I Am: Ego

First Blood

CHAPTER 2: First Blood





“In life shall I gain the lands, in death the embrace of Starion’s hand's. Go I forth without fear to take, a night into day my works to make.” ST. Roviden the last Etori legionaught.





Drops of water fell softly against the wooden planks of a shattered pier. When it had become, the timbers were cut, and moorings set loose. After time boats were dismantled, and lashed together with what could be found. Soon the survivors had created a small village resting on the water just off the shore. It was a blessing perhaps or an ancient law set to pass by forces unknown. It could not cross the seas. The foam and rolling waters kept it away. As if some ancient Spirit of the water that dwelled deep below where no man dared dream to wander cast its judgment long, long ago. Whatever the reason, it was a hope where none had been promised. The gulls called as they soared through the clear skies searching for fish. In the distance through the trees beyond the shore could be seen the tallest tower of Ramhast. The great citadel had once been the home of their lords army. The temple knights would light their beacons within it during the twilight hours. It always gave the people a dwindling hope to see it still shining there at the end of every day. Yet even that hope would not hold forever. Even now, a broken mother lay crying, bent over the body of her child. Her tears fell to the wood like rain forming a puddle of crimson sorrow beneath them. The boys clothes were stained red, as were the hands of the woman desperately, but without hope, working to mend his wound. From the right of his collar, down to his left hip, a great gash had been cut. Ribs were severed along the chest and organs had spilled out. She knew she could not save him, but she worked with all the knowledge and power she had, if only to ease the broken heart of his mother and father. “Lieutenant Sevine, “A voice called her name. She looked across her shoulder to the elf calling for her. He was knelt over a young girl, perhaps of seven years living. She may have been younger, but no older she thought. Her arm was bleeding badly, cut from the back of the elbow all the way to the wrist. It ran so deep even the bone had been cloven in two. The Elf had only arrived just today. He had been sent back to Celderland in order to acquire medicines and relics they would need. It had been hard while he was away, but the knights and the clergy had managed. The Celdan vessel had not even weighed its anchor when they brought the children to the makeshift clinic. It was not often now that people dared venture onto the land. Mostly it was the knights, or a brave soul that would risk a horrible death that lay in wait. When the boat that had brought the children to the anchored city heard he had returned their hearts felt a small glimmer of hope. Sevine was taken aback when the elder had instructed her to tend to the boy. He was far beyond her ability to help. Perhaps He was dead before he had even been brought to them. Sevine glanced back to the boy, at his horrid wounds. They were enough to make even her sick with shock. She had been through many battles, but never had she seen anyone suffer such, and still be alive. It was its way. When it killed, you died, but you still lived. Not for very long if you could not be treated, but long enough to feel the pain of the shadows sting. Even wounds that would have killed the heartiest warrior outright lingered for days. Those stung by it would often live on for a day or more before finally breathing last. It was clear the boy was lost. Even the elder knew, not even the touch of his hands could close what the shadows sting had opened. Perhaps he knew that the boy could not be saved and chose to focus his own efforts on the little girl. It made sense in her mind, a false glimmer of hope for one and a lasting hope for another. It was really the only choice she decided, looking back over her shoulder as the elf once again called her name. “Hope is now in the hands of the merciful Lieutenant. Grant him mercy." The mother glanced over to the elf then back to Sevine. Questions raced through her eyes as Sevine reached for a dagger sheathed at her belt. She began to push Sevine away, screaming in hysterics, " No you can’t your here to save my child not kill him. You have to save him." Sevine reached forward to push the old woman away, but a gentle hand caught hers. It was the elf having left the girl to tend to the mother. “Go and finish with her arm Sevine, the stitching is half done. Leave ye dagger with me. I shall handle this." Sevine responded with a nod and pulled the dagger from its sheath placing it in the Elvin hand. As she stood and left the three, the elf took her place. His hand gently placed on the boy's brow, a warm light shining from under his palm. His body slowly ceased its writhing and he began to breathe steadily. His exposed heart beat slowly, and more regular. As the mother watched, her eyes once more filled with tears. “Can you not save him? What powers have you that you cannot save him? He yet lives, but you now act as if he’s dead already!" The elf took her hand in his, and gently placed the dagger in her grasp, “Good lady, if there are words that could comfort ye, I know them not. Nevertheless, heed these I speak now. Its sting holds him in the maw of torment, the pain a dire madness gripping his very spirit. His body is dead now. Only his spirit remains. Yes his heart beats and indeed, he seems yet to live. However, he is all but gone to this world now. It spreads through him like a poison this curse." The elf glanced down at the boy, his hand still gently resting on the bloody brow. Once again, his eyes turned to the mother gazing gently at her. As she stared into the cornflower blue orbs that were his eyes, she came to understand what must be done. " Good woman, ye child must be set free, placed in the hands of the merciful that he may not suffer the fate of so many before him. No powers have I that shall close the wound, and once the curse has taken hold his spirit will belong to it. He shall be locked in its madness until it is no more. But free him now, set his spirit free before his last breath is taken, and its grip on him shall be undone." The woman gazed at the dagger in her hand. It was meant more for ceremony, a sign of rank within the arm than it was for fighting. It was a steel blade mixed with silver alternating along the edge. It almost looked as if two Kris blades, one of steel and the other of silver, had been forged together both overlapping into one. The pommel was decorated with a bright blue gem. The hilt cut and adorned with diamonds and embossed with gold inlay. It was a replica of the sword that ancient warriors of a forgotten god once carried into battle. The grand high priest had himself blessed its forging, and even the water used to temper the blade had been blessed by his spirit. The dagger felt warm in her hand. She looked to her son then to the old priest, feeling the power in the blessings. The light, she had scarce given it any thought. The world had long since abandoned its faith in the light. Very few were left in the world who even remembered what power it once held and the glory it once contained. Yet now as her son lay dying this horrible death, the priest’s power, and the warm soothing touch of this dagger, she began to feel what small part of the light she had never touched before. “And if I do this, what then? What becomes of him?" The priest released her hand from his and leaned away to give her room, “Then the merciful shall come, and carry him away, where no pain shall reach him. And he shall wait for ye there." The boy’s mother looked long into the eyes of her child. The pain she saw in him wrenched her heart in two. “Who are the merciful,” she asked him. He smiled and placed his hands over hers, “the arclights good lady. They will carry him to the place of peace and birth anew; where the gathering light shines always and the day is never dark.”

















Sevine struggled with the needle and threads as she completed what was left of the stitching. Many had attempted to bind the girls arm, but no bandage had stopped the bleeding. Even as deep as it was, the blood seeped slowly. She was thankful for that. The wounds caused by it were always like that. Like nothing any steel, claw or spell could do. She gave the thread a pull. ‘Not too tight, you’re going to rip the skin,' she told herself. She put a knot in the thin thread, and then reached for her dagger to cut the needle away. She sighed as she remembered, ' The elf has it.' she let it hang on the girls arm. The child had fallen to slumber, passed out from the pain of it. Sevine did not blame her. She was too young to be put through this ordeal. After wiping her hands across her surcoat, she brushed the hair from her eyes. Sitting back on her heels, she looked up to see the old elf now standing beside her. She offered a meager smile up at him. He responded in kind. His eyes were kind, yet made harsh by the stress that surrounded them. Even when he was in fits with the way some of the clerics behaved, his eyes always seemed to betray what harsh tones he could muster. He knelt beside her and slipped the dagger back into her outstretched hand. It was clean and free of any blood. She slipped it back into its sheath, raising an eyebrow, “You did not?" He shook his head, “No, she did. Its best that way." It doesn't even look as if it has been used let alone just shoved into the heart of a dying boy." The elf smiled again as he sat down on the crimson stained wood. “Years have taught me the deepest secrets of cleansing. Not even grass stains are a challenge to these hands.” She almost laughed, more so at his ability to even joke at a time like this. Even if it was one of the most horrible she had ever heard. “You said that with a smile on your crow’s nest.” She smirked at him, “I’m half amused." The elf did not even glance at her for the comment. He adjusted the spectacles that hung loosely on the bridge of his nose, and examined the child's arm, “Ye Managed this arm well enough. A few better placed stitches and I would fairly call it disappointing." He shot her a kind smile and chuckled. She was used to his dry humor. His tone gave him away. It was easy enough to tell when the elf was serious. There was no smile on his lips, no chuckle on his breath. His voice grew loud, and stern. Like listening to ones father bellowing about loose chickens, or un-milked cows. It was always in his eyes however. That look as if the words stung him deeper than those they were spoken too. She had seen him directing what clergy had made the journey. More so to aid the sick and injured and to do a few odd jobs he did not have time for hHe expected perfection from them none the less. She had heard his name spoken, even in celadon. A blessing some called him, an old goat others. The knights respected him however, seeing his ways, clinging to disciplines let go of by the temple for the most part. Even the Grand temple had begun to slacken. The knights of the arm knew no such thing. Theirs was a discipline higher than the king’s royal guard was. It was a source of pride for them, and a dire necessity if they were to survive. Sevine stood beside the Elder and moved out of his way. His eyes scanned the child's arm with worry welling in them. “Is it going to heal at all," she asked him. She cared deeply for these people. They had already suffered so much because of it. He regained his feet beneath him after a moment of silence, waving over a priestess who had been stationed with the people. She was there to care for the sick, or those who had more conventional injuries. “Bind her arm in an herbal compress. Keep it clean and check it every hour. If it shows sign of infection check it every half hour," he instructed her. The priestess gave a nod and leaned toward him whisper in his ear. The elf shook his head and whispered back to her. “Bind it tight above the elbow; you know what to do after that. Use a hot iron and perhaps even whiskey if they have it." Sevine raised her eyebrows. The elf gathered his cloak and an old blue hat from a table and gave a wave towards the door. “Noon has quickened passed us. We had best depart or we won’t make Arinoh by eventide." Sevine nodded her agreement and took her sword from the table as well, fitting it back onto her belt. “We have plenty of time.”


The elf rowed steadily towards the shore, his arms never tiring as he battled the waves of the tide. Sevine kept her eyes locked on the rocky shore, and the low cliff that held the wood line beyond. Mindful of what may be lurking in shadows beyond sight. Her eyes remained focused but her mind thought about the elder's words. “The arm isn't going to heal is it?" “No, " Replied the elf. ”It might last a day or so, but it will have to be removed if the child is to have a chance to survive." Sevine gazed at the shore thoughtfully for a moment before she spoke again. “Does it anger you, Tasolrin?" “Does what," he replied. “Does it anger you to know, that even if I pierced my heart with stone or steel, the power in your hands could save me before my life's last spark is gone, but even all that you are given cannot close a wound the size of a parchment cut once it has stung them?” Tasolrin’s left eyebrow raised slightly higher than the right as he rowed. She recognized that look. He gave it to the clerics when he demanded explanations for their occasional fumbling. Sevine began to blush, “I do not ask to mock you, but I am curious. I would feel anger perhaps knowing such was within my power, but that it could defy me in such a way." Tasolrin's brow settled back into its proper place as he replied with a nod. “If ye must know it angers me beyond all anger. Just something inside me that makes me question myself. Perhaps even something so divinely simple I have overlooked it for greater expectations." Both of his silver brows rose, causing his pointy ears to wiggle slightly under his hat, “Or maybe I am just getting too old." Sevine relaxed as Tasolrin spat out another bad joke, showing he held no harsh thoughts about her inquiry. His manors were so predictable she thought silently. She could read him like a book with only one page and no cover. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, eyes still scanning the wood line beyond the shore. All of the knights could see it however, something deeper inside. When he spoke, they felt invigorated, energized. When he laughed they felt happy. When he shed tears they felt somber. The knights knew when it came to power through faith they could never compete with the clerics. However, they also knew that when it came to perception through faith, the clergy was lacking when stood next to a knight of the arm especially one strong enough to make it to the ranks of knight lieutenant and beyond. The clergy could feel Spiritual energies the strongest, but sometimes they wondered if this didn't blind them to the forces more nearby. Even so they didn't compete with the clerics anyway. They were after all on the same side, fighting for the same purpose. It had even been a cleric who founded the arm long ago. But something made her wonder about the elf rowing the boat ashore. She would sometimes see him glancing this way or that, turning his head towards a breeze through the trees, nodding as if listening to words being spoken. Some of them thought him divinely mad. They had heard stories, and rumors about him. He had been a part of the Galena temple for quite some time now. Even before that most of his past was still a mystery. Her eyes darted back and forth, peering deep at shadows, searching them with her soul as they neared the shore. She felt nothing of it, nor did she see any sign. She gazed at the elf for a moment. Everyone including herself felt better when he was around even if he was yelling sometimes. More hopeful, more optimistic about things; especially about defeating this thing that should never have come to be. She could not help but wonder how the clergy of Galena felt about his absence as she watched him for a moment as he pulled the oars; scooting them along the water. She knew he was using his spirit to help them along. They needed to get to shore quickly, and even she would have tired by now. But the elf doesn't tire she thought. He keeps moving. He never seems to sleep he never seems to relent. Like an old general that just can’t seem to find his end on the battlefield, and forever presses on hoping for the day it will find him in its glory. Other than that, he seemed unremarkable. He had fine features, pointy ears, his hair was rather long, reaching down just past his hips. The left side of his face showed a few light scars. He never spoke of them even when she or anyone else inquired. His left arm also struck her as odd. It didn't quite look like the right. It was slightly less developed, more than ones off hand would usually be. Moreover, it looked as if it was a recent addition. Less aged than the rest of him. As she snapped herself from her thoughts, she could see they were almost ashore. Sweat mixed with the spray of the sea dripped from Tasolrin’s brow. He seemed to be rowing now with everything he could muster. As soon as the water was shallow, Tasolrin dropped the oars and pulled himself over the side of the boat, heaving and tugging until it was high on the sandy shore, a furrow dug in the sand, almost to the rock wall of the cliff. He did not even wait for her to disembark. Sevine glanced around, looking with both spirit and eyes. She could feel nothing nearby. Tasolrin reached for her arm and pulled her out of the boat, barely giving her time to settle on her feet before grabbing his staff, and backpack. “Come on then, with haste." Sevine gave quizzical glances, “What about the supplies we are to?" “Supplies be damned!" he interrupted before she could finish. He grabbed her arm again and began to run, his feet carrying him fast. She tore from his grip and ignoring the loud grunt he gave as protest turned back to the boat. Reaching inside she took hold of a large overstuffed kit bag, “We can’t leave this behind. You may be the seiner elder of your temple, but I am a lieutenant of the arm and I won’t,” Sevine was interrupted once more, as arctic chills rolled down her spine, and bile began to choke the wind from her throat. Her eyes grew wide with sheer horror as she turned her gaze up. It was so close now she could smell it. Like decaying moss mixed into a soup of rotting meat. Sevine fell backward, taking the kit with her as she struggled in the sand to move away from it. She was almost paralyzed now, fright and shock taking over her mind. She had never seen the beast until now, until it was looming over her, row upon row of long, decaying teeth dripping vile black liquid upon the sand. What passed for its round body towered over her almost twelve feet in height, swollen and bulging from the acrid work of death. The deformed and decomposed faces of those it had devoured bulged from the surface of its dripping flesh, screaming in pain and torment. What had once been hair now grew together in long whip like tendrils, each ending in sword sharp claws that could cleave through stone or even the hardest steel man could forge. It barely resembled the decapitated head of some large creature. The boat seemed to explode, raining a storm of sand, planks, and splinters all around Sevine as three of the whipping tendrils pierced through it, pulling only a few feet away from her. Its mouth opened wide enough to swallow her, the elder, and even the boat together in one horrid gulp. Time slowed to a crawl as the black liquid dripping from the great maw pooled by her feet. She held her hand out, as if it could somehow push the beast away as she muttered a terrified whisper, “Holy Diadems, save me!” Its tongue began to reverberate as it let out a horrid scream, shaking the world around her. Pure darkness poured out of its mouth as sand and sea once again sprayed all around. Sevine's nose and ears began to bleed as the beast lunged forward to devour her. She shut her eyes, prepared for the fate beyond its jaws. A moment passed, and then another. It was then she could hear the faint sound of chanting. Its scream was all but deafening, but faintly she could hear it. She opened her eyes to see the beast struggling forward, the front of it had been compressed, as if it had crashed itself into an invisible wall. As it struggled forward bright flashes of burning light began to shine around the monster causing boils to form on its dead flesh. She leaned her head back and gazed up to see the elder standing over her. She thought he had abandoned her to save himself. There he stood, his left palm stretched towards the beast, a bright glowing white staff held in his right hand. Time began to slow to a halt as a great power electrified the area with its aura. Perception, reality, even time; everything seemed distorted and out of sync with each other. Only Tasolrin seemed to exist within the proper limits of creation. He moved with an incredible speed as if the entire world had halted to serve his purpose. Tasolrin curled his fingers as he pulled his left arm back. Sevine strained to tilt her head watching his movements. Tasolrin began to chant again in that strange language, his left hand lifted high above his head in a reverent prayer. Each word spoke as if many voices had formed the words; each repeating endlessly the same over and over. With each phrase the aura of powerful energies grew stronger around them, like unto the eye of some great storm born of divine might. Sevine stared in awe as words began to appear coiling around the staff, heeding Tasolrin’s voice as it called them into physical being. The creature recoiled away from the powerful force building around Tasolrin. Sevine’s ears caught a singular voice amongst the many as he chanted. The words she heard burned into her memory, each one lingering in her consciousness, “Shine from heavens above, celestial eye beholden of immortal woes. Leap now from the gathering light. Lift your spear Dyrdramar, lament my mourning, and shine forth the day!” The glyphs upon the staff leapt forth, and before them both it struck with a great burst of radiance. It was so bright, like the mythical light of day the eldest of elders only spoke of in their saddest laments. So great was the light it shed Sevine could see only the luminance. It pulsed like waves. She could feel it, as if it were a tangible, physical force. Staring on into its infinite depths, she felt warmth like nothing words could describe. The strain was too much for Tasolrin however, and he sank down to his knees. Sevine quickly regained herself as the light faded and turned away as she reclaimed her feet. She slung the kit upon her back and kneeled down picking him up and throwing him as well across her shoulder. Blood was pouring from his eyes like tears. Vessels burst from the incredible strain the spirit had placed upon his body. A gentle sparkling light reflected off the water as the last of the holy energies faded away. She held a moment longer, but nothing could be seen of it. No sound came through the air, save for the gentle wind along the cliffs, and the soft sound of footsteps on the rocks above. As she turned, she saw three knights descending the steps with haste. Lieutenant Cadion, Arms man Filo, and Captain Gentry. Cadion and Filo paused in their steps, staring at the blood that caked Sevine's nose and ears, and slowly dried on her surcoat. Captain Gentry continued down the steps and reached out taking the priest from her shoulder, relieving her of his weight. Gentry gazed back at the other two, " Arms man, take that kit from the lieutenant. Cadion keep a vigilant eye and make sure that thing doesn't catch us from behind." The two quickly moved into action. Sevine gladly surrendered the heavy kit letting her shoulder sulk in relief of its weight. She glanced back at the beach where the remnants of the shattered rowboat still lay. Before she turned back to head up the steps she felt a slight chill of cold from the wind. It was not the fetid chill of IT, though it somehow seemed much colder. Like the memory of someone dear that had been lost returning for a brief moment to sting ones heart before its gone again. Sevine's sabotons clinked against the stone-carved steps as she climbed towards the wood line above. Captain Gentry had slung the elf over the back of his horse. He held the reigns tight in one hand, his sword in the other. Filo as well lead his horse, the heavy kit bag tied onto his saddle. Cadion offered Sevine a smile of pity as he gestured to his own horse. " Here lieutenant I shall walk. It’s not that far and you look like you could use some time off your feet." Sevine bowed her head to him and gladly slipped her foot into the stirrup, slinging herself into the saddle. Cadion Lead the horse onward to the left of Captain Gentry. Sevine looked down at the elder. His eyes were still bleeding; drops of blood falling every now and then onto the ground. She had never seen anything of the like in her time spent with the Celadon temple priests. After a half hours walk in silence, Sevine could see the beacon at the top of Arinoh's highest tower shining above the trees. It lead them straight to the main gateway, and into the protection of its walls. It felt good to be within them again, away from what lurked in the open lands outside. Two arms men lowered the heavy iron gates behind them sealing them off from the danger for now. Until the time came to venture forth again.