Fate - First Reply Lose a Piece of Yourself

[Kristen Pirian]

ALLIRIA, OUTER CITY
OUR QUEEN OF STARS CHAPEL​

Stop the massacre.

That was the sole thought which coursed through Kristen's mind.

This was why Aionus had placed her here in this humble Chapel in the Outer City of Alliria. This is what He wanted from her. To stand. To face true evil as it stared her down and prevail.

* * * * *​

Kristen Pirian had come to Alliria on Anirian business. Simple enough business, resolved within a small matter of days, and, to be rather frank about it, other Initiates from her class of Dreadlords would have been better served shadowing Proctor Magomo for this. It wasn't a combat mission (although, as fortune or perhaps providence would have it, violence would find her anyway once she visited the Chapel), and Kristen knew a good deal more of civil negotiation with nobility and the well-to-do peerage than all of her peers.

So it was a matter of little consequence.

Her choice to attend a Celestialist service in the Outer City on the eve before the journey to return to Vel Anir would be of far more import.

She had noticed the Chapel—Our Queen of Stars, so it was called—on a few passings and asked Proctor Magomo for permission to pray there once the evening service was in session. Proctor Magomo didn't outright roll his eyes, but his displeasure was apparent through his stolid—and slightly grudging—allowance for this. Faith was not something the vast majority of Anirians much cared for, and Kristen's was only tolerated on account of her magic being born of it. For Kristen it was an inextricable part of who she was, and to Aionus the Holy Sentinel she gave her reverence. This trip to Alliria would at least allow for her to do something she could not in the lands of Vel Anir: pray along with fellow believers in a house devoted to her gods and goddesses.

And so when the sky turned red with the setting sun, Kristen entered into the Chapel.

Humble. Modest. A small building with only a little foyer whose double doors led into the main Chapel room. There were eight rows of pews with an aisle cutting through the middle, leading to a raised platform upon which sat the Altar to Astra. Smaller representations of Aionus, Tychan, Metisa, Nykios, and Drakon were also present, but Astra's effigy was the largest among them, her bow turned up toward the heavens, arrow nocked and string pulled back. Lit candles lined the walls and special lanterns which glowed with a magical white light hung from the ceiling.

The Chapel was about half full with worshippers. The priest was genial and polite, a soft-spoken man who looked as though he wouldn't hurt a fly. He was genuinely enthused by the evening's turnout, and quite happy to Kristen—a face he hadn't seen before. His smile was delighted when she explained that she was Anirian, having come all the way via the Portal Stones and trekking on horseback to Alliria and finally to his Chapel. He introduced her with an understated joy to his congregation before the service began in earnest.

It felt good. Wonderful, even, to be this open and honest about her faith, to speak her words of worship and reverence aloud without any sting of judgment from those around her. She gave thanks to Aionus for many things: for Selene Avar and her rescue seven years ago, for Zana Vjollca for bringing forth a better age for all Anirians, for Evangeline and her cherished service to House Pirian, for her sister Amelia's health and love and good spirits, for Drastus Tal'deneshaar and the romantic love he requited unto her and the faithfulness to keep it strong. These but a few.

Then they came.

The Desecrators. Dark robed figures with their hooded faces obscured in a strange blackness. Servants of the Dark Ones.

* * * * *​

No one saw the first five Desecrators enter the Chapel. No one saw as they passed through the double doors and fanned out in the main room behind the pews. Calmly and with a methodical coldness they did this.

And in the same manner did they lift their hands and launch their foul magics and thus begin the massacre.

The first volley of Dark Bolts killed five worshippers. They toppled forward, their heads or their chests or their arms crashing into the pews in front of them as they fell, the Dark Magic swarming over their flesh and their clothes like an army of ravenous insects and devouring everything at the point of impact. Some were able to scream. Some were not.

Kristen whirled about in her seat in the second row of pews from the Altar. A Dark Bolt flew in her direction. She threw herself down flat onto the ground, landing on her stomach and a rush of air being forced from her chest. The gentle priest was struck in this volley, stumbling backward as the Dark Magic burrowed a hole in his stomach and tumbling over the Altar itself, knocking loose the statues of the Celestial Pantheon and scattering the evening's offerings. The screams of the worshippers were now general, as was the panic.

Fear bolted through Kristen. She was acutely aware that she wasn't wearing her armor, for what protection its metal may have provided against the Dark Magic. But she did have her mace, and she did have her magic. It would have to do.

So yes. There was fear. But her resolve rose above it, that promise she'd made to herself overcoming the terror which would have kept her frozen if she'd allowed for it.

Lying on the floor between the second and first row of pews, she got a look across the aisle. A look at someone else who had also dodged a Dark Bolt and who was similarly down with her. She met this person's eyes, and hoped that they had the same courageous thought she did.

Stop the massacre.

 

[Syr Dorn]

Another visit to Alliria, another search for potentials to the Order. This would likely be one of Dorns last such recruitment trips before he was likely forced to teach full time. Pollocks, was an avid practitioner of Celestialism and so, Dorn would allow the boy to attend his favorite Temple while he accompanied the knight on his mission. He had known the Priest for many years and would consistently come to worship at this chapel numerous times over the years.

It would be for this reason, that Pollocks had been in the Temple. It was his favorite place, save for the Monastery, of course. And so enamored with the service was he, that he didn't notice the five figures enter with murderous intent. He didn't notice until he heard the first screams.

He instinctively hit the deck, a fear creeping in as he recognized a scream from the next volley and he could see the good priest hit the cobbled stone, the lifeless eyes boring in his direction beneath the pews. He would look up to see a shockingly beautiful girl close to his age and he offered a reassuring smile that his eyes didn't quite agree with.

*****
​

Dorn had remained outside the Temple, he didn't worship any of those gods, only the Eldyr Tree, only the paramours of the Order. Across the way in the courtyard, masons and stoneworkers had just finished a statue of Meepo, the Kobold hero who had slain Vardan, leader of the invading horde who had been turned away. A fellow knight of Anathaeum. He would take note to not tell the young knight of its construction, though there was a plaque set before it that dedicated it to the Knights, Redeemed, and other outsiders who's efforts greatly benefitted the city.

It would be the sight of five forms in black robes entering that would catch his attention, five forms that the old man would tail into the temple.

It was a good thing he did. He was too late to stop the first volley, too late to stop the second. But he would be in just the right place to give pause to the third. Requiem, his axe would slide from its home before he brought it downwards into the skull of the middle of the black cloaks, with a mighty bellow. "To the pain, ya bastards!" He would then summon his magick and send the two on the left of him flying backwards with a telekinetic blast. It would only temporarily stun, not kill.

"Pollocks! Get up onto your feet, boy!" He bellowed as he swung his axe at the cloak directly to his right, forcing him to jump back for clearance.

Pollocks, the boy who had smiled at Kristen would pull a dagger free and exhale slowly before he leapt up from cover, and hurled a dagger at the last cloak who had a chance to focus. It would miss, as it clattered against the wall two feet to the Desecrators right.

---

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

A young man, maybe her age, likely older but certainly not younger. He smiled. Kristen's lips couldn't quite make the motions to return the smile, so she had to hope her goodwill translated well enough through her eyes: We're going to get through this. We're going to stop this.

Kristen reached for her mace as more Dark Bolts sailed overhead. They ate holes into the thick wood of the pews and holes into the stone of the wall alike. There came another sharp, mortally terrified scream and another worshipper in the first row of pews went sprawling down to the ground, having been hit in the shoulder and with his arm dangling from his body by thin tendons only.

Kristen stood.

To the pain, ya bastards!

There was a man in impressive armor, tall and physically imposing despite his elderly appearance. He sank his axe into the skull of one of the Desecrators and the creature gave an unearthly hiss. Its body seized up in shock before, having taken fatal damage, bursting into black vapors, its robes falling to the ground without further ceremony. If these things had been human once, they weren't anymore. They had sacrificed everything precious and sacred to become what they had become, to wield the power that they wielded. But they could be killed, and killed with relative ease if caught by surprise like the one Syr Dorn ambushed.

Kristen saw then a brief glimpse of Syr Dorn's telekinesis. And a brief thought, rousing her heart: He is blessed with the favor of Aionus!

The other Desecrators began to move. Frighteningly fast were their tall and gangly forms, proceeding down the center aisle and down the rows along the walls. Strangely, they didn't seem to much care for Syr Dorn, Kristen, or Pollocks, all of whom were obvious threats. The Desecrators seemed interested in only one thing: killing as many people in this Chapel as they could. Bolts were still flying everywhere, at Dorn and Kristen and Pollocks as well as the cowering worshippers.

One coming down the Left Wall Row. One down the Center Aisle. One down the Right Wall Row.

Kristen eyed the one of the Left. She recited her verse and Withering Chains broke out of the floor and the wall, snaking around the Desecrator's body, its legs, its arm, throwing off its aim so the Bolt it launched hit the ceiling instead of any innocent worshipper. There came a harsh sizzling as soon as the Chains touched the creature, the sound of a hot brand searing flesh. The Desecrator shrieked horrifically, its body convulsing if it had been struck by some of Vance's lightning, and it seemed unable to act, stunned with agony. Kristen was taken aback for a second, blinking and shocked at the effectiveness of her Chains—she simply never before knew how potent her magic was against the taint of Dark Ones.

The one on the left bound and incapacitated, she looked to the one in the Center Aisle. Summoned more Chains.

Which missed as the creature morphed into black mist to dodge their serpentine grasp. The Desecrator reformed.

Pointed its ghoulish hand at her.

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Vapors hissed around Requiem, and the little bastards were soon to be discovered to be far too quick. One of them crawled along the walls before descending behind him and hurling a Dark Bolt at the aged warrior. There would be a grunt and a curse as the impact sent him sailing into a row of pews.

Pollocks had found the bravery to charge. And so he did. The beautiful girl had magick, which definitely seemed to even the odds. He closed on the Center Aisle and just as it reformed to blast Kristen, his sword would swing downward into the forearm, causing it to shriek as part of the impacted limb desiccated into whithering whisps.

That shriek alone was enough to make the most hardened mans skin crawl. And when the shriek came, Pollocks screamed right back. Maybe she would believe it was a warcry. Just. Maybe. "Incindus!" He shouted, his voice still half a scream as the blade wreathed itself in flame before he dragged the blade through the midsection. He had no idea if it was a kill or if the clever bastard had once more shifted so that he couldn't do damage.

Dorn had taken a moment on the ground to summon the souls of the dead, pulling their hatred to himself and using that emotion to prepare their use against their murderers. He had killed one, the girl had subdued one, and Pollocks.. had Pollocks'd one.

Dark shadows clawed over his armor before he extended a hand towards the right wall Desecrator and those clawing shades fired from the outstretched hands to wrap themselves around the dark robes, ethereal hands clawing and tearing at it as they began to slow its movements to a crawl.

---

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen had clenched her teeth, her legs already shifting in their stance, weight poised to fling herself in another desperate plea to dodge a second Dark Bolt, Aionus willing.

But there was no need. The young man, Pollocks, cleaved the fiend's hand off. Though Kristen recovered her balance and spared herself the effort and pain of a rough evasion, the fiend's shriek pierced her ears and delivered a pain all its own anyway. Kristen winced, her bones seeming to rattle beneath her flesh and none more so than the tiniest and most delicate of them within her ears, but she stayed in the fight.

The Desecrator in the Center Aisle jerked back from Pollocks's flaming sword...but still caught a fair portion of its edge, an imperfect dodge. Its dark robe alighted at the midsection, the flame small but steadily spreading, yet the creature was still alive.

Kristen flexed her hand, crushing the Left Desecrator harder in the grasp of her Withering Chains, and that horrendous hiss only worsened. The thing howled wretchedly, and while Kristen had no doubt it would perish soon, she wanted to ensure it was in far too much agony to strike back while it slowly succumbed.

With the Left taken care of, Kristen recited her verse again, quicker than before, and two Chains (far less than what bound the Desecrator on the Left) burst from the Center Aisle. The pair of Chains ensnared the Center Desecrator's wrists, holding it back and stunning it briefly.

"Pollocks!" She prompted, shouting his name over the screams and cries of the worshippers, hoping to encourage him to deliver a swift killing blow.

The Right Wall Desecrator struggled against the shadows which grasped for it, bringing a brief halt to its slaughter. Curiously, the thing seemed unable to shift into the black mist whilst the shadows had a hold of it.

And last, the Desecrator which had been slammed into the wall by Dorn's telekinesis rose again. It looked to Dorn. Raised its hands with fingers flexed and palms down high over its head...as spikes of Dark Magic began to manifest over the knight's head in preparation to rain down.

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Pollocks!

His name, someone had cried out his name and it wasn't his grumpy old taskmaster, it was her. His cheeks alit with a crimson, possibly a reflection of the flame as he flourished his flame blade (singeing a shoulder lightly). By Aionus was she skilled?!

Creepy chains grappled their shared opponent, steadily enough for his blade to enter the torso just at where the heart would be. The resounding shriek pierced his ears, popping his right ear drum. A pulse resonated from the Desecrator that sent him sprawling.

The spikes would come down on Dorn, who crouched and hoisted the body of one of the dead overhead, wincing as the spikes pierced along the flesh, desiccating the body further with each new addition. When the last spike caught, Dorn would twist, hurling the body at the Desecrator.

He had no doubt it would materialize before the impact, and therefore charged after the corpse. His axe would get hurled overhead, before a telekinetic blast propelled the weapon quicker in its flight.

The shades would begin to try to drag their Desecrator towards where Kristen and Pollocks were in the middle aisle.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

"Gah!" Kristen's eyes watered as the Desecrator skewered by Pollocks's sword shrieked, the noise so loud and discordant it felt like daggers were being pushed into her ears. Clenched teeth and a hard set jaw did nothing to alleviate the piercing pain. But only a moment after the creature pulsed Pollocks away, it spasmed and stiffened, toppling backward as the flames spread over its robes. The Chains holding its wrists made its fall strange and awkward, but it hit the ground and there spasmed one last time before its body burst into black vapors and dispersed in death.

The shrieking done (such a relief!), Kristen shot her gaze to the left and constricted the Desecrator she had bound further...and finally it gave in. The Withering Chains crushed the Desecrator to death, black vapors puffing out from its falling robes as all of the Chains fell in where once the fiend stood.

Only two left.

And a Dark Bolt sailed past Kristen's arm and struck the wall behind her. She didn't know which Desecrator launched it, but she got low anyway, hurrying out from the second row of pews to the Center Aisle where Pollocks had been knocked down.

Kneeling next to him, she asked loudly, "Are you alright!?"

A new wave of terrified screams and shouts. Two men and a women went scrambling from their hiding spots between pews, hurtling over the burning robe on the ground, as the shades dragged a Desecrator along. Dark Bolts flew from the Desecrator who had assailed Syr Dorn but, thank Aionus, they all missed as the worshippers ducked down behind pews on the other side of the Center Aisle. So occupied, the Desecrator had no choice but to morph into the black mist rather than duck down to avoid being struck by the thrown corpse once it noticed. As Syr Dorn surmised, it did reform after the corpse sailed through and smacked the wall behind it. His thrown axe sank deeply into the fiend's left shoulder, its blade buried to the haft and the arm itself now useless, barely hanging on. Another otherworldly shriek.

Kristen saw the dragged Desecrator then. She started to recite her verse.

It raised its hand.

She flung herself out of the way as another Dark Bolt streaked by and tore a chunk of the back bench of a pew.

Kristen finished her verse and Withering Chains burst from the ceiling, writhing and searching. But, having flung herself out of the way of the Desecrator's magic, she also lost sight of the thing. Presumably it was still being dragged along and she could guess where it was and plunge her Chains down blindly...but a delay was a delay, and so Pollocks could well be imperiled.

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

The axe impacted as the old Battlemaster predicted and as it let out a shriek, he would collide into it, one hand wrestling for its free limb, while his other hand gripped the haft of his axe. It tried to phase to mist, a partial, or perhaps intentional.

But the Desecrator would sway and twist, launching Dorn into the wall behind it. A growl uttered between bloody lips and the old man charged again, this time pulling his hatchet free from his belt.

Dark bolts flew towards him, only to miss by a narrow margin as he dropped to a slide. The claws swung down and raked across his armor, scarring the surface with their presence. The hatchet swung back to catch the wrist and with a lever movement, he hooked the limb and shifted til a loud pop pulled forth another harrowing shriek. Driving the Desecrator to the wall, Dorn would grab ahold of Requiem's haft and try to pull the weapon through the rest of the dark creatures body. "Send this message back to your master, cur! Ah-ha!"

The sudden darkness had begun to fade, replaced by first a ringing, and then a glow. Pollocks opened his eyes to an Angel, or so it faded after a few blinks. He had no idea who this beauty was. She seemed so close and yet so far away.

Are you alright?

Was he? He didn't know, but he could nod. "Uh y-yeah!" He shook away the remaining fog.

That was when he heard the chanting. And then she dove and he.. rolled. Kind of. The wall exploded behind them and he crawled along the floor looking for his extinguished blade.

The Desecrator would fire off several more Dark Bolts, each one sailing overhead as its aim was altered by the controlling pulls of the shades. It was as if it was controlled at some moments, and others it seeme to be a tug-of-war of sorts.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen's Chains plunged down from the ceiling, one of them broken by a Dark Bolt but the others searching in their serpentine way and finding the Desecrator once it was pulled out into the Center Aisle. Again came that sharp hissing sound, like red hot iron being quenched in water, as the Chains touched the fiend. Its howl was unearthly.

Pollocks was searching for his sword. Kristen had her mace in hand. So she hurried forward on her knees toward the bound Desecrator, raised her weapon, snarled fiercely.

And remembered what Proctor Pallatrix had told her. Remembered what Noel, Henk, Kalix, and even Edric had told her. They all spoke in their own words the same message.

Kristen swung her mace down with all the might she could muster and bashed in whatever passed for flesh and bone behind that veil of darkness shrouding the Desecrator's face. The thing's howling became distorted and strange. Kristen raised her mace and slammed it down onto the fiend's head again. Again and again she struck, cries of exertion and ferocity with each blow. Through the metal of her mace and up into the bones of her hand could she feel the creature's skull giving way. No higher thoughts crossed her mind. Only the primordial sensation of delivering violence was felt, the percussive beat of inflicting harm traveling up her arm and dispersing from her chest through the rest of her body in the most primal celebration of triumph and victory there was.

A final strike of her mace, and at last the howling stopped. The Desecrator gave one final shiver, and then it dissipated into black vapors, its death in near tandem with the death of the fiend Syr Dorn fought. Slowly, all of Kristen's Chains began to retract and disappear into the surface they had been spawned from.

A moment of cautious stillness followed in the Chapel, wherein heavy breathing and whimpering and sobbing could be heard all around.

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Black misty sinew seeped frome the shoulder of the Desecrator before spreading along each inch that Requiem carved open. It was ugly work, his ears having gone numb during the dying shrieks of his Desecrator. The lower half would suddenly drop free as he divided it. Instead of the plop, it would dissipate into black wisps.

Pollocks had stopped reaching for his sword when he heard a cry that wasn't the Desecrator. It came from the girl. And each blow caused his grimace to grow larger. He had never seen someone wield so much anger and hatred in battle. The Order didn't preach hate. They fought for love.

Even against beings of the dark. But after several mighty swings, she finally silenced the Desecrator. Perhaps it was justice being delivered, perhaps it was something else entirely. Pollocks just watched in awe.

"Get up onto your feet, Pollocks." Dorn barked as he joined the pair. "You're not Beowoof, so get off your all-fours, boy." He lifted Requiem, before easing it into its home. "Not bad, lass."

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

The stillness started to crack. The bravest of the worshippers raised themselves up apprehensively, peeking out from over the back benches of the pews, looking around for any sign of living Desecrators and finding none. Bubbles of adrenaline burst and shock set in for a good majority of these men and women, city folk who had lived all their lives within the safe walls of Alliria and who had never seen violence on this scale before. Many just took to openly weeping, whether they had friends or family who had been slain or not. Some walked as if in some zombified state, stiff and wide-eyed, out through the double doors and left the Chapel as quickly as their numbed feet could bear to carry them. Some stayed right where they were on the floor, petrified with shock, just staring at whatever their eyes so happened to be fixated on.

It was altogether an awful sight. These were the kind of people Kristen wished dearly to protect, wished dearly to keep from feeling this manner of horror. It mattered not that they were Allirian and not Anirian. It mattered that they were people.

Kristen stood, her knuckles whited by how hard she was clutched her mace. She relaxed her grip some when at last she became aware.

"I did it," she said quietly to herself, marveling that this had not turned into another Vel Acan. Fear had burned brightly in her heart but there it stayed, locked away with no sway over her actions. From this fertile soil had blossomed what she had always desired.

Courage.

Not bad, lass.

She looked up from her introspective reverie. At last she got a good look at the elderly man clad in armor, and he was an even far more impressive sight to behold this close.

"I am a faithful servant of Aionus, and to Him I give thanks for guiding me here to be His appointed sentinel against these fiends." A glance to Pollocks, and back to Dorn. "For guiding myself, Pollocks, and you. May I have the honor of knowing your name?"

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn looked around at the commonfolk and felt pity. These Desecrators were his true purpose within Alliria, at least tracking them. They had become active in the east and traveled west.. or had it been the opposite?

Brother Ashton didn't even know what they were, only that they had preyed upon Celestialists.

I did it.

The girl muttered something beneath her breath seconds before he complimented her. Perhaps, like Pollocks, she struggled to find her drive, her purpose. A glance to the Squire found him whole, and at least he had seen the boy destroy one of the beasts himself.

I am a faithful servant of Aionus, and to Him I give thanks-

Nope. That drab would be droned out with a narrowing of his eyes. "Save the sermon for the witless knave on his ass behind ye." He growled, though the tone wasn't harsh. "Dorn." Would be his next response. "You seem surprised you overcame them."

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Gruff, this man Dorn, but what came with age if not certainty? He knew what he stood for and what he did not. Kristen was so used to being around those who did not believe as she did that his dismissal was taken in effortless stride, and she begrudged him nothing.

You seem surprised you overcame them.

She rubbed the back of her neck and smiled, just a touch bashfully. Certainly not as bashfully as she used to be on matters like these. "Does it show so much? Well, 'tis true. I am but a learner, a novice in the crafts of magic and combat, and I've a long way yet to go."

Seriousness, then. Her ear was assailed by the cries of those who lost loved ones, and though she and Dorn and Pollocks had spared the Chapel-goers from further tragedy, still it weighed upon her.

"These things. These...fiends," she said. In her eye a glint of retribution. "They came from somewhere."

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Does it show so much? Well, 'tis true. I am but a learner, a novice in the crafts of magic and combat, and I've a long way yet to go.

"Confidence is a tricky bridge for each of us. Lack it, and you'll die. Bear too much of it, and you'll push yourself to your own doom. So take this small victory and steel yourself. Reconcile that you can do it, but understand you still have much to learn." His gaze shifted from her to their surroundings. "Get up onto your feet. This display is for you alone, not them."

Whether it was his point, or his tone, many of those who had stayed in the chapel began to quiet, to stir. To thank the gods for those that survived the attack.

Pollocks had sheathed his sword and was now crouching beside a pile of robes and poking it with a finger.

These things. These...fiends,  they came from somewhere

"If Galvanhad were here, he could track them." Dorn cursed under his breath. The shades had begun to claw their way up his leg. "Return to peace." He mused to the vengeful spirits and one by one, each withered away. "We find them, we kill them." He would say to the girl. "Whats your name, arseling?"

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Dorn's words came with the additional gravitas of being spoken by a man as venerable as he. Kristen listened to them, internalized them, made them ready to be called upon again should an occasion demand the recitation of such wisdom. She knew not what guild or order or military he pledged himself to, if indeed he pledged himself at all to an organization, but the Dreadlords of Vel Anir and other warriors found throughout the world shared at base a bond of common experience. And for all the fundamentals of lifestyle that they shared, there still was much they could learn from one another.

We find them, we kill them. What's your name, arseling?

The word gave her some pause, this out of befuddlement. Arseling? She was unfamiliar with the word, but its two constituent parts were...a touch unflattering. Though they were in keeping with Dorn's gruff mannerisms.

"Kristen Pirian, Initiate of the Dreadlord Academy of Vel Anir," she said, a hint of pride inevitably making its way into her tone. Then it was business again. "Surely there is some avenue available to be pursued."

A moment's pondering, flashing back through the sights of Alliria over the few days she had spent here with Proctor Magomo. And one among them stood out.

"Such an institution is unfamiliar to me, but I saw a place that might be of some service. The Adventurer's Guild, so it was called." Strange, this idea of adventurers, itinerant men and women in search of danger and treasure. Much less a Guild whose purpose it was to cater to these wanderers. "I intend to at least inquire there."

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Kristen Pirian, Initiate of the Dreadlord Academy of Vel Anir. Surely there is some avenue available to be pursued.

Great. A Dreadlord, no an initiate. An organization so corrupt, in a region so corrupt, that they took the humanity from children to make them weapons. They were as sickening as the Blightlands, as sickening as the hunger for war that held Amol-Kalit. Kristen would notice the look of distaste that graced his face at the sheer mention of what she was.

"You're in the wrong line of work, kid." He mused looking around the chapel. "You're Academy are problem creators, not solvers." The number of people fleeing east from Aniria had grown with each year, especially following their sickening abuse of necromancy a year prior.

Such an institution is unfamiliar to me, but I saw a place that might be of some service. The Adventurer's Guild, so it was called. I intend to at least inquire there.

A noble. Based on the words and mannerisms. And with her pride in what she was, she was a true believer. He had run into a few in his time, but the ones he could save or give a better life to, often realized the evils of their Homeland. That their enemies were homegrown. He hoped she discovered that sooner than later.

"Its a good start." That would be debatable. He felt the ones in Alliria were a load of crocks. But, that was just him being hateful. Likely. "Pollocks, lift your jaw. We're moving." He would say before heading for the door.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

It would be a lie, of course, if Kristen were to say that Dorn's harsh words about the Academy didn't hurt her, and she wore her reaction on her sleeve. She knew of the Academy's problems, yes, and she had resolved to make a political bid in the future to correct them, yes, but the Academy was still responsible for producing the greatest warriors of all Vel Anir, and it was they who safeguarded her home and her family from the dangers of Arethil. She knew better, of course, that those not from Vel Anir might well have unfavorable opinions of her home (and had she not met fellow Anirians who disparaged their own home?), yet still she could not help but to feel as she did.

But she was not like some of her fellow Initiates, those among her peers who could scarcely handle even the faintest adversity without exploding into savagery or lashing out with a vile tongue. No. She was better than that. She was a proud Pirian, and she could maintain civility like a dignified individual.

A greater good, after all, bound them together, her and Dorn and Pollocks.

Of whom, Dorn addressed roughly as well. Such roughness was necessary, of course, for Dorn was surely tutoring the boy in the ways of war.

As they walked though, Kristen beside Pollocks as they followed Dorn out, she did feel compelled to praise him for his effort. So she smiled, said gently, "You did well, Pollocks."

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

A Noble indeed. It wasnt lost on him that despite his harsh words, she remained quiet. Stilled her tongue. It was noted, perhaps there was a chance she would some day understand the truth behind his words.

And so, he exited out into the main street, city watch were heading their way over one of the various bridges, and he would lead the trio away from them.

You did well, Pollocks.

Pollocks glanced at Kristen, the color rising to his cheeks. He seemed unsure at first. Until he finally spoke, "You were good.. No, I fumbled far too much. I uhh, I'm not good at this.." he clasped his hands together and his thumbs fiddled. "Oh.. and don't mind him. He's gruff. A ruthless taskmaster.. but many Knights within our Order were brought to it by him. I know I was.".

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

For Kristen, Pollocks's uncertainty, his nervousness, his stark inexperience resonated more with her than any of her other Initiates, of this she had no doubt. Mayhap some of them were as such in their distant yesteryears, when first they were abducted and taken to the Academy. But how far gone were they now from that innocence? Did they even acknowledge it anymore? Did they even remember it? Was it a mark of shame, a scar of spurned weakness and nothing more, to be hidden away? Or was it a mark of pride to be celebrated, a clear denoting sign of just how far they have come and how much they have earned?

For Kristen, yes, it was the latter. She not so far removed from Pollocks. No, not so far removed at all.

She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I was as you are, Pollocks. My goodness, worse! It was only through perseverance that I gained any measure of competency, and it is only through persistence yet that I may reach my best. The same shall be for you. I know it."

Many Knights within our Order. That explained some part of Dorn and Pollocks, their combat ability, and even that small bit of friction between them on account of Celestialism and Pollocks's worship thereof. She knew not which Order, and even if he had said the name outright still she would likely be unfamiliar, yet they had common cause together. If there was anything at all available to be done in retribution about the Desecrators, the three of them were up to the task.

"I am used to such personalities now," Kristen said. "And yes, men such as him are a boon to their pupils, for what he is training you for is far more harrowing than any harshness in teaching."

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

She placed a hand on Pollocks shoulder and so his face reddened, his gaze shifted to hers. "Oh I don't want to travel and fight. I wish to go the path of the non-combatant, either a scribe like Brother Ashton or Gylbert. Or even a healer like Syr Galvanhad and Master Brambleshell." A shrug. "But to reach that point, I must first learn all of this." Another shrug.

"So, you said you were a Dreadlord?" A pause as he weighed his next words. "That mean.. You're some sort of villain?" There was no judgement, perhaps moreso a touch of confusion between her own beliefs and what she claimed to be. "The title doesn't seem to match this.. quest." He offered a light laugh accompanied by an apologetic look.

Dorn listened as the pair talked, weighed. It was good to know the future threats of the world. Either to gain insight in how to stop them, or perhaps discover how to save them.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Oh I don't want to travel and fight. I wish to go the path of the non-combatant, either a scribe like Brother Ashton or Gylbert. Or even a healer like Syr Galvanhad and Master Brambleshell.

Kristen smiled genially at this and gave Pollocks an approving nod. Vel Anir had its own approach to matters of service, and thus Kristen held herself and her fellow Anirians to these standards. But Dorn and Pollocks hailed from elsewhere on Arethil, were part of an Order which followed its own set of rules, and it was only right to judge them by their own standards. The choice was open to Pollocks to serve as a scribe or a healer if he so wished. Oh that would certainly be most noble, a healer! My, Kristen even felt the tiniest touch of envy for Pollocks, that he should have the capacity to become such and that Aionus had not seen fit to bless her with healing magic of her own.

Still, she'd wish him the best in his endeavors.

So, you said you were a Dreadlord? That mean.. You're some sort of villain?

Kristen covered her mouth with a hand and tilted her head back, lilting laughter coming forth at this.

"Gosh, no! Far from it. 'Tis but a name, Dreadlord, and one which was clearly devised to inspire fear in the foes of Vel Anir. And as well they should fear, for we are the sword to the Anirian Guard's shield, and together we serve to protect all Anirians from the perils of this world."

The laughter had long faded. Her smile twitched with a hint of remorse.

"Had I only been stronger...I could have protected more people in the Chapel."

Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Kristen's laughter would pull Dorn's attention, his pace slowing. Upon conclusion of her defense, it was his turn to laugh. "All Anirians, really? So you were protecting Elves two years ago? Generous enough to let them move within the walls of one of their ancient cities? You romanticize a corrupt and xenophobic people." He would say abruptly. "Dreadlords steal children, torment them, and craft them into weapons. A year and a regime change doesn't instantly change what they are. The name inspired fear and mistrust into their own people, as well. Don't speak half-truths girl."

Pollocks had at first believed these Dreadlords to be noble warriors, that was until Dorn began to speak. His eyes went wide and he began to inspect her, as if searching for signs of such torment. "Is that.. true?"

He couldn't believe it. Shock rocked him to his bones. To Pollocks they had stopped moving, despite being halfway across the bridge that led to the inner city, to the Adventurers Guild. "Some of us use magick," Pollocks started "But we're inclusive. The u-uh Knights of Anathaeum." He was almost positive she had never heard of them, nor could he believe that someone so nice wished to become one of those awful things that Dorn described.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

It would have been a lie to say that Kristen had not been taken aback by Dorn's interjection. Yet it was not the gruff older man's scathing rebuke of Vel Anir which wounded her, no. It was the look Pollocks gave her right after, the small manner of his question posed to her, as if she had been shed of some mask and beneath her human features was the swirling blackness of a Desecrator.

What Kristen didn't want to do was mar what goodwill she had between herself and the two knights. But neither was she one to meekly accept the open disparagement of her beloved home. She would have to choose her words carefully, and deliver them more carefully still.

Slowly she began. "I shall not question the judgment of my forebears, for I know not the hardships they endured but merely the comforts their efforts have produced in my day. They were what they needed to be, and I am grateful for it. The march of time, however, has outpaced the necessities of old, so far as the institution of Dreadlords is concerned. Had I my way, I would see it reformed."

For the flaws stood grossly revealed in the light of the Republic. There were those in the Academy, blessed with the rare and powerful gift of magic, who thought little of this blessing and less still of the idea of selfless service. They didn't want to be there, they didn't want to answer the calling of their homeland, and they remained only for the most fickle and threadbare of reasons. And this disgusted Kristen. What the Academy needed, in Kristen's view, was an inverse of the Knights of Anathaeum. It needed to be highly exclusive—reserved as a privilege only for those whose loyalty to Vel Anir was true.

None of this, though, she spoke aloud. Such specifics weren't needed, and brevity was best.

A momentary glance to Pollocks. She wasn't made ashamed nor apologetic by any of the accusations leveled by Dorn, but...her heart did feel heavy for what souring of Pollocks's impression of her or Vel Anir at large they may have caused.

Syr Dorn