“
Kiros?”
The voice that called out was entirely unfamiliar, yet referred to him by name. At the mere mention of it, Kiros snapped to attention with his staff held firmly in grip. He knew of but two entities that would know of and hold interest him;
Dornoch wished to deliver him unto
Annuakat, which in turn would surely see him executed in short order for what he had done those many years ago.
With tension in his body and preparations for conflict running through his mind, Kiros turned to face whomever had beckoned him. The fear and ferocity of his battle-ready expression was of needless intensity, for the old man who called out appeared to be of neither nation that concerned him.
Rather, the old man’s own fright was on open display, prompting Kiros to turn his expression from concern to bewilderment. If not to capture him, he held little idea of what this odd stranger might want. There was a straightforward means of obtaining such information; yet before he could pose his question the man piped up with further inquiry.
“Are you Kiros? The lunar priest?” The old man asked. The tone of his voice implied he arrived without hostile intent, but clearly this man knew of him. And in the moment, he felt certain that his man must know of his sordid past. In his state of tension, he could hardly fathom what else he might be known for.
“Savior of the Crook? Prophet of Pneria? Y’help save folks, right? 'Cause
dragons and
orcs are attacking us!” Kiros was immediately taken aback. His expression relaxed some, now that he could be sure infamy about the murders were not the reason he was recognized. She had announced Herself, this he knew; that She had announced him was entirely new information.
By the greater gods!
What had She done? For sixteen years he had managed to keep his profile low, and in an apparent instant She had undone his efforts. While this had not lead to a hostile encounter
this time, one now seemed inevitable. To compromise him as She evidently had done – She may as well have emblazoned the word ‘heretic’ upon his forehead. Disgusting as the notion was, he’d still have had an easier time explaining away
that than the perceived situation faced. He had been wise enough to use a pseudonym all these years, but if the interest in him were as true as implied, that may no longer be enough to escape his discarded identity.
If. Fret would lead nowhere. He could only guess at how bad matters had become. This stranger before him knew more than he did, and he had arrived in search of aid. So he saw two options laid before him; scurry away with worry and without knowledge, or pledge his aid and gleam it from him. A strange irony it would have been that his safety lay towards an undoubtedly horrible battle, and not away from it.
Strange it would have been, were he not a priest of
Hers.
“Yes, I am he of whom you speak. But why have you sought me out? How is it you know of me?” Kiros replied.
“I don’t know! I just guessed! You looked like you might be the guy, I think. And I sure hoped it was you, ‘cause we really need help here-”
“...Have you been asking every Kaliti priest if they are Pneria’s prophet?” Kiros interrupted him with a raised eyebrow.
“No. Well I mean yes; well I mean you’re the first one I saw. So that symbol on your stick then, that's Her sign?” No sooner had he given a unwitting nod than the old man began to lower himself onto his knees; only to be suddenly interrupted by Kiros, who shoved and then caught him by the shoulder as if his life depended upon it.
Which it, in fact,
did.
“Cease!!” His booming voice caused the man to shake in confused fear. But how could he know how foolish his attempt at worship was? Kiros had gotten himself into his very situation out of youthful impulsiveness; much as he hated his lot in life, he found it difficult to deny it deserved.
“I pledge my aid!” Kiros added briskly, and his mind began to muse. She had placed him in this mess, had She not? And She had gone so far as to publicly name him. He wanted none of this himself, and reasonably doubted She would want to pledge her aid – but She had declared him as Her prophet. What would She do if he pledged aid in Her name? Smite him?
Undoubtedly.
But before She did that, She’d surely have to let him aid them. She was clearly averse to delivering punishment upon him before an audience, and he was eager for any tactic that might wrest his own independence from Her.
“As does She. But make no plea to Her, this you must trust to me alone. To do otherwise is dangerous sacrilege.” Kiros continued; to his relief, he received a nod in response.
He had already saved one life. Now, under the guidance of this man, he would set out in attempt to save many more.
* * *
By the greater gods,
indeed. Rumors had abounded; that he was seven feet tall, that his eyes shone with orange glow. Some had even
gallingly heard he was
Abtati, for some reason. Even his mentioned name was one of many; that the old man got it right seemed to be mere luck. It further seemed any odd priest might have warranted their attention in their search for aid; hope had apparantly prompted the chance meeting. His mere presence dispelled these false beliefs, though some were a bit disappointed that he was little more than a moderately tall Kaliti.
The preparations had been quick; at least what he had seen since his arrival. They moved through the forest, and Kiros held his staff at the ready with both hands. He was not skilled with a bow; he had even proven such during training. And to such a degree that no elf who witnessed trusted him with one in hand. Not that he could deny the concerns were fair. Marksmanship was neither a skill he held, nor cause for his presence; his true talent lied in dealing with the arcane. His staff, as he learned, had become a tool that could help him in these matters.
Not that
Itra told him this when She returned it to him.
As always, he was left to figure out that newly granted facet to
Heirahit himself; and still hardly understood it. From what he could discern so far, he could sense magic so long as he held it. His time with it had been too brief to learn much else besides that.
It seemed a sudden instant when the orders were given, and arrows had been loosed. Kiros pressed on, eyes towards any potential threat that he might need to act against. His luminant curtain could prevent outflanking, and his incantation of immute could protect against arcane attack. In the skies above flew a great dragon, to which he had no such answer. But the Allirians had prepared, and he could only hope they had one as it flew over and past.
To his front,
elves could be heard speaking amidst combat with arrows loosed from the tree above them. It seemed had arrived on the front lines then, hinted at by the steady stream of arrows. The enemy must be nearby, even if he could not yet see them. With haste he pressed forward, and his staff gave a barely felt sensation as he held it; causing his hesitation just in time to witness tree to his front burst aflame.
A second hint then...this foe wielded magic. With purpose before him, he rushed onward; no sooner did he catch sight of Visha than the red haired pyromancer disappeared into the earth.
Heirahit gave no sign at this. For the briefest of moments, Kiros wondered why this act of assumed geomancy had eluded his senses.
Oh right.
The traps.
His pace immediately became much more cautious.