Chapter Text
My body aches as I rise from the ground. The world around me spins for a moment before I can stand on my feet. The dead Griffin lies to my right, a pitiful sight, to be honest.
"Arisen!"
I turn towards the source of the voice and spot Rook in the water, surrounded by brine, which is pulling and gripping him. Slowly, he is sinking. Without losing any time, I rush towards him, but as my toes touch the water, I feel the brine immediately trying to grab hold of me.
"Keep back!" Rook shouts. "Don’t worry, if you truly are the Arisen, we will surely meet again! Seek the Riftstone!"
Those were the last words spoken to me before the brine swallows him whole. I stare at the spot where he had just vanished before moving towards the Griffin’s corpse. It feels wrong to just leave it like this. This creature had given us a chance to escape a terrible place. So, I kneel in front of it and speak a death prayer in my mother’s tongue.
“Nech tvoje duše vrátí se ke slunru a tvoje zbytky spojí se s matka Příroda.”
Just as I rise to my feet again, I hear footsteps approaching. Three soldiers in Vermundian armor appear, looking rather puzzled as they take in the scene. It must be a strange sight: a dead Griffin, a beaten-up slave, and the soft red glow of brine in the water. What a mess.
"My word... Who are you and what happened ‘ere?" the leader of the group asks. Judging by his insignia, he ought to be the highest-ranking soldier.
"Ah, well... 'Tis a rather long story." I reply, scratching my head, feeling embarrassed by the situation. I must look quite pathetic with my torn and dirty clothes.
The soldier looks me over, his gaze stopping at my left arm. Ah, I should have known. The scars that extend across my entire arm are rather conspicuous.
“You are wounded. Pray, accompany me back to our outpost. We shall hear your story and tend to your wounds.”
Following his gaze, I notice the red liquid dripping from my arm. I hadn't even realized I was injured. There isn’t much feeling left in my arm, so the wound didn’t hurt.
The soldier walks towards me, ripping a piece of cloth from his cloak and gesturing for me to stretch out my wounded arm.
“My name is Justinn.” He introduces himself while hastily bandaging my wound. “May I bid for your name?” Justinn adds and I tell him my name.
Justinn lets go of my arm, and I glance at the bandage. He walks towards the path they came from and nods at me, inviting me to follow him. The other two soldiers stay behind as I follow Justinn down the path.
“Pray, tell me. Where do you come from, and 'twas you we saw riding that Griffin?"
"We escaped from a prison, an excavation site to be precise. The Griffin was a fortunate circ*mstance as it helped us escape."
Justinn simply nods. "I don’t know of any prison like that in Vermund. You were probably held in Battahl. Though, I can hardly imagine they treat their prisoners like this." He hums, lost in thought.
Where’er we were held, I know what I saw and experienced. If I am truly the Arisen, then I must return and set the other Pawns free. I can’t let them perish in that terrible place. They might be Pawns, but e’ery living creature deserves better than that.
As we continue our march towards the outpost, we encounter two groups of goblins. They are hardly a challenge, though we fight carefully to avoid further injuries. They fall quickly to my daggers and Justinn’s sword. However, I do notice that I can barely use my left arm. It really needs treatment. My attacks are slow and sloppy, and it utterly annoys me.
After a short march, we reach the gate of the outpost. As we approach, a group of Pawns emerges, and a woman directs her gaze toward me.
"Welcome, Arisen," she says, holding up her right hand to reveal a glowing mark—the mark of a Pawn. "We Pawns have long awaited your arrival." She bows before me.
"What is this..." Justinn whispers as he sees their reaction. "The Pawns... but then... surely you cannot be the Arisen." His confusion is understandable. I myself do not comprehend any of this either. I know that the Pawns are loyal to the Arisen, but this submissive behaviour is unnerving.
"You seek the Riftstone, do you not? We can take you to it." the female Pawn continues. "Pray, come this way." She turns and walks towards the outpost. I follow her swiftly, Justinn at my heels.
We approach the Riftstone, and I feel a sort of pulse emanating from it. It feels warm, welcoming, and fills my chest with calmness.
“Pray, summon your Pawn. Simply paint with your mind's eye a loyal attendant who would serve you.” I glance over at the female Pawn. A loyal attendant? For so long I have travelled on my own... Slowly, I close my eyes. A loyal attendant... Well, someone to have my back not only in battle, but someone also to be quick to catch on strategies, someone I can rely on, someone who can compensate for what I lack.
The Riftstone calls to me, listening to my thoughts. It whispers softly, filling me with a warmth that feels like a mother’s embrace. A bright light emerges, and I slowly open my eyes to see a pair of boots that were not there before. As I raise my gaze, I see a male human. He raises his hand, showing the same Pawn symbol the woman had shown me before. He looks at me kindly, with a hint of compassion. His blond hair is shoulder-length, and his eyes are a piercing honey-brown. His skin is rather sun-kissed, unlike my pale complexion.
“Pawns are known as crossers of the Rift, for we are able to connect and traverse other Realms beyond this one. I shall aid you on your journey as a loyal attendant, Master.” He explains in a calming and kindhearted voice.
I frown at the last word. Master... I don’t quite like the sound of that. Slaves have masters... owners... But I shan’t be one to be called Master. Before I can respond, Justinn is at my side.
“The summoning of a Pawn before my very eyes... Then you must truly be the Arisen. Strange, I thought the Arisen was at the Castle in Vernworth." he mumbles to himself. "Pray, rest here for the night and get this wound treated." Justinn gestures toward one of the tents. The sign in front makes it clear that 'tis the local inn. "I shall send the healer there shortly." Justinn doesn’t wait for my answer.
"Have you been harmed, Master?" my new companion asks, still standing next to me. He’s nearly a head taller than me. My gaze falls on my left arm and the improvised bandage. Blood is now seeping through the blue cloth. It probably needs stitches.
“Nothing to be worried about.” I say, looking at the Pawn.
"We ought to wait in the tent for the healer, as Ser Justinn suggested." He points toward the tent, and I sigh in defeat.
The tent turns out to be rather small as we enter. Still, there are four beds to rent. “Ah, you must be the Arisen, nay?” The Innkeeper says. "Pray, make yourself comfortable. ‘Tis not much, yet 'tis better than camping in the wilds. I was privy to let you stay without cost for this night."
I nod to the innkeeper, thanking him for letting us stay. As soon as I sit down on the bed, I notice how tired my body actually is. It feels nice to finally sit down. I turn to my new companion.
"Say... do you have a name?" I ask him, unsure if he emerged with one. My knowledge of Pawns is rather thin. He gladly tells me his name.
Before we can continue our conversation, Justinn enters the inn with another man, who I assume is the healer. He is a young man with black hair and tanned skin.
"As promised, here is our healer. Pray, by your leave. There are other matters I need to attend to. I suggest you make your way toward Melve. I heard it was attacked by a Dragon not long ago."
I nod to Justinn, thanking him for his aid so far. The healer then approaches me.
“Ser Arisen, 'tis an honour to meet you.” The healer says.
He quickly gets to work on my wound, removing the bandages.
"Ah, that is quite a gash. I shall clean the wound; it belike needs some stitches too." he mutters to himself. From the corner of my eye, I see my companion watching the healer closely with narrowed eyes. The healer notices too and grows rather nervous.
I call upon the Pawn’s name to direct his attention to me. "Is there more you can tell me about the likes of you?" I ask curiously.
"Surely, Master! Pawns heed the Arisen’s e’ery order, aiding you on your journey to slay the Dragon. Call upon me anytime you require aid. Right now, I shall aid you as a Fighter, shielding you with sword and shield."
There it was again, that word. “Pray, do not call me that. I rather despise being called Master.”
The Pawn seems confused. “But... you are my master. I ought to address you accordingly.”
I sigh deeply. “I appreciate your concern, but I explicitly pray you to refrain from bidding me Master.”
“If my behaviour enrages you, I am truly sorry and shall accept any discipline granted to me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. That was annoying. I am well aware that ‘tis not his fault. Pawns do not comprehend things the way normal humans would. Mayhap I just need another approach.
The healer next to me clears his throat. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but your wound has been stitched and properly bandaged. Pray,try not to strain your arm too much in the next few days. Keep the wound clean and change the bandage e’ery day.”
I thank the healer for his help, and he leaves the tent with a simple nod. As my attention returns to the Pawn, I notice that he seems rather nervous. Does he truly think that I am angered by his behaviour? I should have chosen my words more carefully then.
“I am not enraged or mad at you.” I tell him in the calmest voice I can manage right now. It seems to be enough because he relaxes the moment the words leave my mouth.
“Please note that I prefer to be bid Arisen over Master.”
He nods enthusiastically, which brings a smile to my face. “Surely! I shall do as you bid, Arisen!”
Fatigue overwhelms me, and the exertions of the past few days are finally taking their toll on me. Concern bubbles behind my companion's expression.
“Would it be permissible for me to propose that you retire for sleep?”
In response, I swing my legs onto the bed and lie down on my back, staring at the tent’s ceiling. Before sleep takes hold of me, I turn my head towards my companion.
“What about you? Do Pawns sleep as well?”
“Aye, Pawns sleep, but I feel fine. I shall guard you while you sleep, Arisen.”
I gesture towards the wooden stool not far from the bed.
“Yet pray, sit down at least.”
The Pawn simply nods, and he settles onto the stool, his sword softly clanking against it. I hum satisfied and close my eyes. Sleep swiftly takes me.
The next day, I teeter between the waking world and the realm of sleep. My eyes flutter open intermittently but refuse to remain so. I sense the Healer passing by, changing my bandages while I slumber. More than once, I feel the Pawn's worried gaze upon me, yet I lack the strength to engage in conversation with him.
There is another visitor, though I cannot discern their identity. There are not many people I know in Vermund. I merely hear them conversing with the Pawn, their words falling on deaf ears. 'Tis until the early morning of the following day that I fully awaken from my deep slumber. Turning my head, I notice the stool is vacant. Well, not quite empty. Clothes rest upon it instead.
At that moment, I become aware of my rather tattered attire. I am still dressed in the rags acquired during my stay at the excavation site. As I sit up, I take in my surroundings. The sun must have just begun to rise, as remnants of darkness linger. I inspect the garments provided to me. They are the clothes I wore before. How they got here, I cannot tell. Nonetheless, I am grateful to have them back.
I slip into the breeches. They are unremarkable, though the fabric used is comfortable and warm. Since the breeches offer little protection, I opt for boots that extend just above my knees. These boots have seen better days. I should procure new ones soon or have them repaired. For now, they will suffice. Next, I don the body armor.
The body armor is something special indeed. Crafted from drake skin, 'tis rather valuable and highly protective. Metal plates supplement the torso and arms. The right shoulder bears the head of a dragon, its mouth agape. The body armor was a gift, a testament to my triumphant poutsafar.
The poutsafar is a journey undertaken by young Beastren to prove their worth and come of age. While I may not be a Beastren, I was raised by one. I grew up learning their culture, language, and customs. When I reached the age of 16, it was time for my poutsafar. For two years, I traveled, returning home with a dušečepel. Speaking of... said weapon is missing. I feel a dull ache in my heart as I realize the piece is absent.
Before the shoulder piece is attached to the armor, a surcoat can be added, which still lies on the stool. 'Tis divided into two colors: a rusty red and a dark green with a golden hem all around. The red side is embroidered with suns, while the green side boasts stars. The chest part bears a golden dragon segreant regardant.
Just then, footsteps draw near, and the head of my companion appears in the tent’s entrance, carrying two bowls of porridge. The food steams from the heat, indicating its freshness. His eyes widen upon seeing me.
"Master!" he exclaims, and I flinch slightly at the word. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.
"You are awake! How do you feel?" The Pawn quickly approaches me, setting the bowls down on a nearby table.
"Ah, yes. Much better, thank you." The Pawn smiles as if satisfied with my response, then notices the armor piece in my hand. "Would you like some help with that?"
I frown a little at his question, not because I dislike his help, but because I have been alone for so long. It feels strange to have a companion now, albeit involuntary but appreciated. My lack of response causes my companion to frown, so I offer him the remaining armor.
He takes it with a smile and gets to work. The surcoat is fastened at the back with a belt but left loose at the front. Then he assists me in fixing the shoulder piece, closing the lashes and seeming satisfied with his work.
"Thank you." I say as the armor is fixed. I would have struggled much longer with the lashes if I were alone.
"'Tis merely my duty." he replies.
I hum at his answer. Pawns remain a mystery to me. It seems like their sole purpose is to serve the Arisen. Do they not feel anything? Do they not have thoughts of their own? A will of their own?
"Would you care for some breakfast, Arisen? 'Tis simple porridge with cinnamon. Though 'tis still better than an empty stomach." he offers.
Nodding towards my companion, we sit down at the table and eat in silence. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until now, with a hot meal in front of me. The cinnamon adds a decent flavor, so it's not all too bland.
Once we've finished eating, the sun has risen, and the camp is bustling with activity. Voices echo, and the blacksmith's hammer resounds through the outpost.
"Say..." I begin, looking at my companion. "Do you know who brought the armor by any chance?"
"It was a Beastren, Master. He didn’t say much, only that you would know." he responds.
I sigh deeply, supporting my forehead with my right hand, as I do know who brought it back to me.
"He also mentioned he'd like to see you ere leaving the Outpost."
Another deep sigh escapes my lips as I support my forehead with both hands now. Of course he'd like to speak to me. But I cannot bear it. I cannot visit him. The Pawn, sensing my unease, interrupts my thoughts.
"Ser Justinn also suggested visiting Melve, a nearby town. It was recently attacked by a Drake."
Melve... Melve... there's a dull pulling in my head, as if I should know that place. It represents an escape, a chance to avoid my Beastren friend for a little longer. I know I cannot avoid him forever, but just a tiny bit longer.
“Methinks we ought to leave for Melve then.”
“Then I shall gladly follow your lead, Arisen.”
We rise from the table and leave the inn, bidding the innkeeper farewell. ‘Twould be best to stock up on some supplies before traveling. After that, we’re off.
Fortunately, it’s a warm and sunny day. There are some goblins on the road, but they pose no great danger. I’ve forgotten how nice it is to have a companion. I don’t need to keep e’ery enemy in sight and fend them off all on my own.
My companion has some basic skills in sword fighting, but there is much left for him to learn. Perhaps we will reach a vocation guild in Melve that might be of use. For now, I can give him a hint or two, so I call his name to gain his attention.
“Pray, may I show you a better technique?”
He blinks at me for a moment but nods immediately. “Of course, Master!” I squint at him just for a second as he calls me the unwanted title again.
“Watch ‘ere.” I say as I make my way over to him, reaching for his arm. Ensuring he’s okay with me touching him, I raise his arm into the position I prefer.
“If you bear the sword like this, but for a bit tilted inward, you gain more control over the weapon. You ought to fend off crucial attacks more effectively too.” Making sure my companion listens, I continue and reach for his left arm. “Raise your shield like this to prevent damage to your arm. Powerful blasts might damage the bone if blocked poorly or at the wrong angle.”
The pawn seems focused on my words, absorbing the information down to the tiniest detail.
“Show me your foot stance.” Holding his arms in position, he takes his usual fighting stance. It’s not bad as it is, but a mighty blow might sweep him off his feet rather quickly, which is crucial in combat.
Standing even closer to my companion, I reach for his hips, turning them a tiny bit towards his center. Feeling the warmth radiating from him and noticing the slightest hint of red around his nose, I put some distance between us. Making him uncomfortable was not my desire.
“This way, you won’t be swept off your feet as easily. Move your right foot a tiny bit back, and you shall withstand even the blow of a cyclops.”
Swinging his sword into the empty air, testing his stance, he sheaths his sword and nods towards me, still a little red around the nose.
“Thank you, Arisen. I shall take your advice to heart.”
Offering him a smile, I take another step towards the road. “Pray, lead us further on. Let’s make for Melve ere the sun sets.”
