criminal, would ever see. A solitary guard stood inside the room keeping a skeptical eye upon the pale and sweat covered body that rasped out labored breaths.
Gerb turned his head to Zechariah and lightly beckoned to him with a trembling hand. He looked so frail, this former mountain.
"You're looking a little worse for wear." Zechariah said amiably as he approached the bed, but his smile was false and Gerb could see it.
"A Little" He replied trying to match Zechariah's feigned nonchalance, and failed.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Zech..." Gerb started, "I know that we've only met recently but, I've got no one else to turn to."
"Gerb, what are you on about? Why are you talking like this for?"
"Zech?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
"Sorry."
Gerb coughed and shivered as sweat dripped from his brow. "They don't know if I'll make it yet. And even if I do, they're probably going to have to amputate, which is even worse."
"Come Gerb, don't talk like this." Zechariah pleaded.
"Zech...Shut up." He repeated flatly. "If the fever doesn't kill me, then starvation and poverty from not being able to work will. This world has no place in it for the inept or crippled. I...I won't make it back to Uthar. I will never see my family again."
"Gerb..."
"Shut up!" Gerb tried to yell but just ended up coughing out a lung. He took deep breaths to steady himself. "If you ever make it there, please promise me that you'll find them. Promise me that you'll tell them that I love them. Promise me, that you'll tell them...I'm sorry." He choked up as tears flowed from his eyes and the guard shuffled his feet uncomfortably as the servant and nurse tried and failed not to make a sound. Zechariah took Gerb's hand in his and smiled trying to fight back his own fears.
"I promise. I will find them and do my best to tell them and look out for them."
"You're a good man. Or at least, you have the makings of one. Thank you Zech."
"I should let you rest. Wouldn't want you to blame me if you can't kick this fever." Zechariah said lightly.
"I won't be doing much kicking at all after this." Gerb said barking a weak laugh and immediately regretting it. "Now, be gone with you. I do need rest."
Zechariah nodded, shaking his friend's hand in both of his before getting up to leave. He stood out in the hall, taking a moment to steady himself before he made his way back to his quarters, pondering Gerb's future, and as he entered his room he was suddenly struck with the realization that he didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't want to stay in his room all day, but he was also afraid of wandering around the castle uninvited or getting lost without an escort. Indeed, he was amazed he had returned to his room unguided.
He made up his mind to risk it, and put aside his sword lest it draw unwanted attention. Donning the garb he wore last night, he took a deep breath and ventured out into the halls. Setting his back straight he strode with purpose, in a stormy but unhurried step.
As he explored the mansion and castle hybrid, he passed servant after servant and slave after slave going about their daily duties. He passed several more important looking individuals and quickly found that he did not know if they were also visiting guests, minor nobility, high nobility or even just hired servants. Even the poorest person here was more wealthy than most people he knew in Hyran. The thing that upset Zechariah most was how unhappy everyone seemed. It wasn't exactly that people were moping about, heads down and dejected. They seemed...normal...and that was wrong. Living with such wealth, not having to struggle for food every year. There should have been more smiles. More laughter. Instead he found boredom. Complacency and disatisfaction. It irked him to see so many people so wel loff with no appreciation for how lucky they were. It was pure ignorance.
Getting too worked up for his own comfort, Zechariah headed outside for some fresh air. He found the constant wind blowing in from the Turmoilt to be somewhat exhausting, ever leaning into the wind, sometimes fighting for every step. At the same time though, it meant that a lot of the stench of civilized life was conveniently blowing determinedly away. Another problem however was that there was woefully little vegetation, particularly of the arboreal variety which meant that his gander to the estates gardens was woefully lacking. The gardens made clevor use of the more hardy vegetation, ferns and heathers decoratively arranged and very appealing considering the sever limitations. Most of the garden was populated with expertly pruned and sculpted hedges as well as statues. Walking further in to the relative peace of the gardens, he suddenly got a strong wiff of a clean, sweet, electric scent like that after a lightning strike terrifyingly close. But there had been no lightning strike.
Curious, and confused, he followed his nose as best he could and, turning the corner of the maze like hedges, he saw Lelia sitting in the gardens with her robes billowing against the winds. She seemed to be speaking to someone yet no sound came from betwixt her lips, and she sat back straight and eyes closed. As she continued to speak to her unseen companion, he noticed a pulsating glow which emanated outwards along her veins and up her neck. He observed small, almost dust like crystals growing from her skin and fanning out from the corners of her eyes. It was strangely terrifying and beautiful.
All at once it stopped and the winds died down and she turned her head towards Zechariah, slowly opening her eyes. "Good morning Zechariah. How may I help you?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." Zechariah apologized.
"Disturb? Nonsense." She said as she, rather to Zechariah's shock, rode the winds and floated to her feet. "If I did not wish to be disturbed I would have locked myself behind my bedroom door. Instead I am here in the gardens."
"How did you do that?" Zechariah asked wide eyed.
"Do what?" She asked genuinely confused.
November 16th, 2022
November 16th, 2022
"That...flying thing you just did!"
"Oh...that. I did tell you that I'm a servant of Shimara did I not? And also a student of the arcane?"
"Well, yes. But priestesses don't usually fly and scholars...well...they don't normally do anything."
Lelia laughed heartily at Zechariah's confusion and rather than feeling embarrassed or ashamed as he had so often before, he felt joy at being able to make her laugh. It was a soft melody of a warm hearth. "Well, then I suppose I am an affront to scholardom everywhere for I not only study it, but practice it also. How do you think that I was going to offer you protection? By a blade in my hand?"
Zechariah found that he wished to partake in the laughter and smiled amiably as he answered, "No, certainly not. I didn't give it much thought clearly, though I suppose I just assumed that you'd have servants or hire someone."
"What? Do you believe that I would incompetent with a sword or not?" She challenged with a playful gleam in her eyes.
"Trust me," he replied with a laugh, "Your gender had nothing to do with it, I've seen swords wielded with more proficiency than most or, all the men I know. No my surprise comes more from learning that a lady such as yourself would sully their hands with more practical labor."
"Do you prefer a woman's hands remain unsullied? Or do you find sullied hands more appealing?"
Zechariah stammered briefly caught off guard to which Lelia laughed once again. "I merely jest. Wouldn't do for a lady such as myself to sully my tongue with crass speech as well as my hands with, shall we say, 'unbecoming acts'?"
"Indeed. You...you're not at all what I had imagined Milady."
"And what did you imagine of me? To be faultlessly regal with an unwavering poise and little to no joy in my life?" Lelia challenged.
"Well, actually, yes. More formal and professional, like you were last night."
"You may find that many laides are secretly far more like me than you may believe. But they also tend to only show that side of themselves when in their most trusted company."
"How is it then that you are this way with me for I know myself not to be 'you're most trusted company'?"
"Indeed, you are not. Firstly, I am not like many other ladies you are likely to meet. Secondly, I have no need to watch myself around you for you are entirely harmless." She said with a smirk and a quick twirl as she spun on her heels and begun to strut away. Flabbergasted, Zechariah quickly hopped to and fell into step beside her.
"Harmless?" He asked slightly offended. "I'm well over a head taller than you and willing to gamble that I am several times stronger."
"Ah, and there it is. Masculine pride and bravado. So simple." She said in a patronizing tone. "Always ignoring all the factors that facts that truly matter."
"Truly matter? What do you mean?"
"You may be stronger, taller, braver and more fierce. Perhaps not. That is irrelevant. You need me, and you need to be on my good side. Thus, no matter how terrifying you may be to others, to me, you are perfectly harmless. All that pride and might is useless in the face of circumstance."
Zechariah tried to retort but found himself at a loss for words. She smiled at him, a wonderfully infuriating smile and continued in her stride. "What if I decided that I don't need you? Or that it is not worth it. What then?"
"Still harmless I'm afraid." She leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm still a Psycker. Couldn't touch me if I didn't want you to, no matter how hard you tried."
"No matter how hard I try huh? I'm inclined to try and put that to the test."
"Goodness me." She said sarcastically. "How utterly barbaric."
"But honestly, you wield that much power as a, what'd you call it, a Psycker?" Zechariah asked genuinely curious.
Instead of answered directly, Lelia replied with questions of her own. "That's a complicated question I'm afraid. How do you measure power?" Is the strongest man the most powerful, or the most skilled? The richest or the most intelligent?"
"I suppose itw ould be the man who has the most of all of them."
"I suppose so." She said plainly, still not giving him an answer.
"What is it you can do? How is a Psycker different from a ritualist? Which is more powerful?"
"So obsessed with measuring power, aren't you?" She said gathering her hair up behind her head and tying it into a simple ponytail with a strip of silken ribbon. "I can do many things, much of which you would not be able to understand I'm sure. But..." she continued cutting off Zechariah's protests, "As a Psyker I specialize in cognitive affectations, though I am also adept to a lesser degree in energy transference, matter manipulation and dimensional convergence."
Zechariah blinked at her blankly, unable to follow her foreign words. "Now that's just rude." He said turning his nose up at her and feigning offence. "I may be uneducated but that's not reason to mock me. You could have explained it to me in layman's terms."
She tapped her chin as though in deep contemplation before casually saying, "Nah. Sounds like far too much of a bother, and we cna't have a lady working up a sweat. Think about what a terror it will cause my skin. Tis for my own health then, that I mustn't reveal to you my secrets."
"Indeed. Mustn't put out a lady lest she perspire." he replied sarcastically. She grinned at him before turning to ascend a rather steep set of stairs, as if in direct mockery of her perspiration. He followed her up and stepped atop the ramparts that surrounded the Keep. He was greeted by a blast of wind that roared over the ramparts, flinging itself against the stone in a constant and ceaseless barrage. Zechariah now understood why Lelia had done up her hair as it kept from flying all over, though her ponytail still snapped in the winds. Her ribboned robe whirled furiously about her in the winds making it appear as though she walked amidst a storm as she strode towards the buttressing and leant out over the wall, looking down below rather perilously.
Zechariah stepped up beside her and, holding tightly on to the stonework, leaned out also to look down, far far down the face of a cliff straight into the unknown depths of the Turmoilt. It was a dizzying height, but something about the ferocity of the wind, the constant storm over the Turmoilt and the sheer height of their position over the rocks and waters that raged below, was thrilling. Lelia stood straighter, and raised her arms wide, tossing her head back smiling broadly. "Shimara Altissimus. Tibi dabo animam meam." She prayed, exhaulting Shimara and reaffirming her service to the Goddess of winds, storms and change.
"You are unlike any lady I've ever met." Zechariah said as he watched her closely.
"Oh? Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Lelia asked, a smile still upon her lips as she continued to gaze out into the dark clouds and occassional flashes of lighting that could be seen far out into the sea.
"Yes! Most definitely."
"You know may ladies then? Enough to adequately compare me to all the others?"
"Well, no. you're the only Lady I've ever met."
"God's preserve, what a tragedy that I am your first. My sincerest condolences. I'm afraid that I make for a poor example of Ladyship, or nobility in general."
"Truly? In what way are you such a poor example of nobility?"
"I used to be a better demonstration of a proper lady, but that was revolutions ago. I fear I am far too casual in my customs and manners to do any justice to the nobility."
"What happened? To make you change?"
"Aside from being a priestess of Shimara?" She said smirking to herself as she breathed deeply of the fresh sea air. "A difference of opinion I suppose." She continued. "I grew tired of the courts and politics, and gave up trying to be a proper lady, instead dedicating myself to my research and study."
"If you are such a poor demonstration of nobility, I fear to discover what other ladies of the court may be like. Is that why you remain unbound? I see no wedding chains upon your brow."
Lelia's smile faded in silence and her frame stilled as he eyes turned away from the storms and rested upon the stonework before her. Zechariah felt he had blundered and made to apologize but she cut him off speaking softly. "I'm a widow. After becoming a bit of a social pariah in the courts, I'm destined to be a hag it seems."
"You? A hag? Please, you are far too beautiful to ever be a hag." Zechariah said trying to lighten the mood once more.
"True." She said with a faint glint of a smile tugging at her lips. "And far too charming to boot I should say. Speaking of which, whilst I have you captivated by my charms, I should like to prepare some magical wards and protections today, if you are willing to do so, as well as preparing to leave. I should like to leave as soon as possible, though I must endeavor to do so amiably with Lord Wrighton. It does not do to take the hospitality of nobles lightly."
"Leave? But Gerb is at death's door, and even if he does life, he'll be recovering for many cycles. We can't leave yet."
Lelia turned to him, her former humor and playfulness gone in the face of business. It was a bit unsettling the ease by which she turned from one to the other. "Zechariah, it is unlikely that he will live. Even if he does, and he makes a full recovery, what benefit will your company provide? You are not a healer, or a ritualist, or an Impelsor."
"I'm a friend." Zechariah said shortly and determinedly.
"Whilst that is wonderful, it is ultimately useless for his recovery. Where as we not only have a long journey ahead of us, but also for the integrity of research much less your own safety, I fear that time is most definitely sensitive. I would have pressed the matter last night but without proof of my good will, I decided against it. As is, I shall pay for Gerb's recovery in full and leave him in the care of those who are specialized for such care, as should you."
Zechariah rubbed his head sighing. "You're right. My heart rebels against it, but I can think of no reason viable enough to sway you nor truthfully, myself. How soon are you hoping to leave?"
"Ideally, the day after tomorrow. I shall inform Lord Wrighton of my need to depart and then spend time tomorrow saying my farewells. The dawn of the following day we shall depart. Is that enough time for you?"
"Yes Milday. That should work."
"Good. Then come with me. I'm eager to begin studying you." She said with another twirl upon her heal, she resumed her elegant gait. Zechariah struggled to fight the anxiety that crept into his heart, but he had made a bargain and he intended to keep his word. His cooperation with her studies in exchange for her aid with Gerb. Thus he followed Lelia dutifully to her chambers. If it was truly not as laborious or invasive as she said, who knew? Perhaps this 'research' would be somewhat bearable as he did enjoy Lelia's wit, company and intellect, if indeed he himself was lacking. That bothered him little however as not only was he accustomed to it, but also he secretly entertained the fantasy of becoming educated himself. He had never before been so inspired by the possibility to learn and study, as with the potential of having Lelia tutor him. If he indeed was useful to her research. This interest in learning though, was not one that he was yet ready to confess. Thus he continued onward, towards whatever hell Lelia's 'research' might impose upon him.
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