Fable - Ask Homecoming

[Vulpesen]

Thirteen years. Thirteen years he had been wandering through the world, a man without a home. Most of that time he had spent serving his patron god, Varos. Not in the way that a temple priest might, sending prayers and offerings to a statue or likeness, but as an agent of the Vitae Court. Thirteen years ago, his life had fallen apart and been flipped upside down, and before he could even begin to regain his feet, that world had been shaken to the core. The Zorren gods, unknown to outsiders weren't only real. They were hidden deep within the forest that his people called home. They were fae, bound by powerful magics and in discovering them, Vulpesen had started on the path to become something greater than he could have imagined.

Power thrummed deep within his chest as he climbed to the peak of a mighty oak. The Veran Forest of the Ixchel wilds lay directly the convergence of ley lines and while most mortals could only vaguely tell that something was different, for him, it was like sitting in the eye of a hurricane with power swirling all around. His home lay just beyond the trees in his view and as he climbed higher and higher, he began to see it. Spires that reached for the sky, spiraling from massive columns of wood. Streets built between impossibly large trees and the faintest dots of people roaming across them. Home... that was home, and his heart ached for the longing to get closer.

Vulpesen's deal with Varos, in many ways, was the best thing to ever happen to him. All the magic his body could handle, the power to take revenge on the traitor who killed his friends, and a purpose to strive for when he felt the most lost. But such power came at a price. First, a measure of his freedom. Varos was a kind master, but his word was still law. Second, Vulpesen's magic, until he could learn the powers of the wild relied on secrets. Friends were hard to come by when he could never really show his real face. Thirdly, he was exiled from Veradune until his training was complete. The brothers Vitae had plans for Vulpesen and to keep them, he would need to stay away until they decided he was ready.

When Varos had told Vulpesen that he was ready, he wept. Now, with his home so close, he could almost hear the music of the taverns, he found his vision once more blurred by tears, "I'm home." It was all he could think to say. "I'm home. I'm home. I'm home..."

 

[Vulpesen]

His entrance was a quiet one. Another cloaked traveler to the mysterious city in the woods. Visitors were rare to Veradune, but refugees were always welcome if they knew where to look and had the luck to survive the journey. Furthermore, Zorrens like himself went beyond the massive walls for any number of reasons. The guards, upon seeing his golden eyes and black tail thought nothing of letting him pass. And now, walking the cobbled streets of lower Veradune, memories swirled within his mind. Every step was greeted by a smell or a lilting tune.

“I’m home.” The warlock whispered, his eyes passing over the various taverns and shops around him. Gorgeous weapons, beautiful tunes, and delicious food delighted every sense on the way. His heart hammered in his chest and it was hard to keep from bursting out in a smile as wide as the continent. “I’m home.”

His first stop, however, was not a place where his smile could persist. On the very outer reaches of the town, just beyond the wall where the wilds first claimed the land, on a patch of sacred land, stood a mausoleum and memorial. Its marble was new and polished, the concentrated dead being the officers of Almerand. His friends when it had all gone wrong. At its doors stood two guards, each wearing the gilded blue uniforms of the Armis honor guard. “Excuse me,” Vulpesen muttered as he attempted to stride past them, only to be halted by a pair of crossed halberds.

“Business in the tomb of Almerand?” The challenge was respectful, but stern, and for a moment, Vulpesen’s chest swelled with pride. These men were here to keep the peace for the fallen. They deserved that much.

“To see some old friends.” His hands reached up to flick away his hood, revealing long black hair, adorned with a silver streak, a streak that had not been present when last he was in the city of the Vitae. “Captain Vulpesen Espadus Torrevaso, honorably discharged from cyclone company’s recon platoon.” He watched as the guards’ eyes widened. There were many who believed that his name should have been the four hundred and ninety-sixth to be inscribed in the memorial stones. “Zarvenis Discharge.”

One of the guards stammered and they both lifted their halberds from his path. “Go inform your commander if you must. I assure you, tomb is safe with me,” he assured them as he pushed through the heavy doors. A moment later and he could hear their boots thudding away.

“I’m sorry it took so long. But I’m reporting for duty and ready for reassignment.” His hand, shaking, reached into his cloak, pulling about a small bottle he had purchased as he travelled through the shop district. Soon, he would be found and brought in. There would be questions of where he had gone and what he would do now that he’d returned. But for the moment, he sank down against the wall and sat. He sat and remembered. And as he remembered, he drank. And as he drank, he wept.

 

[Vulpesen]

He had been found laughing. It was a boisterous sound that echoed against the stone walls and as captain Korenthum, leader of the hallowed Honor guard stepped into the tomb, he found himself met with a ghost. Vulpesen’s laughter had stopped, and dagger found itself into a hand which held steady, despite the swaying of every other part of him. “Speak and be recognized,” he growled in a slurred challenge.

Korenthum motioned his sergeants to lower their weapons and cleared his throat. “Captain Korenthum. Hallowed Guard,” he replied. He did after all, remember his men mentioning a promise of safety for the tomb.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” The dagger slid back into its sheathe as quickly as it had come out. “Drink?” The retired soldier produced a bottle, which by its lack of contents, explained his inability to stand straight.

“No. Actually, we need to get you to a healing mage. The Magni want to speak to you. Excelsus might as well,” The captain replied as he reached out, snatching the bottle from Vulpesen’s hand.

There was no contest as he let the bottle be taken. The mention of the two highest ranks of the Vitae Military quickly sobered him and Vulpesen made an effort to straighten his posture. “No need. But I’ll need a bit more of that before I meet them.” He closed his eyes and mumbled a short spell, the words falling off his tongue and the power denoted by a shine in his golden eyes that managed to faintly pierce through their lids.

As his eyes reopened, there was a clarity within them and the captain raised a skeptical brow. “I don’t believe the captain of the fox platoon was ever reported as a mage.”

“That’s because I wasn’t a mage. I imagine I’ll have a lot more questions than that to answer, so we better get moving.” Walking past, his hand snatched out, grabbing the bottle to place it back into his cloak. “As I said, there’ll be a lot of questions.”