Confusing for some, but when Railtus apologised to the young woman, he meant it. An apology that he was not doing more. What Railtus most wanted to do was rescue her from this dreadful place, to take her to safety away from such a desolate hell. True hell needed no fire and brimstone, but the substance, the tangible proof of despair.
Yet there was no shelter he could offer her, not as a guest for House Anstrun. Already he could envision the inevitable speech regarding the reputation of the House, risk of sullying the name by open association with those of 'lower station.' No mind would be paid to the notion that an act of charity to those in need would do wonders for the House reputation, or that a dire act is no better for being hidden. Status was a hypocritical concept.
However meager his actions in his own eyes, the woman seemed to appreciate them, and her compliment was some reassurance that he had done a good thing.
A wandering thought from Railtus hoped she would tell others. Perhaps it would bring hope to hear word of a kind stranger, or an angel walking the streets providing healing to the sick and injured. Besides, good tales were a foundation for a knighthood.
Still, there was the chance of doing more harm than good. After all, this was only a temporary measure for the girl. Others would need help, and there was only so much he could give. Some wounds would be beyond him to heal. Desperate men often confuse 'can't' with 'wont.'
Near more open ground, there was a hum on the edge of Railtus's awareness. A permeating haze of corruption in the air. Clearer before Fort Marn.
He was on blighted ground.
On Blighted Ground
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Sir Karsimir
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On Blighted Ground
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
“Here we are.”
Oblivious to Railtus’s hesitation, Julen headed straight for the ruins. Upon reaching the crumbling wall which marked the fort’s triangular perimeter, he set his bundle down on a waist-high chunk of stone, and stretched his arms skyward, grunting in relief. If he’d needed to carry that thing much further, he doubted that he would have the strength to lift a wooden sword, much less train with one.
Julen had never been this close to the ruined fort. Before, he’d only glimpsed it from afar while passing through the shanty town. Now, as he stared across the grounds, he found his eyes drawn to the remnants of the temple which had once stood proudly in the compound’s center. Even in the afternoon sunlight, it exuded a vaguely sinister feeling. Perhaps it was the way that the remaining roof beams arched into the air like the ribcage of some immense dead animal, or the way that the circular window, set high in one of the temple’s remaining walls, stared out at the world like an equally dead eye. Or perhaps it was the shadows that seemed to creep about in the rubble with no tree or animal to cast them.
Making a deliberate effort, Julen tore his gaze away from the half-fallen temple, and silently scolded himself for letting his imagination get carried away. It was just an old building -- no more, no less. And yet, as he turned toward Railtus, the cheerful enthusiasm in Julen’s voice sounded a bit forced, even to his own ears.
“Well, how do you want to start? I...” Julen trailed off as he finally noticed Railtus’s expression. Immediately, concern for his friend replaced any thoughts of training. “Railtus? Are you alright?”
Oblivious to Railtus’s hesitation, Julen headed straight for the ruins. Upon reaching the crumbling wall which marked the fort’s triangular perimeter, he set his bundle down on a waist-high chunk of stone, and stretched his arms skyward, grunting in relief. If he’d needed to carry that thing much further, he doubted that he would have the strength to lift a wooden sword, much less train with one.
Julen had never been this close to the ruined fort. Before, he’d only glimpsed it from afar while passing through the shanty town. Now, as he stared across the grounds, he found his eyes drawn to the remnants of the temple which had once stood proudly in the compound’s center. Even in the afternoon sunlight, it exuded a vaguely sinister feeling. Perhaps it was the way that the remaining roof beams arched into the air like the ribcage of some immense dead animal, or the way that the circular window, set high in one of the temple’s remaining walls, stared out at the world like an equally dead eye. Or perhaps it was the shadows that seemed to creep about in the rubble with no tree or animal to cast them.
Making a deliberate effort, Julen tore his gaze away from the half-fallen temple, and silently scolded himself for letting his imagination get carried away. It was just an old building -- no more, no less. And yet, as he turned toward Railtus, the cheerful enthusiasm in Julen’s voice sounded a bit forced, even to his own ears.
“Well, how do you want to start? I...” Julen trailed off as he finally noticed Railtus’s expression. Immediately, concern for his friend replaced any thoughts of training. “Railtus? Are you alright?”
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Sir Karsimir
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"We can train here for now. Just stay clear of that unholy temple. We will not return here after today. If anything seems to go wrong about this place, run."
Deeply, a chill reached into his spirit. Coldness leeching away at his inner fire. Soft whispers caressed his ears in grotesque anticipation, as if toying hatefully with promises of death and dishonour just beyond clear hearing. Echoes drifted on the edge of his mind, much like a light that only revealed itself to peripheral vision. Though the whispers were hissing and passionate, words failed to step forward.
But for one.
Fallen.
So many times that word stood out, not repeated by itself, but lurking endlessly throughout the garbled utterances. One word Railtus hoped never to hear. Now one word he could not avoid.
That does it.
"This ground is cursed." Railtus announced ominously, "No wonder the people fear magic so much. The woods. Here. This city is under siege without knowing it." The enormity of the realisation grated at Railtus. "Ever wondered why so many magic users come to to Marn, a city which outlaws magic?"
Angrily, Railtus shook his head. "Another place to deal with when ready. When we both are ready. Head north tracing the river and we should miss the shanty town. To the gnomes it is."
Deeply, a chill reached into his spirit. Coldness leeching away at his inner fire. Soft whispers caressed his ears in grotesque anticipation, as if toying hatefully with promises of death and dishonour just beyond clear hearing. Echoes drifted on the edge of his mind, much like a light that only revealed itself to peripheral vision. Though the whispers were hissing and passionate, words failed to step forward.
But for one.
Fallen.
So many times that word stood out, not repeated by itself, but lurking endlessly throughout the garbled utterances. One word Railtus hoped never to hear. Now one word he could not avoid.
That does it.
"This ground is cursed." Railtus announced ominously, "No wonder the people fear magic so much. The woods. Here. This city is under siege without knowing it." The enormity of the realisation grated at Railtus. "Ever wondered why so many magic users come to to Marn, a city which outlaws magic?"
Angrily, Railtus shook his head. "Another place to deal with when ready. When we both are ready. Head north tracing the river and we should miss the shanty town. To the gnomes it is."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Julen cast a reproachful look at the ruins. And, with a pang of guilt, he realized that his resentment was not a fine righteous anger like Railtus’s. He wasn’t mad at the fort because it was evil, because it might pose a threat to the unwary. He was mad at it because now he had to pick up that damn bundle and haul it to the Industrial District.
However, Julen’s annoyance was tempered by relief. He didn’t like the ruins. Since he’d been the one to suggest coming here, he hadn’t wanted to be the one who insisted on leaving. But if Railtus ordered them to go somewhere else, then Julen wasn’t going to drag his feet. “I’m sorry I brought us to this place,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize. I’d never gotten this close before.”
“You’d think that there would be one section of land around here that isn’t cursed, haunted, destitute, or otherwise hazardous.” The discovery of a supernatural evil, coming so close after the shanty town’s more mundane misery, had eroded Julen’s usual optimism. “Sometimes I really hate this city,” he muttered, lifting the bundle of wooden weapons.
Railtus’s comment about Marn attracting magic users made an impression on Julen. Although perhaps not the impression Railtus had intended. Because, as Julen walked alongside the river, he wasn’t thinking about magic users coming to Marn. He was thinking about one particular magic user getting out. Julen loved his farm. It was something solid, something important, passed down through his family for years as each generation entrusted it to the next. In a very real way, it defined who he was. But the more he learned about Marn, the more Shim’s proximity the cursed city made him uneasy.
Maybe it would be best to sell the land, sell the animals, and take Rosemary far away from here. They could go somewhere magic wasn’t outlawed -- somewhere people might pay to see a man create elaborate illusions to accompany his songs. They could start a new life. And Marn could sink back into whatever hell spawned it.
But he’d made a promise. Glancing over at Railtus, Julen could see the resolve written on his friend’s face, despite every obstacle they’d encountered. Railtus wasn’t going anywhere. The worse things got, the more determined he’d be to stay. And what kind of man would I be if I abandoned him? What kind of man would I be if saved my wife at the expense of every other wife, every other child? What kind of man would I be if I could be happy, no matter how ideal my new life was, knowing that I’d bought it by doing something like that?
So there was nothing for it. He’d carry the wooden weapons all over Marn if he needed to. He’d train until he couldn’t stand up. And somehow, he would make himself capable of protecting Rosemary, no matter what.
No matter what
However, Julen’s annoyance was tempered by relief. He didn’t like the ruins. Since he’d been the one to suggest coming here, he hadn’t wanted to be the one who insisted on leaving. But if Railtus ordered them to go somewhere else, then Julen wasn’t going to drag his feet. “I’m sorry I brought us to this place,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize. I’d never gotten this close before.”
“You’d think that there would be one section of land around here that isn’t cursed, haunted, destitute, or otherwise hazardous.” The discovery of a supernatural evil, coming so close after the shanty town’s more mundane misery, had eroded Julen’s usual optimism. “Sometimes I really hate this city,” he muttered, lifting the bundle of wooden weapons.
Railtus’s comment about Marn attracting magic users made an impression on Julen. Although perhaps not the impression Railtus had intended. Because, as Julen walked alongside the river, he wasn’t thinking about magic users coming to Marn. He was thinking about one particular magic user getting out. Julen loved his farm. It was something solid, something important, passed down through his family for years as each generation entrusted it to the next. In a very real way, it defined who he was. But the more he learned about Marn, the more Shim’s proximity the cursed city made him uneasy.
Maybe it would be best to sell the land, sell the animals, and take Rosemary far away from here. They could go somewhere magic wasn’t outlawed -- somewhere people might pay to see a man create elaborate illusions to accompany his songs. They could start a new life. And Marn could sink back into whatever hell spawned it.
But he’d made a promise. Glancing over at Railtus, Julen could see the resolve written on his friend’s face, despite every obstacle they’d encountered. Railtus wasn’t going anywhere. The worse things got, the more determined he’d be to stay. And what kind of man would I be if I abandoned him? What kind of man would I be if saved my wife at the expense of every other wife, every other child? What kind of man would I be if I could be happy, no matter how ideal my new life was, knowing that I’d bought it by doing something like that?
So there was nothing for it. He’d carry the wooden weapons all over Marn if he needed to. He’d train until he couldn’t stand up. And somehow, he would make himself capable of protecting Rosemary, no matter what.
No matter what
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Sir Karsimir
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