Open Chronicles Awakening…

[Dragoon]

Through the mist a silhouette made way among the swampy terrain, the soft steps through puddles and over bodies is all that is heard.

Meaningless beings-

The wind whispered, Phallendarr had ran into uncooperative pirates whilst transversing through the bog. Phallendarr tried to warn them, but the pirate forced their hand. Therefore, they tainted the mortals in blood.

Through their transverse a whimper from a suffering soul disrupted the silence. The man missing an arm, that so tightly grasped a short sword, looked upon Phallendarr with terror he could feel the wet grass underneath him rise in the gap in his chest just left of his heart.

Phallendarr stopped in their tracks and looked down at the man in disgust.

The wind whispered once more
I missed your heart, giving you mercy is a waste of time. Yet I can hardly stand a magicless mortal to exist in my presence.

The man felt nothing more than blades of wind cutting through his neck. As his consciousness dwindled he’s head sunk beneath the swamp’s surface and rolled on the bottom of it. Phallendarr turned their head forward and continued their stride.

 

[Charlemagne]

There were no assured salaries for mercenaries. Not the freebooter types anyway. Charlemagne had burned through the last of his coin in his recovery from the conflict at Alliria, and from what he'd heard the defenders were issuing bounties on notable individuals from the fight now. He'd been at the forefront, one of the only humans among the horde, swinging his massive greatsword about like a beacon just asking to be identified.

In short, he needed to get as far away from the city as possible, but he couldn't head back east. The straits were being watched like a hawk now. Indeed, his only realistic option was to head west as he had no coin to book a ship off the mainland. That was until he'd come across a few ruffians along the coast looking for sellswords.

Several of their brigands had disappeared on the swamp island to the south. Reportedly their leader had stashed a great deal of gold away which had been in the possession of those pirates left behind. They stopped reporting, and paychecks stopped flowing.

The deal had been a simple one. Find their basecamp, establish whether their debtors had turned tail with the money or had died, and if the latter was the case, retrieve their minor fortunes. He'd wondered why they wouldn't do this themselves, or why they would trust him with their gold should it have been abandoned. They took precautions toward the latter; reportedly the swamps killed more folk than the Allirian army did. Their ship would remain near a sandbar just off the coast, and in this remote part of the swamp, would be the only realistic way back off the island. Were he to abscond with the gold, the idea was that the swamp would kill him.

They were probably right in that regard. Nonetheless, the opportunity to get off the mainland while the search was still hot was too good to pass up, and the pay might allow him to purchase a horse and head west. The Gold Road was far too heavily patrolled now for him to offload east and walk back to the Spine.

What he'd not expected were the bugs. So few in number in the ridges of the mountains, Charlemagne had not expected mosquitoes the size of his hand or centipedes large enough to use as a belt. Still, private misgivings aside, there was a job to be done.

The lone mercenary wandered through the murk which rose up to his boots, flaming torch in hand to ward off any predators that might have seen him as easy prey. According to the haphazardly drawn map given to him by his employers, he should've been getting close to the camp soon.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Through their walk they noticed the faint light in the distant, a torch, such forms of light are rare in this land. Beast don’t need them and man are to dead to use them. Phallendarr curiosity rose. They rose their hand and the wind rushed towards the light like a sudden storm holding a voice like sound.

Who or what are you?

As the wind rushed towards the light they began to walk in the same direction. But at a different pace, quicker, fluid. The water remain still through their steps as if even over the deepest puddles they was over top of it. Will this one be of use? They thought. Their selfish intent is the only thing keeping them from trying to embed fear into their hearts, or slaughter them at the first sight of retaliation.

 

[Charlemagne]

The torch died as the wind announced itself. On that wind were words akin to the way the Orc shamans of the Spine spoke to one another across great distances. Doubtful that there were any such shamans this far west.

The sun above choked out by fog, the overcast of clouds, and brambles only provided low gray light through the gaps in the canopy

The mercenary halted in his tracks, plate-bound fingers jumping toward the pommel of his greatsword on instinct. Whatever this seemingly supernatural thing was, it had not expressed hostile intent. Didn't mean it wouldn't though, and Charlemagne had never been one to humor spirits. Rarely did they ever have anything other than tricks and malevolence intended for mortals.

He peered out through the din, uncertain as to what was flesh and what was vegetation through the heavy fog. His gaze drifted from one corner of the swamp to the next, but it seemed the questioner was far enough away to-

An armored man-thing bounded through the darkness as if it were floating. His fingers tightened about the hilt: ready to cleave through whatever this was at a moment's notice.

"I'm just a man here on business," his tone was matter of fact, his expression muted. "Whether that business might concern you, I'm not yet sure." His experience with the supernatural was limited to the witches and warlocks of the Spine, though they never managed much beyond prophecy and curses. Until the battle at Alliria, he'd not believed in paladins or the undead either.

And now this. The world grew stranger and stranger still.

"Tell me, are you a spirit or some kind of wizard?"


Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

“Neither”

The wind had whispered once more.

“My identity is neither required nor offered to be known by you”

As they revealed themselves they noticed the quite large great sword aimed in their direction and stopped a good ten feet away. The wind picked up circling them like a tornado as whispers began to emit.

“Your level of strength is unique maybe your of use to u- me. Many humans had buisness in these lands.”

Another voice overlaps

“Yet many do not complete it but instead become waste for the beast of the waters.”

Once more another voice

“Yet I’m sure a human of your stature can at least make it to their destination. Where is it your business resides?”

The wind dissipates leaving the drafting silence of the swamp to fill the void. This man may be a hunter of some sort, maybe a mercenary. Phallendarr pondered who this may be and what they came seeking in the land of abominations. Perhaps to slay a beast, but the only beast worth attention is me. Should he pose a threat I’ll make his last battle as the warrior men call, honorable- or slaughter- no. They remain calm as they awaited an answer arms resting at their side like that of a dummy.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

This was another demon, that much he understood now.

It spoke with the voice of legion and malignance. The winds tousled about it as if they were its own, a veritable tempest swirling about the creatures as Charlemagne stared it down. It had the same feeling about it as the goat-thing that had accosted him upon the snowy peaks of the Spine, though that creature spoke of prophecy and other such evils whereas this bled of curiosity.

Perhaps it was a testing trick, just as the goat-thing had sought to examine his abilities. It had called itself the proctor - was this another so-called teacher?

"It is a generally accepted social convention that folk exchange names if they mean to be friendly," Charlemagne grumbled, fingers tightening about the pommel of his sword, though he did not yet draw it. This one could talk, and if it could talk, it could be negotiated with.

Or at the very least lulled into one well enough that Charlemagne might kill it.

"I serve no one. My will and my dream are my own." He retorted.

My dream? What dream?

His boots sunk deeper into the muck as the intrusive thoughts bound through his mind. He suppressed them, jaw tightening as he tried to ascertain this creature's intentions. "Several folk that made their home in this swamp were to deliver a certain payment to the holder of my contract. The payment never arrived," he paused, head lurching back so that he might stare down at the beast from the bridge of his nose. "I suspect you might have played some part in that?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

The wind once more spoke.

You may know my name, Phallendarr, simply not my species. As me telling you would hold no purpose, you know nothing of my kind-

Another voice of the wind intruded.

And we lack need for a servant, it could be a partnership. As I have no dealings in the disappearance in payment. I may help you so long as you help me.

They’d studied humans for much time, their appearance, their anatomy, their culture, endless knowledge of these creatures. With such knowledge they stuck their hand out to the man to create something sort of a deal. Surely if he takes contracts he has travelled the planes of this world. I can reach knowledge unbound to literature fulfilled by experience. Such an opportunity.

If Phallendarr was human their eyes would’ve been filled with content as the one thing that overpowers his crude and selfish nature, is the chance to gain knowledge. The satisfaction for such a thing is the closest that he’ll ever get to happiness.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

The job became an afterthought now.

He continued to stare down the tip of his nose at the wind-thing. It never spoke a word, not truly, yet a legion of voices carried on the wind in service to its whim all the same. Charlemagne had about had his fill of the supernatural at Alliria. Hordes of the damned rising from their graves, gnashing flesh between their teeth and bones beneath their hammer. Great serpents calling themselves dragons unleashing hell upon the people, black fires that sloughed the skin from bone and incinerated the very soul.

Nothing he'd experienced in his youth. Nothing he understood, just like this one.

It called itself Phallendarr though beyond that it only muttered esoterics in its false voice. The wanderer grit his teeth, thoughts sparking from one corner of his mind to the next as he decided whether to try to kill this thing right now here and right and if he could even kill something that didn't seem be wholly alive.

"What exactly are you wanting Phallendarr?" The name rolled strangely off his tongue. Inhuman, but not like the Orcs or the smallfolk. A strange hand was outstretched. Charlemagne stared at it tensely.

"I'm not a wizard and I don't know anything beyond what I see, but I keep coming across things like you. They keep looking for me. Most of them tried to kill me, test me one said, claimed it was a 'Proctor of God.' Spoke prophecies and went for my neck."

The mercenary's heavy brow crunched up with impatience. "You one of them?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

I’m nothing more than one who seeks the world and the knowledge it holds. I know nothing of prophecies, and I don’t feed so your flesh is useless. You have my word human.

Their voice filled with frustration as the winds who carry them grew stronger. To tolerate a magicless human is one thing for Phallendarr but to work with one is something they’d only tried once.

 

[Charlemagne]

Careful words, possibly lies. Wouldn't the first time a spirit sought to deceive him. Charlemagne continued to stare at the outstretched hand. He could sense the displeasure in the voiceless thing's tone. It was growing impatient with him.

Even still, he was not about to make any kind of bargain with something he didn't wholly not understand. Not when it was so close. When one swing of his sword might cleave it in two.

"I've met many folk that claim to seek the 'world'." His hand dropped from the pommel of his greatsword. "They all burned in the fires of their own ambition."

A moment's hesitation.

"Explain to me what this partnership entails, and I will consider it, Phallendarr."

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

I will help slay any beast that has caused dismay, you will allow me to accompany you among further buisness.

He stands his ground with his arm out determined to create such an opportunity for it’s been years since he’d open his eyes. There is much to learn.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Demons tended to leave little loopholes in their contracts, or at the least they did as Charlemagne understood them. As he'd said, he was no mage or wizard. His knowledge of the supernatural was that of a layman with slightly more experience than the average man.

Still, it seemed Phallendarr had a relatively simple contract. What it might entail in the future was anyone's guess, but it was better to make peace with the creature for now.

If his nature belied his words, then Charlemagne would deal with him accordingly in time.

"No trickery," he grunted, taking the wind-man-thing's hand and giving it a firm shake.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Of course, now where is the settlement located?

After the shake Phallendar retracted their hand and let their arm rest by their side. And so it begins

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

It watched from its perch amidst the reeds and brambles. It did not move, indeed if one were to come across it, they might have assumed it to be some terrible statue meant to ward off unwary travelers. In truth, it lived, though it did not breathe nor did its blackened heart beat.

It too heard the words carried upon the winds. It too drew investment in this partnership. Eyes like sulphury coals peered out into the din, watching the man and spirit-thing with impossible sight from several miles away. Gnarled fingers wrapped around the trunk of the tree it hid behind and scarred the wood.

"The black chick spreads its wings." It rumbled. Its wart-covered tongue twisted as words of prophecy, gifts of the one God, spilled from its lips. "Consider the horns, and behold, there came up among them another little horn, before whom there were three of the first horns plucked up by the roots: and, behold, in this horn were eyes like the eyes of man, and a mouth speaking great things. I beheld, and the same horn made war with the saints, and prevailed against them; Until the Ancient of Days came…"


Its words of providence did not carry beyond its immediacy. Too far for Phallendarr or Charlemagne to hear them, and yet as the mercenary shook the spirit-thing's hand, he found his gaze drifting off toward the distance. Unknowingly, toward the eyes of the proctor.

"I..." his brow furrowed as his attentions returned to Phallendarr. "...Just north of here. Have to ascertain what happened to the camp." His suspicions about the spirit were assuaged, though he wasn't sure why. For one reason or another, Charlemagne's gut was telling him he could trust the creature. That this was the way things should be.

The wanderer wasted little time in continuing through the muck, his boots sinking nearly up to the ankle as he tread halfhazardly through the fog of the swamp. According to his hastily drawn map, the little pirate encampment was at the mouth of a cave just at the edge of the swamp.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Phallendarr followed Charlemagne taking note of the break in attention. The wind that they momentarily controlled could pick up on the movement created by any object it hits, but nothing in the direction of Charlemagne’s sight moved. Maybe he is simply not all together, it would makes sense, it is told men that has experience battle aren’t always… functional.

You do not practice the arts of magic, why

Phallendarr took it upon their to learn of this human’s history. Perhaps something of interest can come from it all. Their feet sunk into the murky waters relieving their self of the magical strain, even for a creature made from magic like themselves it seems to still ask for a price.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Charlemagne took note of Phallendarr's lowering into the muck. It seemed this creature was not as spectral as he had initially imagined. Why lower oneself into the mud if they had the choice not to? He knew vaguely of the laws of magic, chief among them being its price. That one he had a bit of personal experience with; enough to make him swear the shit off forever.

"It's too easy," he grunted, chest rising and falling a bit heavily from the exertion of fording through the swamp. "Magic makes men take life for granted. They forget the strength of their bodies and the gifts their fathers gave them. It weakens their spirits, opens them to hedonism," was his answer. "There wasn't much magic up in the Spine, but what I saw was enough. Folk will sacrifice their children and their own souls for a bit of easy power. Sure, you can make life easy, build grand cities with it, maybe even control the weather, but so often does that ease dull the mind and separate you from your instincts. Folk gather to those big, magical cities only to end up under the boots of the beings that forged them. They become dependent in their safety, and when that safety is ripped away? It's always a slaughter."

He'd come across more than his fair share of summer villages rendered winter tombs when the weather willed it. Witnessed the sacrifice of youths and the wizards' own children to change that weather once again so that the crops might grow.

Magic had a price, and it was far too high.

He paused for a moment in the midst of the muck, reaching up to tap the pommel of his greatsword. "All I've ever done is swing my sword and keep to my instincts. It's helped me survive where others haven't. It's enough."

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

You speak as one whose witness corrupted minds, I understand. That is how this marsh was created after all. Men corrupted by gluttony and greed.

Phallendarr looked at the marsh ahead until the man stopped giving a glance back at him.

But a man of great physical strength and magical gift alike is almost parallel to that of a god. Do you not seek that power?

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

He still wasn't sure how to take the spirit. Phallendarr certainly seemed of magic, yet he understood the critique well enough. The few witches Charlemagne had been in company with had never been so amenable to the mercenary's thoughts. An attack on their practice was an attack on themselves as they perceived it, and in a sense they were correct.

Charlemagne didn't much care for those that drowned themselves in the arts. They might have been capable of great things, but so often did they fail to measure up as people.

The wind-question was either curiosity or temptation. Likely both. The wanderer did not answer immediately, instead trudging along dutifully through the mirk. The fog was beginning to clear up somewhat, the sound of birds and insects crying out ringing over the quiet plopping of the water.

"No such thing as a god." He grunted, "Just men and women lucky enough to master magic when it was still primordial: egos the size of the sun." They made it across one of the mud-gulleys, coming upon a patch of dry land dotted with dead trees. "What's the point in that anyway? Like I said, I just swing my sword." He paused, gazing out over the swamp as he gathered his breath.

"Power without a purpose inevitably corrupts," he drew in a deep breath, "And I haven't found my purpose yet. I just live. Power wouldn't do me any good and I wouldn't trust myself with it."

The furrow of his brow deepened as he stared off into the gloom, the lip of a cave just barely breaking through the gray. "I've hurt enough people with just my two hands and a piece of iron."

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

You hold values i don’t quite understand though something makes me to believe they are valid.

Phallendarr looked into the line of Charlemagne’s sight. Noticing the structure tho not clear. They raised their hand their index finger pointed out whilst the other fingers rested down. A sudden rush of air shot forward splitting the water and fog alike and revealing the cave.

I assume this is our destination

A small tree leaned forward slowly breaking from its base and into the waves of water returning to its former place.

Phallendarr began his walk forward unto the cave.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

"I could say the same of you," really less so. All he understood of Phallendarr was the creature's name. Anything beyond that was a mystery.

He blinked twice as the fog and waters were bidden to Phallendarr's will. The muddy-muk beneath was dotted with crustaceans and a few fish unlucky enough to be in the path of the magic. They flopped about helplessly along the mud.

"Suppose so," he mumbled, lips pressing into a thin line as he began to evaluate what his strange companion might be capable of should it decide to turn that magic on him rather than the swamp.

He followed after it.

The cave, now revealed, was littered with the remnants of habitation. Old bottles and forgotten clothing lay strewn about at random. A rowboat lay shattered in three pieces across the mouth of the cave, and a number of bedrolls and pitch tents were strewn about randomly as if thrown by a hurricane.

There was no sign of life; only darkness greeted them from deeper within. "Seems they ran into some trouble." He mused, "Did you do this?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

No, this seems to be the rage of an abomination. Physical strength, there is no projected magic here

Phallendarr arriving at the entrance grabbing a plank from the row boat and some of the ripped clothing. Wrapping the clothing at the end of the plank, he than wrapped his hand over it, the clothing slowly turning a bright red and catching flame. Aiming it forward towards the roof of the cave he begin to walk inside.

The soft drips of liquid from the roof of the cave onto the rocky bottom echoed. Stone formed like teeth from the bottom and mud and stone alike settled on the floor. Phallendarr turned his head to the man.

I won’t speak often as wind could disturb whom or what may lie ahead.


Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

With each passing moment he learned more of the spirit. It seemed mortal speech was beyond him, or rather it. Charlemagne lofted a brow and grunted in reply. He had no problems with silence.

The torch cast ghastly shadows across the craggy walls of the cave. The damp air cloyed heavily about them, making breathing something of an uncomfortable task. The mercenary reached up to draw his greatsword, the steel slab's weight causing him some exertion as he began trudging into the heart of the cavern.

"Don't see any gold here," he muttered, glancing about the strewn garbage in search of his quarry. Truth be told, he didn't much care what had occurred here. These were brigands of the usual stripe: not worth pitying or paying much care toward. As far as he was concerned, they'd retrieve the gold if it yet remained and make their exit without much ruckus.

Still, today had already taken a strange turn. He'd never considered he might make an alliance, however informal, with a spirit.

A quiet crunching trundled out from the depths of the cave beyond the light of the flame. As they drew closer, so too did it grow louder. Charlemagne's fingers tightened around hilt of his sword, weapon raised for a horizontal slice as they rounded a corner and came upon the source of the crunching.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

As Phallendarr turned the corner they stepped over butchered body parts, puddles of blood stains phallendarr’s and Charlemagne’s feet. The light of the flames just barely lighting the resident of this cave, eyes reflecting such piercing the darkness.

It rose from it’s meal on two hind legs. Growls growing from its guts and turning into a vile breath filled roar. The immense sound vibrating the walls of the cave loose rocks falling and rumbling, echoes only amplifying the sound. The flame on the torch fluttering, Phallendarr’s magic just barely keeping it lit.

The beast something of a mutated humanoid form, rested on three limbs as if preparing to charge. Its crocodilian skin becoming apparent in the light. Arms and hands and legs as large as a man’s head, body muscular large in size like that of a bear. Yet it’s head was human, part of it with marks of reptilian skin and a eye of a demon. Teeth similar to a shark, yet deformed overlapping themselves and as large as a dagger. They even protruded the jaw because of their size. It’s tail batting the walls behind it as if it was attempting to intimidate.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

It wasn't the trap he'd been expecting. Truthfully, Charlemagne had assumed that Phallendarr was the source of his employer's problems. He'd expected the creature might allowed him to make his way into the cave to lead him toward some sort of trap. It would certainly be a bit difficult to swing his sword freely in here, though the spirit seemed more inclined toward taking care of its problems from a range; far better suited to the open spaces of the swamp.

The possibility that Phallendarr was still pulling some sort of a trick was very real, though the animalistic nature of the beast they'd walked up on did not gel with the spirit's intelligence. Trick or not, the crocodilian-esque beast resembled the demon that had stalked him up at the throat of the world. Another unnatural abomination prowling beyond the safety of civilization.

Charlemagne steadied himself and pointed the sword from his waist toward the beast. The gore was unlike that of a battle and some part of it turned his stomach; that disgust only served to fuel his growing fury. His heartbeat sped up, blood firing hot through his veins, the beginnings of adrenaline intoxicating his senses. A reserved half-snarl colored his otherwise stoic expression. "Everywhere I go I keep running into these things," he grumbled, gaze flicking to Phallendarr for a moment. "You know what this is?"

As if awaiting a signal, the beast lunged. It moved surprisingly fast on its tree-trunk limbs, oversized teeth snapping through the air as it barreled toward the mercenary. Charlemagne took on the stance he adopted when fighting opponents far larger than he, though he doubted any proper technique would do him good against the seemingly feral creature.

A roar tore from Charlemagne's lips as he stepped forward to meet the beast, blade whistling through the air in a horizontal swing toward its torso. The creature responded in kind, falling down onto its three limbs and ducking beneath the blow. It couldn't manage to get its teeth around the mercenary, and it instead crashed into his torso with full force.

The impact stole the air from Charlemagne's lungs and threw him clear off his feet. The mercenary reacted on instinct, forcing the length of his blade just over his head. When crashed into the ground, he did so in a handstand atop the blade, the weapon catching on the damp stone and shielding him from further damage. The muscles in his arms screamed as he pushed down with every bit of strength he had, forcing his body into a somersault through the air. He landed on his feet two meters back, eyes wide as the monster glared at him through the din.

Pain shot through his ribs. They'd not fully healed since his journey through the long grasses of the west, and the blow had irritated the old wounds. He'd need to end this sooner rather than later; another blow like that and the bone might give all together.

The beast was upon him again, massive jaw opened to snap his head clean off as it reared up on its hind legs. It jaws fell toward Charlemagne like a hatchet blow. The mercenary spun his blade in turn, gritting his teeth as the blade found purchase in its jaws just inches from its head. It sliced through several of the teeth and into the meat of the creature's jaw, blood and spittle pouring from the minor wounds as it wretched itself from the edges of the sword.

The beast withdrew for a moment, its predatory gaze darting from Charlemagne to Phallendarr as it considered its next move.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

As the beast and man battled, Phallendarr turned and watched speculating the beast in hopes of finding a weakness. Sending winds to communicate with Charlemagne in order to inform him of the opponent.

A abomination, a product of man attempting to be more than he is, a rabid mixture of a human and demon.

As They finished their dialogue Phallendarr notice the beast turning its attention. It lunged forward towards them in a charge. In retaliation Phallendarr raised the torch in its direction. Embers and flames scorching the plank before exploding into a short burst ray of fire towards the beast. Hitting yet unknowing of what damage it may of done as black smoke filled the cave. Phallendarr used this as a opportunity to reposition, dashing to the left along the walls. Their speed was incredible, like that of a beast theirselves, it was enough to cut through the thick smoke and get next to Charlemagne before the beast collected itself. The silhouette of the abomination then began to show, it thrashed its head around in the smoke clashing against the cave walls. It’s roars we’re bone chilling filled with rage, anger and pain.

I believe we should draw it out in the open. Its quite large and quick.

Phallendarr, not thinking particularly well, hinted the beast of their location with the sound of the winds. It turned its head in their direction, bright embers on the right side of its face began shining through the smoke as it charged forth. Though it was partially blinded now, it was understandably pissed off. Its damaged jaw clenched close blood spilling from it’s mouth. Dark purple veins pulsed through its body. Toes and fingers digging into the earth, it’s muscles enlarging from the tension within them, it was as if it was preparing to lunged forward at the two.


Charlemagne