Quest In The Absence of Light

[Aldren Cordale]

"Belief is the strongest metal of them all."

​

Books often have a way of being right, depending on the reading. Fantasy tales of a mighty stories to be followed. Paths. Destiny. A man can only deviate from his path for so long. But in the end, no one can run from their destiny, what they're meant to be. That is cold, hard truth that Aldren Cordale would go on to learn, with a few hardships along with way.

---

After everything that's happened in those last months, Aldren thought that it was about time he faced his true purpose. Enough of wandering around like a lost sheep, venting his anger for the world in monsters, city guards and political intrigue. It was time to see if he wasn't just a man, lucky enough to still be alive after all that.

And so he arrived at the fortress, at the strike of noon. His faithful steed groaning, almost clamoring for a bit of water, it had been quite a long journey. But there he was, edging the region of Alliria, above the tree lines and the deep forest behind him. A large castle stood upon him, clearly worn off by the echoes of battle from the past, long dead. Still, the fortress stood mighty and intimidating, in ways he couldn't even fathom into words.

The tall and seemingly impenetrable gate opened, revealing the path to be taken forward. Aldren, in awe, contemplated as he saw the clarity of his endeavor, the true location to be reached in his journey. He motioned his mare into moving forward, entering the Templar's domains. But if the arrival was to him a moment of pure bliss, for someone else it was a dubious situation, in the slighest. Atop the fortress' gaze, from one of the balconies that overlooked the entire courtyard, a man watched everything, confusion clearly taken over his visage.

A small group of four soldiers went on to greet the arriving Aldren, their stances more relaxed as they saw the Templar crest upon his armor. Even so, they declared halt on Aldren's advances and demanded he fall from his horse and report.

"Brother, under what banner do you march on?", said one of them, face eclipsed by steel helmet. Now it was Aldren who stood confused, almost lost in those words.

"Banner? I walk to no banner but my own. It has been so for a long time", Cordale responded, firm.

"Then why do you wear a Templar's sacred armor and weapons and carry yourself like one of ours?", Aldren was left searching for answers, deep inside his mind, after that question. He indeed carried himself as a Templar, even if not a true one. And he donned his master's armor and wielded his sword to every battle he had since his death. And yet, he was no Templar. Only a pretender.

It was then that the man from the balcony arrived, the men greeting him as Temple Master, but speaking no name. For the first time since arriving there, Aldren felt a cold breeze upon him, his hair tingling in the back of his head. The impending force with which that man carried himself, far above the graces of any other Templar in that castle, spoke volumes to his power and influence.

He came to stand a few steps from Aldren, his judging eyes scouring the surface of the pretending Templar for even the slighest bit of fear, to which Cordale resolved to show strength and determination instead. The master let out a short smirk, unimpressed.

"We greet one of our own, brothers. Let us give him God's time to further explain his motives so that he may be welcomed back into our flock!"

His voice carried inspiration, almost demanding obedience from the ones that stood there, watching him. It wasn't too long after that a squire arrived to take Aldren's mare and possessions, seeknig to relieve him of his immediate burden so that he could join the others in the main hall, on the other side of the courtyard. The impressive tower that stood above every rock in that hold.

All of the Templar officers sat in a large circle, candlelight illuminating the ambience as Aldren stood in the center, the lone soul of that judgement. He explained everything, from the day Riss took him under his wing to become a Templar, to the day he died, protecting Aldren from a sudden ambush. The whole time that he spent talking, the Temple Master seemed unmoved by his telling, only showing the slight glimpse of interest when Aldren talked about that ambush. The single event that changed him entirely.

"And these... mercenaries? Not one of them lived?", the Master asked, rough voice echoing the vast halls of sturdy wood and rocks, weapons and holy images filling the walls.

"No, sir", responded Aldren.

"And yet... you do", the change of the man's gaze was surprisingly. The ill intent clear on his eyes as he pointed towards Aldren. One of his captains came to whisper on his ear, to which the Master only nodded in response, followed by a small smirk. He got up from his chair, all his officers beside him accompanying in the motion.

Not long after, all the Templars of that mighty circle stood, gazing upon the object of their judgement. A few of them already knew that Aldren's fate was sealed.

"A pretender, a coward... and a deserter. You piss on that armor and crest, once used by a man of great valor to our Order", the Master sounded off, anger taking hold of his words as a few Templar soldiers entered the room, swords in hand. Aldren looked around him, confused, his blade being prepared for battle before he was seized upon by those soldiers as the officers watched.

"You are to be stripped of your 'possessions' and never to set foot here again. I hereby sentence you to banishment! May God have mercy on your soul, for i will not."

It was that moment when Aldren's light dimmed, giving way to damning darkness.

Fèlen

 

[Fèlen]

The air was stained with the smell of blood, heavy and metallic. It hung as a foreboding curtain for any that came near the temple, warning them of the injured and dying inside. Makeshift bedding had been made with blankets, those still living lying next to one another, awaiting aid. Others who had been mended enough helped to bring water to stave off dehydration, or tearing cloth to make gauze.

Deft digits reached towards the flourished fauna that sprouted from a borrowed pot, scraping a dollop of salve from a large broken leaf. The balm was smeared onto the open gash of a thigh. The recipient hissed as the medicine worked to disinfect and increase healing speed whilst Fèlen wrapped the wound swiftly. A sigh passed her lips, the back of her hand rising to wipe at her face, leaving a trail of crimson on her porcelain skin. She gave a wary smile to the man before rising to her feet.

She had been one of few to respond to the need for healers, realizing that these lands were neglected of the magical menders, leaving those that were there to grow weary from over-taxation. She had been able to maintain her energy by offering more minor healing, putting her effort into growing a mature plant with leaves full of nurturing salve. Its effects were not immediate, but it offered numbing along with its medicinal properties. Still, it was tiring work. She streched her legs, pausing to alert another healer that she was in need of fresh air, recieving a knowing nod in return.

She stepped outdoors, side stepping to rest her back against the wall of the temple, her crest lifting to feel the cool stone as she looked upwards, watching the clouds in hopes of riding her mind of the recent horrors she'd had to witness.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

His face was swollen, hurting. His numb mind, filled with denial and melancholy. The same men he hoped to call brothers and march side by side with, defending the weak and protecting the innocent, were now beating Aldren to a pulp. They started by stripping him of his weapons and armor, taking away every memory from Riss and his time with him. And as the officers slowly left the scene, all that was left were the Templars punching and kicking him into humiliation.

And he wasn't even sure what brought that on. Aldren had committed no crimes, trespassed no rules that he knew of. And yet, that man's gaze lingered on his mind, his eyes carrying a certain sense of wickedness that he had come to recognize from his past experiences.

Not only he now lacked the strength to stand up and fight back, he lacked the will to do so. In a way, the Temple Master was right in his judgement. He was a pretender. A coward. A deserter.

Ever since his days as a soldier, that's what defined him. Not his prowess as a warrior, but his shame. He left his best friends to die, his comrades, as he escaped to preserve his worthless life. He failed Riss when those men attacked and killed him, leaving Aldren to fend for himself alone once again. He failed.

And that was his sentence. Shame.

When they were done with that swift punishment, the soldiers dragged the bloodied Aldren through the courtyard, displaying him like a trophy to all the people there, even the pilgrims and the wounded that filled it. In the balcony high above stood the Master, forever watchful.

"Bear witness, brothers! That's what happens to the sinful! Evil has no place in our Holy Order!", shouted one of the Templar captains as Aldren was taken from the fortress.

In his poor state of mind, time passed rather quickly, and not long before the skies darkened and night arrived, Aldren felt the comfort of the dirt, thrown to the wretches of the wilds far from the temple. His 'brothers' left him to die in the forest outskirts with only his trousers and boots, his body wrecked with bruises and cuts.

He closed his eyes and welcomed death's embrace, seeking relief as the cold winds raged on.

 

[Fèlen]

The town had been ransacked by bandits, lives and dignity taken by groups of greedy men seeking what wasn't there own, leaving a wave of pain and anguish in their wake. It had only been with the arrival of the Templars that this agony had ended, the group fending off and driving out the bandits much to the joy of the community. Fèlen had thought it somewhat odd that such a religious group did not come with their own healers, instead, their ranks filled to the brim with warriors and soldiers, ready and willing to fight till their last breath.

The sun was brimming the horizon, once-blue skies now melting into hues of coral and saffron, scant clouds intermittently breaking apart the sunset tapestry. Her eyes focused solely on one such formation, watching it slowly crawl in order to free her mind of the weights of her duty.

"Bear witness, brothers!" The call had broken her from her revery as two Templars dragged a bloodied and beaten man through the streets. Pale brows knit faintly, her lithe form lifting from the stone wall of the temple, trying to perceive him better. She thought the man to look familiar, though it was hard to tell from all the swollen bruises. She stepped forth, intent on getting a closer look.

"Fèlen! We're out of salve!" The frantic call from another brought her to pause, her lingering gaze finally dropping from one deemed sinful and evil in order to return inside and cause her growth to flourish once more.

As the moon began to overtake the skies, Fèlen's shift ended, the half-elf eagerly relieving her duties to others that would continue to watch over the sick. She could almost feel the warmth of a bath sliding over her sullied body as she once again exited the temple, intent on heading to the inn she boarded, however, her steps paused at the courtyard. She looked down the road, towards the forests, a gnaw at the pit of her stomach. The man they had dragged had been on the back of her mind while she tended to wounded, and she could not sate her curiosity.

The bath could wait. Her steps quick as she headed towards the forests. They had not carried him too far, having broken his will. Still he lay in the dirt, vulnerable to predators and without proper clothing. She approached with only hints of wary, assured that he remained unconscious, as he did not move. A hand reached out as she lowered herself, sweeping away the matted tousles of bloodied hair to better view his disfigured visage.

It took a moment before the nymphling recognized him, but the sorrow and anger she felt was immediate. She wasted no time, her movements frantic as she pressed her digits against his form, feeling for the damage that had been dealt. Gashes were closed, flesh sewn, and bones mended. She spent extra care attending to his face, reducing the swelling so that movement would not cause him too much pain, but this focus was draining her. She did not rely on the use of plants to heal him, drawing the curative force directly from herself, increasing the speed and effectiveness of her abilities. At the cost of her own stamina, she drew him away from death's arms and into her own, placing his head delicately into her lap before trying to rouse him.

"..Aldren?" Her tenor was soft and concerned, the pads of her fingers delicately stroking the same cheek that had once harbored the blood of one who had tried to take her own life.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

'A Templar lives and dies with his brothers. They're your sword and shield in all your battles. Remember that, Aldren.'
​

His master Riss told him that. Something he always carried in his heart, the wish for redemption in a life alongside brothers once more, to live and die with his Templar brethren, to be worthy. That's all he wished for in all that time that he spent thinking about a life with the Templar Order.

From the moment he stepped through those gates and was greeted by them, Aldren felt that he made the right choice. But he was wrong, once again.

And now he lay on the ground, dirt and blood all around him, his bones broken and his heart hurting. The dead of night arrived, and with it came the chilly winds that soared through the forest, the leaves and trees all dancing to their tunes.

It was dangerous to be alone in those wilds by nightfall, but it was impossible for him to get up. He tried pushing forward with all his strength, to drag himself through the dirt towards a nearby tree, but reached only for a few inches. Aldren succumbed to the pain and exhaustion and passed out, helpless. At least, he thought he was.

His worthless life was brought back to the warm fields of health by nourishing and quite familiar magic, one that felt of sweet petals against his skin. Aldren opened his eyes in a surge, gasping for air as if he had just waken from a terrible nightmare. With his head resting in that woman's lap, he felt like jumping desperately away from her, but his body barely responded to his commands, even if the cuts and bruises were all but a distant memory thanks to her magic.

In the face of desperation, Aldren failed to recognize the woman who brought him back from the brink of death. His eyes fixed on her suave face and her natural grace, light hair that appeared like a lamp in the darkness, his darkness. She still felt like pure light, the same as before, in Vel Anir. Her gentle touch saving him yet again.

A single tear drifted from his eye and along his cheek as he whispered, weakly.

"Fèlen..."

 

[Fèlen]

Naught but night surrounded them, cast in the wane of the moon. The silveresque light silhouetted the halfling as she looked down on the exiled Templar, none watching them but the stars. A relieved chuckle, breathy and quiet, passed her peach lips as his eyes fluttered open and her name called out softly. He was broken, even though she had taken time and energy to mend him physically, they had broken more than just his body.

A thumb swiftly rose to wipe the warm tear that streaked down his face, marking a path through the stains of blood.
"You scared me." She confessed softly, pressing her forehead gently against his own in alleviation. The moment was brief, head lifting as her steel gaze hardened and turned down the path she had come from, towards the Templar's domains.

The forest quaked with her rage. The trees grew ominous, branches and leaves flourishing to bring on a darkness and unusual silence as all the creatures that dwell within sensed the perilous fervor the halfling inspired. Fèlen was fiercely loyal, those that she considered allies falling under her canopy of protection, and it did not matter what authority faulted them. She would fight back.

Now was not the time for battle. She had a fallen friend to care for. Healing him had come at a great expense to her own energy, especially after providing aid to those that had been injured by the invaders, yet that did not stop the flourish of lilac blossoms that bloomed around them, a soothing perfume filling the air to ease his mental suffering whilst thing fibers began to encase his form, shaping into trousers and a tunic to shield him from the elements.

"We should get you back to the inn. You need to rest."

 

[Aldren Cordale]

For the first time since that nightmare started, Aldren felt at ease. His breathing, once rushed and desperate, started to calm and settle with relief as he welcomed the tenderness of his head being rested on Fèlen's lap. He could scarcely believe that only a few moments ago he was being beaten and left for dead by his fellow Templars, and now a figure of his past came to pluck him away from the jaws of madness. Aldren still owed much to that woman, her gentle care being the few things that kept that group together through the bloodied and messy streets of Vel Anir as they evaded many dangers to finally reach safety.

He missed her, and now she was there.

As her forehead gently touched his, Aldren managed to slowly reach out for the side of her head, gently stroking her cheeks as if still in disbelief that she was really there. He closed his eyes and let that sweet perfume take over the air around him, granting a quick moment of rest amidst the storm that had taken over his mind. For those few seconds, time looked like it stood still, just Aldren reflecting on the path that lay before him.

And even so, he saw no clear way. He had nowhere to go, nothing to fight for. He had lost everything now. Angst was the only thing filling his empty heart, lacking even the anger to justify taking up arms against those men. And even if he could rise against the Templars, a noble Order of heroes of the past, why would him? Like years past, he had no cause.

He deserted the cause of his comrades in the army, leaving them to die alone, without fighting alongside them. He failed in his cause to walk a path of justice with Riss when he was killed. And now he was ripped from the cause that he thought the noblest - to live a life with the Templars.

In the end, he was no different from his father, no matter how hard he tried to be.

Aldren came back to himself when he left the strange change of the winds, soaring violently as if roaring with anger. And for a short moment, he felt the forest retreat in utter silence. Nature, bend to the will of a powerful yet sweet soul, but not without her moments. He watched in silence Fèlen's change of demeanor, fearing that she would seek reprisal for what was done against him. Aldren lacked the strength to sway those thoughts of her, even as he worried for her safety.

He felt her magic come forth once more to brace and protect him as they slowly got up, with Aldren still feeling the effects of the beating in his body. Together, they left the forest behind and made their way towards the ill that Fèlen mentioned, to a much needed rest.

 

[Fèlen]

The forest surrounding them calmed, nightly predators and prey returning to their chitter to drown out the eery silence that had previously encompassed them as silken strands ran through his calloused fingers. She slowly helped Aldren to his feet, assuring that they went at an easy pace, supporting his much larger form with her own.

She had spent the entire day mending others without much time to attend to herself. Her attire was disheveled and stained in the blood of others, a weariness having overcome her even before she had found him. He was not the only one who needed rest, sweat damp on her brow as she ignored her own body's strain.

The duo made their way through the night, towards the inn. Those that had not yet made it to their own homes caught sight of them, however, their haggard appearance was not uncommon after the raids, and they were left in peace as they entered. A concerned look from the innkeeper was calmed by Fèlen's own weary smile and a slight shake of her head, turning down the hall to the third door on the right.

It was a meager room. Provided by those paying for her aid. A simple bed, big enough only for one, with a small table next to it that provided perch for her small bag of belongings.
"Here we are." She sighed, easing Aldren onto the bed before sitting on the edge herself. A hand pushed into her hair whilst her elbow rest on her knee, body slumped from fatigue, allowing herself a small break.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

They made their way safely towards the inn, with Fèlen trying her best to hold Aldren's much taller body. He saw how difficult that was being for her, and tried to adjust some of his weight, at the cost of a few bouts of pain as his body still healed from the beating. Thanks to Fèlen's magic, however, he was in much better shape than he was before.

Eventually, the two reached a small gathering area with more people than usual. Merchants, travelers, and many of them sick or injured. Looking no better than them, they managed to squeeze past the lingering looks and stares given by a few commoners as they passed.

Aldren and Fèlen entered the inn, met by the worried stare from the owner while he was cleaning a table with the help of his workers. Fèlen seemed to know him already, pondering to his concern with only a short, bright smile that was enough to ease his mind and allow them further entrance. She slowly guided them to a room, entering after she unlocked it open.

Given all that, Aldren imagined she had been living there for some time. After being carefully put to the bed and attented by the perceively tired woman, he let curiosity get the better of him, his rough and strong voice filled with pain and fatigue.

"Why... Why are you here? What happened to you?"

The irony that he was so beaten and tired himself, but looked to be more concerned with Fèlen's dirty and bloodied garbs, as well as the look of clear weariness on her face.

 

[Fèlen]

Neither of the two seemed to care much for themselves, their friendship drawing more concern for each other's well-being. His voice questioned her, leaving her momentarily puzzled before she looked down at herself. She had forgotten almost entirely about her contract there, all other responsibilities falling flat at the injury of her friend.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, pulling at her bloodied garments. "This isn't my blood!" She assured him. A frown quickly followed those words as she realized that it sounded as if she might have caused others to bleed.
"I mean, there weren't enough healers to care for the people here, so they posted for aid to the Adventurer's Guild and I responded. I have been in the temple all day attending to the wounded." She explained, rising to her feet.

She crossed to a small basin of cold water, soaking a rag in it before dragging the coolness across her face, wiping away the blood and sweat that had formed before she looked back towards him, now wiping at her neck and collar.

"...And do you want to tell me what happened to you?" She had intended to let him sleep, saving the questions for the morning, but she couldn't help it now that he had stricken up the conversation.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren paid close attention to every move Fèlen took, in a bit of awe with her grace and the sweet aura that seemed to enlighten her, filling him with a soft breeze that soothe his troubled thoughts. It must've been because of her origin, he was almost sure of that. Humans, much like him, were always so full of negative emotions that wear them down. But Fèlen was something else entirely, a dip of heavenly taste from a pool of paradises, he once thought.

He tried his best to open the slightest smile, even if sudden moves worsened his pain and struggles. He sat on the bed, slowly lining his back with the wooden wall behind him, leaning for a bit of comfort while holding tight to his belly. He paused a moment when she asked that, reminiscing. It wasn't the best of memories.

"...After Vel Anir, i sought purpose. Meddled in affairs too foreign for me, was sidetracked enough until i decided to face it", the sadness was evident in his eyes as they looked to escape her gaze, always looking down.

"I failed. A last time", he finished in a low tone. Not long after that, desperate knocks on the door broke their small moment of tenure. Whoever was outside didn't even wait for Fèlen to open it, and couldn't care less about what was happening in that room.

One of the workers, a teenage girl that looked no older than light haired woman put her head forward, breathing heavily. She paid no mind to Aldren's presence in the bed.

"Lady Fèlen, we need your help, please! It's Braden!"

In one of the rooms across the inn was a young man, a large, naughty cut right above his ribs and his face full of dirty. He clung desperately to one of the girls that helped him take a sip of water, spouting senseless words as the rest of the wounded watched in fear.

Braden was the sole survivor of one of the first villages to be devastated in the raiding mercenaries' wake. That was weeks ago, and now he was still alive, though barely. Much to the inhabitants' surprise.

 

[Fèlen]

The halfling wasn't ignorant or naive, fully aware of hazel gaze that followed the fluidity of her movements. Many had been the men captivated by the ethereal beauty she possessed, her past life spent encapturing that attention and sneak secrets for others. She had been a dancer for a traveling brothel, going from city to city, learning the darkest whispers of the most powerful people. The prize of the troupe. She was a long way from that luxurious life, without perfumed baths or fur-covered beds. Yet, her beauty remained, her movements telling of the elegance she possessed, even as she wiped the grime from her brow.

It wasn't long before the water became muddled and tinged red as Aldren gave her a vague story, her attention only stolen from him by the sudden rapping at her door. Fèlen rushed forth, a hand placed at her heart, pumping swiftly from surprise.
"Calm down, Saia." Gentle hands stroked at the frantic maiden's matted hair, reassurance and comfort in her smile. The weary had not faded from her eyes, yet she did not hesitate. She offered an apologetic look towards Aldren, expecting him to stay behind whilst she pushed herself to heal another.
"I'll return soon." She promised before allowing Saia to urge her forth.

Onlookers broke away, allowing the elven healer to draw close to Braden and crouch at his bedside. She frowned at the sight of the wound, brows furrowing as she removed the crimson-soaked cloth that had been used to staunch the bleeding.
"Why was he brought to the inn?" Fèlen asked, though her question wasn't directed at anyone in particular. The temple had been supplied for treatment and her healing growths were stationed there.

She steeled herself, pulling at own sleeve as she had done when she first met Aldren. The fabric gave way easily, mending as soon as the piece was free. Moments later the fibers had changed their nature into a familiar leaf, placed directly on the cut. She held it firm, assuring the salve would seep into the open flesh. Her free hand gently caressed Braden's cheek, offering a caring smile to distract him from the pain until it began to numb.
"The worst of it is over." She cooed, wiping his hair from his forehead. The frown returned as she felt the abnormal warmth.
"You'll need a lot of rest, Braden. You have a mild fever. Someone get more cold water and clean his face."

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren nodded to reassure the woman as she left, rushing to the young man's aid. He stood there, sat on the bed, a thousand things going through his mind. He let out a longing sigh and tried his best to get out of bed and walk a few steps to atleast feel his legs. Aldren paced through the room, hand still holding his belly while he checked every corner, impatient.

The room was small but not without its comfort. It was cozy and somewhat warm, given that the woods must've been freezing this time of the year, especially in the night. He frequented many places such as that in his travels, growing used to the rustic look and ambience, even going as much as preferring them instead of luxurious places. And beats the caves and sewers he was going into in search of beasts.

A short scream far away cut short his thoughts and he turned to face the door, left open when Fèlen and the girl she called Saia hurried to attend the boy. And even though he could barely walk straight without pain wrecking his body, Aldren felt as if he needed to check out the commotion.

With low moans of pain, he made his way towards the large room full of other wounded refugees where Fèlen was doing her marvelous handiwork. He arrived right when she ended her first aid healing of the boy called Braden, his previous outbursts now replaced with tenderness thanks to the woman.

But that changed the moment his brown eyes fell upon Aldren's visage, instantly loaded with fear and desperation. As if he hadn't a grave injury, Braden started screaming again, pointing towards Aldren while murmuring of Templars and killers, much to Aldren's confusion. He was wearing only the clothes Fèlen gave to him, absent his Templar crest and other gear. Not only that, but he had never seen this man in his life. But Braden looked at him as if he was seeing the devil himself.

Aldren stood shocked in the hallway while the innkeeper and the girls tried to calm him down to no avail, as he kept screaming and pointing for a bit longer until his body couldn't keep on, shutting down in unconsciousness due to his wounds.

"What happened? Who is this boy?", asked Aldren as he slowly made his way towards the innkeeper. The fat and somewhat old man looked at him in fear for a moment but dismissed any doubts given the Aldren's state. What kind of murderer could be resting alongside his victims after taking the beating of his life?

"He's Marta's older son, from Riverdown village to the south. A bright lad, one of the good ones 'round here. We thought everyone in that village was dead. It was the first one those bloody bandits raided. Demons, the lot of 'em! Some hunters found 'im in the woods today, said he kept murmuring that the Templars be killers, and that they be worshippin' demons! Poor lad lost his mind, i tell ya. Them Templars are bloody heroes, rode in and killed those blasted bandits!"

Aldren examined Braden as the innkeeper spun his tale. Many of the refugees and the working girls were taken by surprise with the story, for they didn't know much themselves about the attacks, other than the general information that a large band of mercenaries were raiding the villages. He looked at Fèlen as if he was still confused with that whole situation, looking for more answers.

 

[Fèlen]

There wasn't much in way of possessions as far as Fèlen's room was concerned. Her bag was small enough to be thrown over her back, with few trinkets and her coin purse inside. Outside of those few possessions, it did not appear that he halfling intended on being in town long, or that she perhaps had a home to return to. She trusted Aldren enough to leave him alone with her few belongings, assuming he would lie down to finally rest and allow her magic to fully heal him overnight.

He did not. The ex-Templar stubborn despite the protests of his body as Braden cried out rooms away, his morals unyielding and ignorant as he followed the sounds of anguish. The boy had been treated and calmed, but this reprieve only lasted a few moments before Aldren's appearance once more caused the boy to fret sporadically. Fèlen struggled against his flailing limbs until finally, he calmed, falling into a fitful sleep.

A sigh fell from peached lips, exhaustion overcoming her as she rose to her feet. Darkness slid into the borders of her vision, her fatigue no longer willing to nag at the back of her mind. It pushed forth as the final wall of her will crumbled and she gripped at the edge of Braden's sickbed. A dizzy spell caused her to stumble, Saia swiftly gripping at her, righting her footing.
"Ah, thank you, Saia. Keep an eye on him. Make sure his fever breaks." Her words softly spoken, though she assured the younger girl that she was fine.

A step was taken towards the door, intent on heading back to her room, though the twilight of lethargy had only increased, and she slipped into unconsciousness just as her patient had, the strain of all the healing finally catching up to her as she crumbled to the floor.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

As he looked at her, Aldren could see the toll it had taken on Fèlen to be using her healing magic practically all day. He felt slightly at fault for that. If she hadn't found him in the woods, she would've been back to her much deserved rest earlier, not here still exerting herself even more by taking care of everyone. But she did have a amazingly gentle heart, and wouldn't deny anyone the graces of her care.

Aldren's eyes widened in shock after seeing her crumble, trying to walk away from all that mess and towards her room. He forced himself to rush next to her and see if she was alright. She was completely out of her herself, the exhaustion of her extensive use of magic shutting down her body in an attempt to take a forced rest. Aldren had felt that many times by using his own magic without care.

Fighting against the pain, Aldren managed to slowly lift her in his arms, thanking the heavens that she was much more smaller than him, and far lighter as well. As hurt as he was, Cordale carried her towards her room with Saia following just behind him, worried sick about Fèlen. After reaching the warmth and quiet of the room, Aldren carefully put her in the bed, gently putting aside a few hair strands that stood in front of her eyes.

"Please, take care of her. She's working too hard", said Aldren with a worried face while looking at her, now peacefully away in slumber.

Saia nodded hesitantly while Aldren rushed past her and out of the room, searching for the innkeeper and finding him cleaning a few dirty cups for the next day. "Good sir, where are the hunters? Surely they couldn't have gone too far by now", he inquired.

The innkeeper looked at him sideways, too busy with his chores. "They said they be hunting to the south, half an hour from here. But don't be thinking of going out like that at this hour! Fè girl would be worried sick with ya!"

Aldren had a bit of laugh with that, but understood his worries. Nonetheless, as hurt as he was, he had to go follow up on this lead. Something was bothering him even since he laid eyes upon the Temple Master earlier. And the hunters were the only clue he had. Fèlen would have to forgive him later.

Leaving the man to his work, Aldren got out of the inn, taking in the cold breeze on the outside as he looked at the woods to the south. A bold and stupid move, but one he had to take.

 

[Fèlen]

The day had been filled with unexpected exhaustion. She had conserved her energy as much as possible during the day, relying on her affinity for nature to care for most wounds rather than conjuring the life directly from her hands. Even so, providing the majority of healing for the bulk of the day had still left her tired, even if she had paced herself. It was only with Aldren's injuries, and finally Braden's, that she had pushed herself over the edge.

She did not feel the strong arms that cradled her, nor hear the concern in his voice as he assured that she was cared for. Her exhaustion had left her in an absolute abyss, leaving her nightmares free roam, despite Saia's comforting touch. She slept fitfully, quivering and sweating, her body drained of its own defense.

It was the face of one long dead, flesh rotted and peeling from the hollows of a cheek. Eye sockets far too sunken, and teeth lined with dirt, that finally brought her back to consciousness hours later. Saia had heard the frightened call that had escaped her sleepy lips, rushing back to the halfling to calm and sooth her.

Confusion clouded her mind as fear began to fade, looking around at the familiar room before her eyes landed on the young girl.
"...Where's Aldren?" It was not Fèlen who was meant to rest in that bed that night. She ignored Saia's protests as she rose, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"I heard him ask the innkeeper about the hunters... Half an hour south of here?" Her information was correct, though her voice was unsure. The chaos that had become the town clouding her memory. Fèlen cursed, tossing her bag over her should in one fluid motion before she exited without another word.

"Stay here with Braden! I told you to make sure his fever breaks." Her voice was firm as she called over her shoulder to the maiden that followed her, causing Saia to halt her steps, conflicted. Her nod was feeble, but she did not question the healer as her back vanished out the door.

Bull-headed fool. That's what Aldren was. She had driven her own body to the brink just to assure that he would be well and he had not even bothered to take the time to properly rest. She spat his name, her hastened steps immediately heading south towards the forest, assured that the trees would guide her.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

With the moon at its peak, the night covered the woods in darkness. Howling winds went by, shaking the trees and prompting some of the animals into hiding to escape the cold air. As they sought refuge deep in their little caves, burrows and beneath the stones, a lone man was brave, or perhaps stupid enough to be wandering those wilds at that hour, with nothing to keep his company but predators.

The forests near Alliria were said to carry a certain mystique about them, something to be exploited against the weary travelers in the ways of childish tales of monsters and devil worshippers that sacrifice humans and elves to their demons that slumber deep beneath those very grass and mud covered grounds. Aldren, even with all his beliefs, was never a superstitious man, never paying any heed to those stories unless it carried information about the monsters he hunted. Vampires, lycans... now those were beasts, real beasts.

After half an hour of navigating through the maze of trees and roots, he reached the promised area where the hunters had last been, finding nothing but a few horse tracks. Enduring the pain it caused, Aldren knelt next to one of those tracks, taking a closer look. They were wet and fully visible, which meant that they were fresh. Had he been only a little late, the winds would've covered them with dirt and tree leaves, making it impossible for him to know where they could be headed.

He walked for a few more minutes, noticing several broken leaf branches, caused by the rapid run of people or horse into them. One of the clearer tracks a hunter could use to determine if someone has passed there recently. And for a hunter of his skill, it was just enough.

"Look carefully, and the way will reveal itself...", Aldren whispered to himself one of his favorite quotes from the books he used to read at the Edenham academy, where he learned to be more than a common foot soldier.

The tracks grew scarce as Aldren followed them deeper into the forest, having to trust his own guts to see where this search would lead him.

 

[Fèlen]

She was enveloped. Embraced by the forest as one who carried its spirit within their blood only could be. Leaves shook with secrets, ensuring she was on the right path. Branches and roots did not impede her route, ensuring she was swift.

The rest she had gotten had not been enough for a full recovery but she was athletic and nimble. She took her strides quickly, almost sprinting with her long legs. A ghost in the dark forest. Her pale hair and skin ensure that she would be easy to spot, though her speed would only allow a brief glimpse before she was swallowed by foliage. She did not take reprieve, her touch lingering faintly on trees every few yards, listening to their advice.

It was only because of her affinity that she was able to track and catch up to the much slower man, her gait growing swifter when finally his blonde hair caught her view, breaking into his clearing with a flourish as the trees opened up for her.

She was panting when she finally stopped, leaning against a tree for support as relief conquered her gaze at view of his well-being. It was short-lived, anger overcoming as she strode forth and punched him where she knew a bruise was still healing on his shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing??" She hissed vehemently.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren walked amongst the trees, guided only by the moon's light, the cold breeze sending shivers down his spine. His walk came to a halt when he caught sight of a shining object a bit further, a ring shining in the sky light. He went on to inspect it, thinking that it maybe belonged to one of the hunters. As he looked down again, however, he saw a few drops of blood splashed over the tree roots, with no clear trail to follow. He sighed, disappointed.

And that's when he heard strange sounds drawing ever closer. Something moved fast towards him, but before he could do anything in defense, Fèlen propped from between the trees and leaves, her magic illuminating the surroundings for a brief moment before her anger filled punch reached his still hurting shoulder. Aldren felt the pain travelling all the way to his toes. He stared at her, puzzled by that outburst.

It was only then that Aldren remembered he escaped his rest and left her to her own. The woman hissed frustrated at him, but before he could speak back, he heard other sounds in the distance. This one particularly stood out, like a monstrous growl, but slightly muffled.

Fearing that they weren't alone, Aldren rushed forward and pushed Fèlen against a tree, covering her mouth with his hand. A few seconds later, his body felt the flow of magic rising a few miles from them as a torrent of ravens flown desperately to the skies and beyond, taking different directions.

Aldren looked deep into her beautiful, starry eyes, relaying the evident worry carried in his own. Thanks to his own magic, Aldren could feel in his body the use of magic close to him, but this one sparked him. Lesser use or trivial things usually went past his notice, his senses only being alarmed to the use of powerful magic like dreadful curses and combat magic. Yet this one stroke at him in a completely new way.

He let go of Fèlen and motioned to move on, towards the origin of that sound. And after arriving there, he wished he had just stayed at the inn.

The hunters were found. Only their bodies were mutilated to various pieces in ritualistic emplacement. A pool of blood covered the barren ground, with candles being the finishing touch of that demonic circle. A summoning one, by the looks of it. And yet, he no longer felt any magic there.

From the trees, a malformed head flew to their feet followed by the appearance of a familiar knight, sword stained in blood. The man looked at Aldren and Fèlen with a sharp smile, as if nothing had happened.

"Dangerous place for a love stroll, wouldn't you say?", he jested.

He approached the pair, putting his sword away in the scabbard at his waist. "I remember you, brother. Glad to know you still live! My name is Guarin, Knight Sergeant of the Templar Order."

 

[Fèlen]

His hazel depths filled with puzzlement at her strike, his forgetfulness and misunderstanding causing her further frustration. Before she had a chance to lecture him more, he was upon her. His form towered hers, the rough bark pressing firmly against her back as his calloused palm stifled her surprised cry.

His actions were unexpected, intentions unknown. His features were not lustful, as one less perceptive might have misconstrued. Rather, his unbreaking gaze hinted at the dangers that lurk within those timbers. So intent on finding him, the half-nymph had been unable to hear the warnings in the woods.

His proximity lessened, allowing her full breath once more as she quietly followed him. Hauntings of wicked dealing were strewn about, her gaze only briefly wincing at the sight before a mobile object launched towards them. She swiftly moved out of the way, recognizing it as a decapitated head as a pit formed in her gut. She stepped closer to Aldren, though her form faintly overstepped his own, protective rather than defensive.

Her gaze flicked slightly past her shoulder and up at Aldren, the Templar that revealed himself recognizing her companion.
"... The woods are never dangerous for a nymph." She responded softly, leaves above shaking with their approval.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

As friendly as the man appeared to be, Aldren's first instinct was to come closer to Fèlen, looking more protective of her in case anything were to happen. The Templar picked right up on that and took a step back, raising his hands as assurance to appease the pair.

Guarin looked to be only a few years older than Aldren. His hair cut short and his dark beard long, similar to Aldren's. His Templar robes were stained with blood and dirt. Signs that he was fighting just a moment prior to their meeting. His crest was different from the other brothers at the Temple, the crest of a Knight Sergeant. A high and much respected rank within the Order. That man was both a seasoned and wise warrior if Riss's lessons about the Templars were accurate

"Wait, i remember you...", said Guarin while looking over at the nymph more carefully. Shame began to take hold of him as he remembered the gracious healer that took major part in taking care of the wounded over at the temple. "Miss Fèlen, i apologize. In this darkness, i almost couldn't recognize you."

Aldren went forward to greet the man closely. "Come back to finish what the other... brothers started?", the anger was clear on his face. The memories from earlier were still vivid, burning like hot charcoal on his skin. The pain was still there, and the shame would remain even longer as well. He would never forget nor forgive what happened to him.

"I understand your pain, boy. But trust me when i tell you, those men were no brothers", by the look Guarin gave to them, it felt like he was saying the truth. And a scary truth at that.

He turned to walk towards the demonic circle, taking a closer look at it while his eyes filled with sorrow. "The Temple... has fallen. I can't recognize those men. Evil things are happening there as we speak. The screams coming from the catacombs... They are destroying our Order!"

Guarin rushed next to Aldren again, his voice heavy with pain. "Our Order has been infected with a conspiracy so evil i fear it will truly be the end for us! I'm alive only because i managed to discover this earlier than they anticipated and escaped with a few of my brothers."

Aldren looked to Fèlen, almost as if looking for guidance and consolation. He had no words to speak at that moment, nor he had any plans to help that man. A few moments ago he was heavy with pain and anger towards the Templars for what they did to him, left without any will or desire to fight. He thought the life he knew had come to an end, but now the doors were opening again.

It all came back to him. All the way from the day Riss was murdered by those mercenaries in the ambush. Aldren raised his sight to meet Guarin's eyes. As if reading his mind, the Sergeant confirmed Aldren's fears.

"Those mercenaries, the ones that assaulted those villages... They were Templars!"

 

[Fèlen]

Fèlen was unsure of where she would've been recognized by this man, though he knew her by name. Just as he had slowly recognized her, her own recognition came into focus, though not quite as clear. Her days had been filled with faces and blood, clouding her mind with memories she would rather forget.

Anger birthed from betrayal coated Aldren's words as he addressed the midnight Templar, a gentle hand grasping at his arm in support, silently encouraging him to maintain composure and not strain himself as her steps matched his own.

When it came to deception and conspiracy, trust was difficult to place. The majority of her life had been at the hands of a man she deemed most worthy of it, yet she had been proven utterly wrong. Now it was difficult for her to take things as they were told, especially when in a new land with few connections. The accusations were grand, Fèlen's gaze meeting with her companion's as he looked towards her, unsure himself. She could not give him the guidance he wordlessly pleaded for, but her grip offered solace.

She was an outcast without a home or a place to belong. The affairs that were happening were not her own. She could only offer support to one who had ties within the mess that had been created.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren softly grabbed Fèlen's hand, feeling the sweet caress of her touch and her skin. He looked at her, losing himself for a moment as he sought to calm his own thoughts. That wasn't him, that fear and hesitation. He had moved past the anger before, and he needed to do so now. If not for the Templars, people needed him. To ignore that would be to break his own personal oath, to protect the weak regardless of what mantle he wore.

He took a step closer to the nymph, gently stroking her light cheeks while the moonlight sparkled her bright hair. Guarin stood a few paces from them, quietly watching.

"You did so much for me already, i can't ask you to do anything else... But i need to do this, Fè", he said in a rather calmed tone, showing signs that he wasn't as scared or emotional as he was before. He was thinking clearly now, something he hadn't done in a long time. His purpose was clear, and he would fulfill it, and find justice for himself in the deed.

Still, he knew that Fèlen would be fighting a battle meaningless to her, and facing grave danger that wasn't meant to her. It was selfish of him, but deep down in his heart, Aldren didn't want her to go. She would never ask her to stay and face this enemy, to put herself in harm's way again, but he knew of her power. She wasn't a damsel in distress, her caring magic could as easily be turned to ravaging thorns as opposed to sweet leaves. But there's nothing worse than fighting a battle that isn't yours.

Aldren brushed those thoughts aside, nodding to her before turning to face Guarin again. "I'm ready, what's your pl--"

Before he could finish, ravens swarmed them before taking flight to the skies, circling above them like preys. The air howled strongly and strangely, and screams echoed throughout the forest before the birds started flying in the same direction from which they came from. The inn.

Aldren ran towards it, jumping roots and rocks while trying to make his way back as fast as possible in his bad condition. But he arrived a bit too late.

He saw a small gathering in front of the inn, near one of the big and ancient trees that surrounded it. Gasping for air, he slowly pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes widening and his breath escaping for a second as he witnessed the body hanging from the tree, stripped of clothing and his belly cut, the blood falling into devilish and unknown markings on the ground.

Cordale recognized the boy. Branden. And many weeped beside him, horrified.

 

[Fèlen]

Ever since she had escaped the man who had forced her into servitude, the halfling had done nothing but tangle herself in the affairs of others. She was wayward and unsettled, if she kept to herself, she would suffer alone.

Her gaze was steady and even on Aldren, intent on keeping view of his shifting emotions. She did not shy away as his digits gently brushed her cheeks, allowing the lingering touch as he expressed his gratitude. Her shoulders slumped faintly at his resolve, looking over his disheveled form. He would continue until he was dead, and she was almost sure this would kill him.

He turned back to Guarin, who possibly began to feel a bit awkward, and before Fèlen had a chance to protest they were once again on the move. Terror would not release this village, clutched tightly in a vice of death. They moved through the woods again, but there were no steps that could carry them fast enough. No shift in the trees would allow them the swiftness they would have needed to get there on time.

Carnage and brutality would never be something the halfling would grow used to, no matter how many times it forced its way into her life. Fists gripped tightly at her sides as she saw the boy she had tried to save hanging and lifeless. Nails bit into her palms as her jaw tightened with evident fury. It didn't matter where she went or what she did, violence always found her. She had posed herself as a mere healer, harmless and unthreatening. Aldren knew her capabilities, but not their depth.

"Who did this?" The words braced through clenched teeth, meant for Guarin as that familiar silence swallowed the forest.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren didn't falter as he looked on the dead, hanging body. Another young soul, taken from this world by the wicked hands of evildoers. No more. No more he would endure this and do nothing. He realized now what his destiny had in store for him, and he felt deep down that this was his calling, at last.

The young warrior clenched his fist, Fèlen beside him demanding answers from Guarin who stood towering above the common people, his glance unimpressed by the horror of it all. As a seasoned Templar, he must've already seen many atrocities such as that.

Aldren turned and went straight to him, filled with resolve. "This ends now. What's the plan, Guarin?", said Aldren, firmly. His voice carried a strength lacked to him for a long time. His figure was imposing, unshaken. Guarin looked deep into his eyes, assessing him for a moment.

"Our camp is not far from this village. We'll discuss everything there", was the last thing the sergeant said before departing, hand on his sword, the sound of his armor clinking as he went on.

Aldren put his hand on Fèlen's shoulders, prompting her to get away from the horrid scene and to break her out from her anger filled stance. He knew full well what was going on on her mind, because the same thoughts passed by his own. But they would have their justice when this is over. For Braden, and for everyone else.

"I'll wait for you to grab your things if you want. Where we're going... i don't think we'll be back anytime soon. And it's not safe for neither of us to stay here."

He looked to the woods, imagining what lied beyond the darkness.

"They know where we are now."