Mason woke, the simple frame and hide bed strained under his shifting weight as he pulled himself upright. Happy for a dreamless night, the nightmares tend to linger. Yet what did linger was the pain of running on empty for too long. 'This is why I started drinking' He thought to himself 'Wow he didn't change a thing.' Mason admired how the small cottage room seemed tiny around him. From the tiny table, only knee high to the door frame a head lower than normal. The rest of the space in the room was filled with a cupboard, an old wooden training sword, and a staff leaning against the wall. Another bed just as small was pushed against the far corner. A layer of dust still covered everything as Mason moved and kicked up a small cloud. This caused Mason to cough slightly, in the other room the old man's voice responded. 'If you're up boy then get out here and eat, you will need your strength." Mason groaned 'How can he still hear through walls! I swear he is one of the undying!' Mason jested with his own thoughts. He moved his body and was slow to respond he was awake and rested yet exhaustion lingered heavily over the Verity, still Mason obeyed the old man's words.
Ducking under the door frame the enthralling smell of Pork bacon and fresh venison steaks filled the Cabin. That's Meat! Glorious meat!' Mason thought as the smells overwhelmed his senses. The room was much larger but still small compared to Mason's large frame. Shelves lined many of the walls decorated with all kinds of animal bones and scrolls. Old hand-drawn maps of the Orton range were stretched over the open parts of the walls. The old man stood at the far left side of the cabin tending a large stone oven with a metal plate set on the top of the oven. Mason quickly took the plate passing him another, he need not ask for seasonings as Mason had them ready. This was an old routine he would not soon forget. After helping Mason sat and poured a glass of fresh pressed apple cider. As he took a drink he smacked his lips in delight.'If ever I retire I hope to be able to live like this.' Mason thought wishfully. The old man threw a fresh log into the opening and slid the fire door closed and resumed cooking. 'You will want extra right?" the old man piped up as Mason drew closer. The thought of having a single helping actually made him chuckle. "Please, how's Margret?" Mason asked offhandedly. The old man turned and he gazed searchingly at Mason. 'You best not be here to call on anyone." He said firmly without answering Mason's question. 'That isn't why you came is it?" Mason couldn't help but laugh. "o Ha, that's great.' He thought as he chuckled only by then could he manage to get out. "You thought I came to call on my best friend!" The old man spun around ready to give this young wiper snapper an earful, yet when he looked at Mason laughing there instead he burst out laughing as well. The old man saw the young mason every time he looked at him it was like seeing a glimpse of the past. And for a time there they sat the closest thing to a family mason had ever known, just laughing like fools. Breakfast was amazing even though the venison was slightly burnt. Mason walked around the cottage after breakfast, mostly filled with horns and animal hides the few things of value seemed to be hung from the walls as mementos of the past. Among them, he spotted his old bow. The strings of it still wound that even as a layer of dust gathered over it. Below it was an identical bow with a small heart carved into the handle. As Mason's hand stroked the bow the memory of its owner was still fresh in his mind, like half of himself gone from his side. With a tired sigh, mason continued his journey down the memorial lane. Sitting next to the smaller bows was a dagger and necklace made of smooth river stones and a carved wooden bear. Mason smiled at the sight of them, the dagger belonged to Franklin Margaret's older brother. She and Mason made him the necklace when they were younger Mason picked and wove the stones, and Margret who was better with a knife carved the bear. They gave it to him to protect him from the creatures that lurk in the Orton Woods. With the memory came a wave of nostalgia that washed over him, like a warm tingling that spread from his chest out to his limbs. He could recall the smell of the tree leaves, the sound of laughter of himself, his sister, Margret, and a few other kids from the town all playing and learning in the woods. Yet with each memory mason felt deep and unmistakable pain of loss and regret. Mason stiffened his resolve with a deep breath, for mason the weight of his life held back this breath making it a fight to draw it in. With the breaths released Mason felt that pressure eased like a weight being lifted from his chest, one of many weights. Whipping a tear from his eye Mason turned to step outside feeling cornered by his memories. As he did however the light from a window glittered off an Amber gem on the hilt of his sword, the light falling on the one painted picture in the home. The picture besides being painted took up a percentage of the wall. Incredibly intricate each stroke seemed to add a third-dimensional depth to the painting. Inside the picture stood Four adults three wearing the armor of a Verity. Of these one was female the other two were men, the largest of the men carried a wide-bladed axe the size of his chest. The other man was much smaller but wore the same armor and carried a long sword with an Ember gemstone. "Rollins," Mason said under his breath. The one adult not wearing armor was skinny and wearing loose leathers, in his hands he held up the head of a No'Lad they had hunted together. In the foreground, four others seemed to be playing in a courtyard. Mason could hardly remember when this painting was done only that the painter dismissed him and the other kids as they wouldn't hold still. Mason couldn't stop the tears at the sight of Rollins's confident smile. As he hung his head in despair his mind wandered about the past again. He remembered that day.
Mason and his sister had been celebrating all day both of them had passed their training to become full-fledged Verity. As the night came they prepared for the part of their ceremony, this is when Marston and her husband arrived with the mutilated body of Rollins.
A sudden voice broke Mason's traumatic flashback "Mason, Can you help me out, ah hell boy." The old man helped the large mason into a chair as he had begun crying while sitting on the floor. "Why do you push yourself so far? You know those memories are painful." The old man berated Verity like a child. Mason smiled and whipped his eyes. "Must be quite a pathetic site, A Knight of Verity in tears." The old man smacked mason over the head. "Truth is in all things, Joy, Hate, Sadness. To be Truth you must be true to yourself. That means accepting the pain of those you have lost. If you didn't feel anything I'd be more concerned." He said with a faraway mystic tone, which he immediately dropped. "Isn't that what those scholars taught you?! Now quit worrying your safe here, feel as much as you need, and try not to eat all my food while you do it." The old man joked as he stood and went to the kitchen he returned and sat down some bread and cider then went outside. The cold wind blew in as he left, shuffling a few parchments on the desk.
Mason could feel the pit of disappointment in himself fall into his gut like a rock. Yet the old man's words did lessen its impact. They were trained to feel their full scope of emotion and accept them. Mason put the bread away, finished the drink, and followed the old man's path outside. The cold air caught him, a sharp sting across his lips and ears. 'Autumn blows in more every day it seemed.' Mason thought after feeling the cold. The old man was busy chopping a pile of wood blocks down to a stackable size. He didn't seem to notice or at least not acknowledge Mason joining him. The old man was much smaller than Mason easily a few feet shorter, his small frame seemed to be sucked of life almost inhuman. The scary part was this tiny man would roll large sections of trees into a row and proceed to saw each one into a smaller piece. Then he would flip them over and in a few whacks of the axe he would have six or seven burnable pieces. Mason watched only for a moment before he picked up the nearby wedge axe, within moments the remainder of the wood was demolished between the two furious work, one sawing one chopping. During this time not a word or look was exchanged as they worked almost synchronized. Mason gathered the wood and began a new cord down on the dry pile. "Glad the valley didn't soften your hand boy." The old man jested. "Nor these mountains break yours!" Mason returned his jest but a cold feeling was still left between them. " I," Mason began before being cut off. "I'm going to start the stew. Please tell me if Franklin or anyone arrives," the old man said cutting Mason off. He stopped and waved his hand about the wood-strewn area. "Maybe pick some of our mess up." He turned to walk and stopped. "You still like Shepard's stew right?" "Listen you don't" Mason began to say before the old man cut him off again. "Oh that's enough you helped me get through the fire wood, now I'm feeding you, and I will hear nothing about it." Before mason could retort the old man was off at a steady pace for the cabin. Mason cleaned as he was asked, 'Not the first time I've cleaned up others messes out here.' he thought to himself. He remembered again being young with others playing with sticks, he and his sister always beat the other kids' thanks to their proper training. Playing hide and seek behind the wood piles, trying not to get bit by Lathar spiders. Mason remembered helping install the gate with Franklin and Rollins. Hearth fang As this holdout is called on paper was his home away from Krain and Abby as a child. Not every Verity had the advantage of a place they were accepted, Mason was lucky and he knew it. Rollins's brother applied for the land after the death of Baron Seder, as did many others. But due to Rollins's influence, he was able to claim multiple hold-out village locations from the deal. This on-top of a close family bond between the Rollins family the brothers accepted each other's differences and would constantly be seen assisting each other. When Mason became Rollins's aspect and was set with his sister to inherit his title and name. Rollins's brother also took them in. As such with each old building, rough carved up trees or small clearing where they used to play he passed in this small village he was subjected to another deep piercing stab of nostalgia that struck his heart. Like hearing a song that can break even the most stoic of souls.
In his memories he and his sister danced and played, made bows and spears. Rollins would stand laughing with his brother watching his new Aspects. His memories never let him be here yet he would not trade it even if it was a pain to remember everything, this was home pain and all, this was where he grew. As he rounded the large oak headed behind the homes near the east wall, he froze as though a distant specter locked into his eyes and he could not look away. There tucked away was a single cleared spot with a marble headstone. Mason looked on the marker A Grey Marble headstone inlaid into was the symbol of the Verity order four deep grooved circles each interlacing with the other, from every angle this symbol seemed to appear the same. Above the symbol rested a bright brown orange gem that gleamed in the morning light, just as the one sat in the pummel of Mason's sword. The words read,
"A Hero, Brother, and Verity, He died doing his duty, thanks to this the world shall darken without his light.", Mason let a hand fall to rest on the top of the stone. He knew Rollins would be proud of the Verity he had grown into. Mason had spent his late teenage years making sure of this. His mind lingered for a moment before he opened his long draped coat and produced a bottle of iron. Uncorking the top he poured a brown pungent liquid over the grave stone before taking a large swallow of the bottle. The grimace that spread over his face was followed by an audible groan and cough. "Damn Jakal what the hell did you make this batch from." With a visibly less accuracy he slammed the metal bottle back into his coat. Mason's large form slowly rose from the ground almost as if not under his own control. Like watching a baby try to walk Mason begun bobing and weaving between invisible obstacles as he made his way back to the main house. The trip was tripping rather than walking, yet due to intense training or the heightened resistance to poison or disease, Mason managed to get inside before falling unconscious.
"Damn Boy it's not even Mid-day, Hand it over?!" Mason woke to the old man yelling at him, through his own stupor he reached into his coat and passed the old man a potion of ease nerves, "Here tak two you sound stress" He managed to get out before falling back, the old man was not amused.
While Mason slept the old man went through his coat and found the Iron bottle with a Moon indented into the bottle. "Ah Moon whiskey," He pulled the cork and drew in a whiff only to start coughing immediately. "What did he drink this?" The old man shocked took the bottle with the intent to clean it out, However a few moments after the smell of the bottle hit him he too became dizzy, and with each step the world seemed to twist. Within moments The old man found himself heaving before he was knocked unconscious.
Taren's mind swarmed, Everything around him was as if he was thrust into a dust storm with no wind. Shapes swirled in the darkness, voices called to him but always too far to hear. Taren couldn't steady himself he stumbled forward drunkenly, His hand falling through the thicked air suddenly caught something cold and firm. "Steady thy self brother, you're too frail to fall here." The familiar voice said soothingly as warm leathered hands grasped Taren's old brittle form and carried him away.
Mason awoke on the floor, his head felt as if he had gone a round or two with an Orton. He observed his surroundings, taking quick note of the Main houses unique decor he stood to look for the old man. Upon further investigation he found the uncorked bottle of supposed "Moon Whiskey" The dark green stain told him quickly, "Jakal!" Mason groaned out. "Last time I trust the special stock." Mason opened a water barrel and took a ladle out and after filling it poured the room temperature water down his throat and over his head. The green liquid was Henok Liqueur, The Henok is a common weed that grows in the rich soil of the valley. Treated as a pest weed as it invades crop lands Henok has almost no use, But the flowers of the plant can be distilled to a dizzying substance. Mason shook his head a bit, He had tried Hen smoke but it had no effect on the Variety Knight, But the Liqueur's effects were still twisting his vision. "Old Man! You here!" Mason shouted trying to rouse the old man Taren. With no answer Mason made his way to the Taren's room in the back. There he found the frail old man laying on his blankets shoes off and set to the side, He odly seemed placed on the bed his coat and shoes neatly set to the side. Mason checked the Old mans breathing and temperature with his hand. As he pulled his hand back from his forehead Mason saw sitting next to the bed was a branch leaves still fresh and present. Mason thinking he must be still drunk picked up the branch but it was real. Unbroken or so it seemed there was no break where the branch would have been pulled or cut from the plant. The yellow pear shaped leaves seemed still fresh and fragrant. Mason's hand flashed to his hip reaching for his sword. Yet he knew he must be being silly. No one came here from Abby, anymore. Definitely not a Seeker or Warden, Yet he still looked checking every inch of the house he felt his tension only lighten after checking the last cupboard.
Denric Closed the door behind him, the old man would rest well there. Looking back toward the gate he knew leaving his horse there was to insighty trouble. With a complaining sigh he walked out toward the gate, Denric watched every corner as he walked. Growing up inside the city walls of Krain Denric hated the woods, he never knew how anyone could choose to hunt out here let alone live. His long brown robes dragged behind him leather greaves kept him from noticing the small insects jumping around. Denric reached his Elysium Prancer as he patted its soft but thin hide. The Medium sized horse recognized its owner and lowered its head nudging into him, "Hey, Yea I know it's chilly out here. I promise I'll find you some good oats." The horse sputtered with satisfaction or agreement. The two began walking into the small Holdout Village, Denric was here for one thing. The Verity Mason Rollins, and the quicker he could leave the better. Luckily he knew Mason was in the main house, after finding him and the Hold Boss Taren unconscious Denric wasn't going to risk angering the Verity. Yet the old man looked near death so out of compassion Denric carried the old man to a bed to rest and placed blessing on him for his health. Arts even blessings require focus and Incite. Being a Seeker Denric can cast some basic arts yet his main Job is to be the eyes of the Abby as well as a finder of Young Verity. Bringing them back for training so they may become Knights. Though these monk-like individuals are highly trained and skilled, they still find themselves doing menial tasks like summoning others or delivering messages. Pulling his Prancer into the leaning stable he found him a dry stall. "Looks like this is the best we get today buddy, Get comfy I'll find food." The horse Pawed the earth for a moment impatiently. Denric smiled and knew Vas well he had raised him from a colt. He looked and happily found a free feed bag and wooden barrel filled with Oats and barley filling the bag he brought back to Vas and set it on the feed post. Vas didn't need to be told what to do and took a step closer and began eating. Denric turned to head back to the house, as he did the hair raised on the back of his neck. He felt his stomach clench like a rock was thrown into it. Vas whined and moved anxiously, the horse felt the same as Denric the eyes of a predator. Denric reacted quickly pulling a shortened blade free, in his spare hand he held a hunk of wood fallen from the stable wall. With this odd set of tools he slowly moved to the front of the stable staying on his toes in case he needed to run back to Vas. However as soon as he stuck out he heard he felt it, an overpowering dread that seemed to fill his lungs like a sent death, his instincts took over and he screamed "Alret Telmon!" Shoving the small piece of wood forward in front of him. As he did this the wood glowed with a green, gold light, then suddenly burst forth upward and to both sides in a barrier like a tree trunk. This explosive growth embedded the barrier into the ground, yet nearly failed to stop the large broad tipped blade that set now inches from the Seekers throat. Denric took an obvious step back and then another before he fell backward in shock. The loss of concentration made the shield drop standing on the other side was Mason Rollins the Verity Knight of Death, Denric fainted.
Mason passed by the final cupboard in the kitchen, as he did he caught sight of something. A small shape seemed to be moving to the gate. Mason shook his head to free himself of haze to no effect, "Damn Gobmar, I better handle them." After dealing with the worst of the Orton Heights a lil Gobmar seemed almost fun. Heading out the main door however he stopped as he saw the footprints, not Gobmar, Man. Now Mason drew free his sword and took to hiding on the far side of the buildings. Bandits being common around here Mason figured he could get the jump on untrained rouges. Waiting Mason saw the beautiful Valley bread horse and cursed under his breath "Must have hit that convoy." Mason assured himself under his breath. Once the Bandit took his stolen prize to the stable Mason began to move into position, He would take this scout and then 'Convince' the fool to tell him where their camp was. He saw the young scout move toward the entrance and raided himself, With a breath he cast away the memories, the kindness, and he called forth his strength within, and without another he closed the distance his sword seemed to screech cutting through the air with the force he swung it. Yet as he did the Scout pulled his unarmed arm up. Shouting words Mason recognized but couldn't understand in his flurry. In a great flash that ended in a sudden thunk of wood, Mason stood and blinked as if not realizing what happened for a moment. Before him it looked as if a tree bark had grown from nothing wide enough to protect the scout, well almost protect him. As a second later the tree-like barrier fell. Behind it was a shocked and shaking Seeker, Mason didn't know the boy's name but he had seen him before at Krain's Abby. Mason rushed forward sheathing his blade and lifted the monk to his feet like he weighed nothing. "Stand strong man, You're alive, You're alive." He said while dusting the hay from the young man's coat. "Now explain what brought you so near death?" Mason asked seriously but the monk's face seemed drained of color. Save for his shallow breath one could believe the young man had died of freight."Ah, I broke another one." Mason sighed with slight amusement. "Come one, can't leave you in the cold." Mason placed a blanket over the young horse's back and brought the Seeker inside.
Mason and Denric entered the main house, Denric stayed quiet, every ounce of him wanted to run. As a Seeker Denric grew up around Verity, he even learned his sword skill from a Knight, yet not held the same air as Mason. Denric was Eighteen years of age, every Verity he met was his age or only a year or two older. Mason was in his late thirties and had served the last Twenty years, that alone made him to be feared. Verity Knights live and Die for the Abby and the people of Elysium, most within five years of training. Denric had already lost friends, and could see the fates of children he had brought to be trained. The young man let out a breath. "Thank you." "He speaks?!" Mason exclaimed in a sarcastic tone. "I was scared I ran the soul out of you!" Denric wasn't sure if this was a joke or something he had done. "No, I'm here. How? How am I alive?" Mason stopped as he was carrying a stew pot to the fireplace. "I'd say your quick casting, Or maybe I just held back." Mason said with a wink. That sent a shiver down Denric's back as cold, as if strings of ice had been dragged across his back. Denric nodded, "I bring word from the Abby," He began but was cut off by the large hand of Mason waving his words away like an annoying fly. "Not now boy, first you will eat, then you can deliver your news." He turned his back on the Seeker and added potatoes and chopped carrot to the stew. "You better not burn down my house!" The old man's angry voice was carried out from his room followed by a groaning of the old man stretching. "We're going to get it now."
Mason moved and sat next to the kid, "Think I'm scary wait till you meet the old man." Denric was already uncomfortable with a living killing machine sitting next to him, what new horror would this night bring. The young man's mind conjured images of an older man covered in dense rippling muscles, with a large booming voice ready to kill at a second notice. His shock was evident as the frail old man he carried to a room earlier came forth with a disgusted grimace across his face, like he had just bitten into a mushy fruit. "You alright there old man?" Mason's voice filled the room over the cackling fire. "Ye, What pray tell are you drinking? That can't be allowed by the Abby?" The old man's question brought forth a deep laugh from Mason, Denric flinched at the sound. Through his laughter Mason managed his answer. "That was Henok Liqueur, well spoiled Henok at that. It was supposed to be Moon Whiskey," Mason attempted to explain. "I guess Jakal got tired of giving up his good stock." Mason did seem to notice that the old man had moved closer to him. "And if you weren't drinking Moon Whiskey all the time you would have noticed someone switching out your Alcohol!" The old man threw his hands into the air in protest but stopped half way. "Eh, do what you will. About time I stopped preaching to your kids. Make me a bowl when the soup is done I'm going for some air." The old man quietly walked to the door grabbing a thick fur coat as he did, and without another word he stepped out. The tension in the room from the awkward exchange was palpable.
Mason and Denric sat in silence as the stew bubbling and fire crackling was the only thing breaking the silence. Finally Mason broke the silence. "I'm not going to kill you. You can stop shaking like a leaf on a limb." Denric tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I, I mean no disrespect. It's just that I've heard the stories." A sicking smile formed over Mason's face. "O, Which stories?" Denric's eyes shot to the floor, "You know, they say you are a wild knight, that you will likely go mad before any accursed would slay you." Denric was scared to repeat this to Mason's face, more so when he saw his smile disappear. The seething anger beneath Mason was like a storm, Denric could feel it building every muscle in his body prepared to run or fight. "Pass me the pig would you?" Mason's calm voice cut through the feelings that radiated off him. Denric sat stunned, he felt the rage that could snuff any Accursed and then it was gone. "The pork?" Mason asked again after a moment of silence, and Denric shook his head. "Yea sorry." He finally said turning to see the large leg of pork cubed for the stew. Living his whole life inside the walls of The Abby and Krain when he was younger, Denric didn't understand the fresh meat and the idea of using everything of an animal. Bladders, lungs, and intestines seemed to be laid out drying or soaking for different purposes. The sight oddly didn't sicken the monk but made him feel out of place, like standing in a room full of things you don't understand. Overwhelmed and suddenly feeling dizzy alongside a cold that gripped at Denric and seemed to sap his motivation with each breath. "Why is it not getting warmer?" Denric asked without thought the cold forcing away the fear forcing him to push by the knight to the fire, that still seemed cold and absent no warmth filled his limbs. "You forged a direct line to creation, and then invoked it through you. You're lucky to be standing." Mason's voice was comforting the warmth off of him made Denric uneasy, "How long till I recover?" Denric asked directly. Mason's eyebrows were raised, as he asked. "Your first time evoking?" The young man nodded. "It'll pass sooner or later, for now it'll get warm." Denric didn't feel sick, he felt as if a great gift was given to him and then ripped away. Like a kid who lost a new toy, he didn't want to get warm he wanted to feel the power flow through him again. Like a fuzzy warmth flowing through his body from his core. Denric looked at his hands and realized they were shaking. Before either of them could continue their conversation, the door opened blowing the autumn wind chasing the fire to flicker and fade. "Get out here, Going to need more stew priests get on it?!" The old man's voice seemed desperate yet happy. Denric looked back at Mason confused his stomach clenched with worry. "Just cut up some more supplies and get out the bigger cauldron I'll see what he means." Mason walked by the monk he could smell the lingering tinge of magic, like hot metal cooled in sugar and a metallic sweet smell. Mason headed outside, Denric did as he was told. However each step he swore he felt the absence grow, every second it seemed to grow. By the time he reached dicing the potatoes the absence had grown to a hollow ache, as it grew the whispers began.
Mason stepped out through the door and he found the gate wide open the wind whipped around throwing leaves all around. A large wagon was being pushed through the gateway Mason's heart skipped a beat with relief. Mason thought to him self 'They found them thank the saints.' Mason's relief was short-lived, much of the wagon was stained red in blood. The occupants were not much better most injured but nothing extreme. Mason ran forward hoping to help in any way. However most of the people passed him almost like they could not see him, their eyes widened in shock. Carried behind them were seven bodies tightly wrapped in white cloth, red stains were the only thing staining them. Mason watched the only reservation he could find was that more would be dead if had not sent help. Sadness enveloped him like his heart was being gripped by an unseen hand. Suddenly hands gripped under his arm and pulled him forward. "Mason good you're still here, help me with the wounded." Franklin's voice broke his sudden melancholy, yet a cold feeling of wanting, an absence seemed to linger and only fade as he got further away from the main house. Mason pushed it out of his mind and rushed forward assisting Franklin. Injured was an understatement, those on the cart of injured or being carried by wooden makeshift gurneys. Large pools of blood pooled everywhere they had rested most suffering clean severed limbs or gaping stab wounds. Mason's eyes searched quickly and he counted Twenty five among the injured. As he lifted a gurney inside the walls a question formed in his mind, what would do this? After setting down the hardly conscious person on the gurney Mason ran to find the Convoy head or at least someone able to string a sentence together. Grabbing ahold of a larger merchant who seemed oddly clean Mason demanded answers. "What happened?!" Mason accidentally yelled at the weak willed man, he quickly began stuttering. "W We," He looked away as if to hide from the answer but Mason pulled the man's face back to his own. "Speak!" Mason spat, "We didn't know! How could we know? She was just stupid, She should have just moved!" The man pleading his case was now balling tears streaming down his face, not tears of regret but fear at the rage of the Verity. "What did you do merchant?!" Then a shrill sound broke Mason's interrogation, everyone and everything seemed to stop. Even the moaning and crying of the wounded seemed to stop like each sound was being snuffed out as the sound reached its producers' ears. The sound was a single screech not inhuman more so human it tore the soul to hear. The sound that could only be described as a scream so loud and shrill you could hear the vocal cords tare and rip. The next sound came a series of yells and screams as those remaining outside the gate began to run for their lives falling or stomping on the injured or just leaving them to their mauling and inevitable death. One voice clearly carried over Franklin's desperate yell. "MASON!" Already charging forward Mason had pulled free his blade ready to face what he expected was an Accursed.
His expectations were confirmed as he rounded the large wagon still in the gateway keeping it open. In the distance beyond the light from the fires of the Holdout a large deformed shape lumbered forward. Even in the dark we're only outlines could be seen, the shape seemed to trip and stumble over itself every time it picked up pace. Each stumble was followed by another shrill scream as if the human inside could feel the frustration of being tripped. Mason gripped his sword the small blade on the handle slicing open the only just closing wound, a thin but steady stream of silver light of verity blood flowed down the blade. Mason prepared his mind as well taking deep breaths, each one seemed to lock another piece of him away. By the third breath the creature was entering the lit area, yet now Mason felt no fear. Instead he felt the warmth of creation. Each breath is an Evocation, filling him with a magical energy that made him disconnected from emotion. Yet fully aware of others emotion and movement, now he could feel their steps in the earth their smell seemed present all around him each unique giving him an extra sensory non but Verity could understand. Another scream broke through the night the pressure released threw small stones and dirt freely into the air. Mason could hear and smell the others moving behind him their fear was palpable, like an open Cesspit. Not having time Mason moved forward Toward the Accursed the poor thing was fully changed yet injuries covered its form. Yet it's face was unchanged, brown eyes slightly reddened from tears and pain her pale skin seemed to reflect the moon light highlighting her child-like features almost frozen in perpetual pleas. Those who saw her, the few who did not flee in time, roared and bellowed agony as if they shared it's pain. Most falling to their knees Their own screams depending on the creatures, others simply froze growing stiff and lifeless where they stood. A few seconds had passed Mason had moved but a few steps, he felt all of this happening. Like the Accursed he fought Mason suddenly vaulted with elastic speed. His leap carried him well above the Accursed's head. He landed into a roll to distribute the force of the fall, balancing the roll he stood ready. The Accursed was not idle and had attempted to catch the odd thing jumping through the air, it was bright after all, so why not catch it? Yet as it's larger than normal body turned it tripped over itself. Mason kept his sword ready as he took a step closer he had a full view of the Accursed. It's torso was elongated and bloated, the legs and limbs seemed bloated in odd locations one calf the other a thigh, its skin acrose the body was blotched and greening in locations. As it stood back up it easily reached eight or nine feet in height. Its Shrill scream sent out another shock wave, yet the child-like face never moved. Instead the sound was coming from a grotesque opening from the presumed neck of the creature across its chest. The opening was lined with rows of interlacing teeth that seemed to click or lock back together.
Mason didn't wait, making any observations as he moved, his feet embedded in the earth with each step propelling him forward like a wild cat leaping into action. Mason's Evocation filled him with creation's energy and this warmth is all he felt. The creature struck outward before he closed the distance its arm more like a living tar whip. Mason in mid stride didn't flinch as the arm skimmed his shoulder. Unyielding Mason forced himself to a higher speed griping his sword low the tip pointing to the ground, in a flash of silver light his sword raised faster than the eye could catch. The Accursed stood still, Mason let his breath leave, in a moment everything rushed in he felt the sudden weight of his movements the fear seemed to surround and press into him. Suddenly the world felt enclosing like a mountain had fallen on him. As quickly as the panic and fear came it was gone left only with sadness. Mason looked at the innocent face of the changed Accursed. As it seemed to be staring straight at him the Accursed smiled and said "Thank you." 'Did she thank me? Damn this world!' Mason was bewildered two encounters now he had heard a Accursed speak yet he was taught they no longer had their minds. He would have been awash with betrayal, if not for the sudden lack of focus and energy as he fell forward. Mason tried to catch himself but his arms did not move yet soft hands caught him. Mason could not see the person who caught and steadied him as he fell, he tried yet they seemed clad in dark shadows. In a blink maybe two she was gone, and in her stead reality rushed back. The screams of the injured the heat from the now burning Accursed. And the cold feeling of creation leaving his limbs, he did not have time for the withdrawal he had to help the injured.
Denric was woken from his stupor by a Screech that curdled his blood. 'Nothing human could make that' Denric's mind tried to find some explanation yet he could call none. Acting more than thinking he grabbed his saddle bag and ran out of the house. The scene reminded him of stories of the wars of the old days, people being brought through limbs missing, screaming, bleeding, dying, another scream broke his daze as he ran forward. What's happening? I Need to get out of here!' Denric's thoughts raced he could grab the horse, 'I doubt I could make it past whatever did this.' Denric reminded himself. 'I hate being such a coward!' He yelled at himself internally. Angry at his own cowardice Denric made it to the gate as the third Shrill screech hit. This one he felt, it was a sudden quickening of the heart, his mouth went dry and his hands seemed to grow numb and cold. He could physically feel the color drain from his face. All of this culminated in his next step the world seemed to twist and churn and only darkness remained. In the darkness Denric could feel only the ground beneath him, cold and wet not like water more like the consistency of mud. There was no sound no air he reached for air desperately but there was nothing to inhale. 'Is this hell? Is this where I die? Please Let m' His breathless thoughts were broken. In the distance A faint sound echoed, a child's whimper. Moving yet unable to feel the ground Denric moved through the dark toward the sound. Each step grew harder like walking through Tar, as he did the sound grew louder now oblivious a crying child growing more desperate. He entered a place where there was enough ambient light to see his own hand, and two figures in front of him. One was leaning over crying the other standing over her. "Your Worthless you got her killed!" The standing figure chastised the one on the floor. "I want mommy!! Where is Mommy?!" the figure on the floor pleaded. Denric was becoming more I'll than he felt before watching this, he had to do something. He felt the power come from around him like a rush of wind that made his mind blur and forget everything horrifying around him. He rushed forward as the standing figure was retorting. "You know where she is! You Watched Them Cut," Denric having rushed in cut her off shouting with air he had been holding in far too long. "Stop! St," He gasped, he could breathe. "Leave her." He stopped mid sentence after preparing to defend the girl. 'Umm what? They are the same, Okay I've lost it!' Denric thought first shocked then defeated. Each of the girls were the same one seemed beaten and bruised the other wore a white dress and was cowering. Denric didn't understand but quickly the girl in white ran behind. "Protect me she took my mommy!" Denric looked at her confused. "I took nothing you let them, You didn't yell or do anything! You Watched as the big men cut down mom! Laughing!" Denric had now covered the weaker looking one in hopes of shielding her from this verbal assault yet he felt he had only thrown himself into danger. It wasn't knowledge, but a feeling of a cold sick feeling that overtook him, 'I messed up again.' Denric thought as he did the bruised one rushed forward and grabbed them both. Denric stood just off a clearing below him he heard the girl shuffling as in the distance he could hear a beautiful voice call clearly. "Hurry Dear the Caravan will leave without us." "Just finishing up mom!" the girl below him yelled out. The woman moved into the clearing looking for her daughter. A large portly man and three muscular thugs followed him. "Ah there you are Charlotte. Of course I'd find you trying to run off." As he spoke the men moved to surround her. "Trevor, I'm not running just getting my daughter back to the Caravan." "Oh I'm sure, you know we are at the halfway point, I think it's time to pay for the next installment?" He less asked more incited the need for payment. "Listen when we get to Krain you will have any money you need I promise my," "Your what? Your Daddy is going to pay me?! I heard he doesn't even know who you are!" As he yelled this he backhanded the women knocking her to the ground. Below him Denric heard "Mommy?" Echo out. He tried moving but he couldn't as he did he suddenly became overwhelmed by a pure fear this didn't come from outside but overwhelmed him from inside his chest. Like his lungs were inflated making his chest tight and impossible to breathe, his legs shook and his eyes balled into tears. He tried to scream he tried to stop it, yet the fear held him as the four beat the women more and more laughing as they did. One of the thugs stomped on her calf which ended in a loud snap, this got him chastised by the fat man who screamed. "Great now she can't walk, and there is no more room on the wagons. Damn it Henry!" The other thug walked forward and said a few muffled words. The women tried to get away crawling toward were Denric and the child, stretching her arm toward the girl with each effort drag of her broken form. As she did the Fat man finally responded "Fine, Fine just get rid of her. If the others see her they may try not to pay. Damn this is a mess." The two thugs walked over to the point the women had crawled to, she tried to scream but her broken jaw prevented her. The larger thug lifted her broken form, Attempting to fight she swung wildly but the other thug ran up "Just stab her already for saints sake!" Pulling his knife he stabbed her in the chest repeatedly until she stopped moving. "Damn she fought hard. Yea you would too, clean up you idiot I'll drag her off the trail." By this point Denric and The child sharing feelings had gone from panic to defeat their eyes ran with tears till they were dry, by the time the women drew her last breath. This sadness had turned to rage and hate, the girl felt a heat build in her then wildly charged out of the bushes. Denric followed her actions almost living in her footsteps. She charged and ran into the man carrying her dead mom, grabbing a wooden shaped object on his belt as they fell and she pulled free a long blade knife. Without thinking she took the knife and began jabbing and stabbing trying to reach the man. Few hits did any damage but her advantage was the weight of her mother's corpse held him down as she finally landed the killing blow. However there was no time for a breath of relief or joy of revenge. Instead there was a large leather boot to the face, the girl was sent spinning off the now two corpses. She tried to stand but another kick landed in her stomach, everything she had eaten suddenly forced it's way up as she reached. The pain she was feeling Denric felt, the broken bones the loss all of it mixing into a whirlwind. The man didn't let up and was now crawling over the young child kicking and trying to end her. Now something has snapped, the girl felt nothing but as the next blow was to land it stopped. A large fleshy appendage now wrapped around his fist as he screamed in pain, the fat man appeared horrified only to run away. The thug grew smaller in the girl's grip, or she grew larger. He seemed to grow weaker as he grew smaller, so she threw him over the trees. Denric felt the apathy, the lack of care for the lives that threw themselves in her way. Each thought they were protecting the Caravan but she didn't care that man needed to die. In a moment he was standing in the darkness again. He had been shown the beginning of their plight. He now knew, one was the purity the other was the desire and need for revenge. He wished he could help them save them by bringing them back from this point. Just that a single light far away seemed to be drawing closer, within the time it took to blink it was visible. Clad in glowing light that seemed to radiate from inside of it, the figure charged forward it's broad sword held low. Behind him the light seemed to glow brighter like a fire flowing behind a torch as you move it. Yet it's face so twisted but not enraged abstinent of emotion so near lifeless with calm. The only thought Denric had was 'This isn't human. Is this what god looks like or death?' As it's arm flashed up cleaving the darkness open the light and sound rushed back to him.
The cool grass pressed against his face, an odd sensation took ahold like he wasn't there but he was. He looked at the world and how everything seemed to move slowly even the sounds seemed distant and far away, yet touch, even the simplest blade of grass that touched his skin spread sensations like wildfire across his body, each and every touch a new spark rippling through his nerves. It was a level of awareness or feeling you get after seeing death, he swore he would never feel this again or want to. The trickling of the touch of each blade grazing his arm hair only lessened by the cooling sensation of the dew dripping on to his skin. This sensory overload slowly gave way to the madness around him as Denric seemed to snap exclaiming, "I'm Alive!" then before he even realized he was on his feet running grabbing anyone near to yell at them "IM ALIVE! SEE!" No one seemed to share his Manic joy at drawing breath, in fact the second person he ran to threw him to the ground "Get off my boy, he's gone mad that one!" the person exclaimed this did nothing to slow Denric's mad outburst.His mind was rabid thoughts of those twins the vision he was shown, the pings of anger and regret of not saving them. Yet all this came so fast he was left a maddened fool running about screaming how he lived or how she could have been saved. Suddenly he found himself no longer running or walking or able to as his feet were freely swinging in the air. "Seeker! What is this behavior? Help those in need!" Mason's voice seemed to force his conscious mind to the surface. "What? What happened?"Denric was confused. 'By the Abby he is strong,No one has right being this toned' Denric noticed he was being held aloft with one arm. He could help but feel excited for some reason a part of him wanted to see just how strong this beast of a man was. "Good you're not fully mad then, help who you can Seeker." Mason said setting the young Seeker down and marching toward the inner gate. That's when Denric saw the horrid wound across his shoulder, Mason's left Shoulder had been sheared down to the bone of the ball joint and now was left exposed and hanging limply obviously seriously dislocated. 'Jesus how is he standing!' "Ss,Stop. Your hurt."Mason looked over unaware of the meat missing from his shoulder, the silver blood flowing and pooling in the wound. "That's why my hand is wet." Mason said seemingly unshaken by the wound. 'He really isn't human.' Denric thought, "You need to get that colsed or you will." Mason cut him off. "I've been hurt worse. If you want to help find the caravan head, he was shouting some strange things when the Accursed showed up. I want to ask him a few things." A voice broke over the two, "Thank the Abby you visited Mason." Franklin approached the two after assisting a elderly woman into the walls. "What the hell happened to your shoulder?!" Franklin shocked ran over to Mason and immediately started to freak out very visibly. "We need towels, Hot metal, anything!" "Franklin calm down if I was dying you would know. Right now I need to get these people safe." Franklin looked into Mason's eyes, he saw no pain no fear just a firmness of authority he was not used to seeing in his childhood friend. "Okay, you're the Verity but you're getting that looked at as soon as we are done!"
On order Franklin and Denric moved quickly getting the remaining refugees inside. In the distance the Yips, barks and howls of the Ki'Kar's hunting packs could be heard in the distance. "Damn scavengers! Get those two inside Now. Move that wagon or won't be able to close the Gate I don't care if you have to break it to pieces!" Franklin shouted at those helping pushing to get the job done. He himself knew the vicious teeth of the Ki'Kar and though they maybe smaller if they were hungry enough nothing would stall their attack. Franklin bit his lower lip as he scanned the tree line. ' Damn the fools, if they had told me I could have led it away, Or to an Orton den. And what was that, Mason acting like a lord or something. He dispatched that ;Thing; in a single blow. And what's with that Seeker they can't be traveling together. Ugh I just want Tonight to, Damn torch light'. His thoughts suddenly enterurpted by the sight of bobbing lights first one than two than four than seven, he drew his bow and yelled. "GOBMAR!!!!" He was relieved when mutiple shadows came from behind. Yet this was short lived as blind hot pain shot from his lower back. He looked back as he fell forward The short hairless figure wore a large skull breastplate of bone, in it's hand was a broken scythe fashioned into a blade. The pain filled his eyes he knew he had to fight it down, as the other shadows two other Gobmar swarmed down on him. He saw them jump, from his perception they held in the air forever. Yet his own movements were just as slow. His mind ran wild during this time or space between time. His mind went to thousands of things but what pushed it all away was a sudden and clear memory. 'Franklin pulled his coat over himself and reached for the door, two thin petite hands wrapped around him from behind locking him in place. "Your leaving? What if I get lonely?" The women's noice was crisp and tantalizing he could tell she wanted him to come back to bed. "Come on do you really need to visit your father's village?" "Tila, You know if I don't check in on him he will bring that place down around his head. And it is the capital of our land, even if it is a joke." He turned around in her arms and wrapped his hands around her cheeks her soft warm skin seemed to draw him in closer as he brought her in, pulling her closer his hands now having fallen to her waist. His lips met with hers as the rush of carnal desire released like a great dam exploding the force pulling them both tighter together as they seemed to get lost in the sensation. Yet the memory slipped, and now he stood outside as she looked on sad and wearing much less clothing. "Come back quickly my love! Else I may chase the stable boy!" She jested from the door. "Oh chase you may but with that one you may only find hay. But I will return my love come No'Lad or Orton, I will return." Suddenly Franklin was conscious hid gut hurt as well but the most disturbing thing was the gnashing teeth trying to reach down to him. Tila's voice rang in his head, as did his promise. He could feel the pain but more he felt regret and with it a refusal to just die. Franklin's hands had naturally formed to protect his chest and head a trick he learned when fist fighting Mason. This ment his hand was near his arrows, as soon as his fingers wrapped around the shaft of the arrow he ripped it free jabbing up at the nearest Gobmar. Who he hit the arrow stabbing through the unarmored creature easily. Yet as soon as he did the he was hit by a flurry of blows from the other two, who carried crude clubs. He tried to protect his head with his now free arm but with the first flurry three resounding cracks caused him to scream the tears he had already been crying from the pain now dry his eyes almost glowed red from pain. Than came two more whacks with the club. Franklin screamed on the first but could not for the second.
Denric was standing by the gate pulling a stretcher with no help behind him the thin man on it seemed dead already but he wasn't going to leave someone possibly alive out here. Just as he crossed the wagon he heard someone scream out "Gobmar!" As soon as he heard the voice he knew he had to help. Looking down he cringed as he dropped the stretcher "Sorry if your alive you better yell!" Denric told him as he ran into the gap between the wagon and the wall. What he saw was a odd sight, He had just left moments ago but now three groups of Gobmar where in the clearing. Denric pulled free his short sword. Instictivly just in time as the nearest group began to leap at him. He stepped back cleaving the head of the first one easily, it was the second third and forth that he found difficult. After the first step back he had now moved even further back. Not to the sides straight back. This ment it should have been no surprise when he backed into the wall, yet Denric felt a surge of shock it made his throat grow dry and his nethers feel as if they were dumped in ice. Yet much worse was the sharpened stone axe that cleaved his leg. Out of instinct forgetting the words of Mason he raised his hands "NELUK VENOC" The reaction was sudden and remorseless, for as his raised hand opened it threw off each finger thin long blades of air. Each of these blades are sharper than a barbers razor as one would expect the spell ribboned the Gobmar, reducing them to strips of flesh and senew. All color left Denric's face and limbs, as he breathed out it seemed to create a cloud of smoke. Denric himself at first felt that calling feeling, the warmth had returned. It was glorious the power that flowed, he knew he could use it to create nearly anything. It felt wrong to use it for defense for war. This was life he could taste it, feel it radiate through him from the ground and the air around him. It was all feeding into flowing past his heart through his arm and than, than. Than it was gone flowing forward, The first thing he felt was cold, a near instant frost. Like if you were pushed into the snow, at negative forty degrees. The next was such a strong abondment he hated the Gobmar as he watched them being torn apart by his spell. Not because they were attacking him. No, Because now that power passed through them, in his eyes they were being gifted with what left him. This sickening need did not leave as his legs lost strength, as his body fell and he again felt the grass blades before all feeling faded then darkness.
Mason followed Denric out hearing Franklin yell, having already used his Vocational breathing he couldn't use it again 'no worse time for this!' Mason thought. He still charged a head sword ready. The first group leaped toward Denric Mason cleaved one in half and saw Denric kill one, 'he will be fine.' Mason said to himself. He walked forward another group of six screamed at him and charged. He didn't flinch, The first three leaped at once and died at once with a single ark of Mason's broad sword. The others turned and ran toward the trees. Mason didn't care he heard another scream, turning he saw Franklin being swarmed. Inraged he ran forward, Mason could feel fire in his vains his visioned narrowed on the first few, lost in rage he had dropped his sword. Like a madman he grabbed a dead Gobmar with a arrow in its neck and used it to smash one other swinging a club. The last one two looked at Mason And shreicked as he leaped on them. Beating the first of them to a near pulp the rage kept him from feeling the opening wounds and breaking bones in his hand. The last one charged him with a sword made from a scythe blade. Mason now more on a high of violence the rage subsided, simply kicked it in the face. Than turned grabbing a makeshift club he swung once with all his strength. Mason looked back at his childhood friend, tears filled his eyes, he could feel his heart pace pick up as he seemed light headed. He dropped to his knees and grabbed Franklin "You better be alive! You can't be killed by some damn Gobmar!" "FRANKLIN!" His eyes clinched tightly as streams of tears streaked down his face. Mason roared his defiance into the darkness, as if pushed away by his voice, the darkest seemed to grow weaker than fade to low orange light. At first Mason felt hope to fill his breast, 'It's the guard! Thank the stars the lazy bastards must have been on patrol!' He got up to wave them down as he did his heart sank. No light was shining in the upper foliage this ment the light was held low or by something small. "Damn it! Can we get a break!" Masons Cursed into the night. This drew the attention of a brave few inside who ran out with the hand axe they used to chop wood and other tools. "Fools grab the wounded get them, Gently." They did as they were told only one stayed next to Mason, A large man near Mason's size but with golden hair and large scar that went down his jaw to his shoulder. "Go inside." The man looked at Mason his face betraying his feelings of Disbelief. "I'm not leaving Knight, I owe your kind a debt." Mason in fury, the heat of which seemed to make his skin smoke in the cold, and narrowed his vision and thoughts. He grabbed the man and tossed him back his hand screaming in pain. 'This knight must want to die.' The man thought to scared to whisper it aloud. "Sir Knight your shoulder and hand are distroyed! What help can you be now?! If I GO BACK You Will Die!" The man said this as he stood grabbing the hand hatchet he carried. "Get the kid out of here Knight! It's your Duty right? Protect the weak, For we shall never Break!" The man recited the Verity code of service. Mason smashed his good hand into the ground in anger and defeat. The idea a random person would remind him of his duty, how far had he fallen? Before Mason had time to conpelate this further he stood. "Thank you. Got a name?" The man looked back cautiously, "Breaker Three seven nine." He said no more just charge the hill where the light was starting to crest. 'That must be his debt', Mason did not question he knew that prisoners or unsavables are sent to the mines. If he was in another situation he would have to drag him to the guard. But now all he could do was thank the Creator for that man. Mason scooped up Franklin and carried him inside.