The Realm of Austur Episode 1: A New Light

A storm is brewing. The winds of the world are changing...

The man stares out at the vista before him, the darkened sky fading over a silent landscape. A cliff edges out before him, like the thin smile of a lazy beast. The mountains lay behind him, the forest around him, the valley far below him... Beyond that lies the vast Cleatian Empire, the focal point of this age. But the wind, oh the wind. It is a cool breeze, billowing gentle waves across the lush grass, bearing a distinct scent only he would recognize. It is a smell he has grown quite familiar with, over the centuries. It is the smell of change, the smell that heralds a new era. Somewhere, something is happening that will set into motion a chain of events that will change this world, and shape the era yet to come. Inexplicably, the man feels a sudden urge to investigate, to take part in this time-old ceremony. A moment later, he shakes his head at the foolish thought.

Just great. Now I'm becoming a sentimental old fool. If only Val could see me now.

A sudden pang of sadness enters the man's cold heart, but he brushes the memory off. Now is not the time to get sentimental. Not in the middle of a mission. The man turns on his heel, his tattered coat billowing in the wind, and stalks back into the forest, as silent as a wraith. Looming in the distance, nestled in the mountain's bosom, is his destination; a nondescript cave, only slightly larger than a crevice, where his quarry waits, as unwitting as lambs at the Slaughter. In hindsight, he can't really understand why he took this job. He doesn't need the gold, as four hundred years have given him plenty of time to earn that. In fact, he probably had more than most kings. But the rumors caught his attention... Rumors of a bandit leader in the Cleatian Mountains, a Type 1 powerful enough to expel demons. In all honesty, the thought is absurd. A holy bandit? Preposterous. But, it wouldn't be entirely unheard of, and the rumors were certainly plentiful... And had even come from the tongues of semirespectable people. So here he journeyed, like a moth to the flame, drawn by the possibility of a sweet death.

The cave is easily reachable for one such as he, and he strides right up to the entrance, unfazed, undaunted. The long, silver Katana at his side glistens in the moonlight.

"Oy!! Who goes there?!" The lone sentry shouts as he approaches, a gruff, middle aged man in tough, oil-hide armor.

"Valley," the man replies simply.

The bandit furrows his brow in confusion. "Eh? What's that?"

"My name," the man replies again. "Vincent Valley. I seek an audience with your leader."

The bandit gives an ungentlemanly snort. "Ha, like that'll happen bud. The boss don't see just anybody, and he's busy anyway. So scram, fore you piss me off."

"That's alright," Vincent says, smiling slightly. "I'll see myself in."

A flash of metal in the night, and the bandit's head rolls from his shoulders. He doesn't speak again.

It is a bloodbath. The wraith moves through the bandit hideout with the skill of an assassin, nothing more than a silent shadow, a breath on the necks of his victims. By the time the poor fools realize what's happening, by the time they see the shadow in the torchlight, the deadly piece of metal is already humming through the air. In only a few minutes, Vincent's katana is dripping with the life of his victims, and the small cave in the mountains is entirely cleared of vermin. All save a few... All save the leader and his two bodyguards. How absolutely pathetic. To think that a Type 1 would need bodyguards. And that can only mean one thing: the rumors were false after all.

"You will pay dearly for wasting my time," he breathes softly under his breath, furious. Still... This place was in desperate need for some Valley Style spring cleaning.

Is that what we've become? Are we reduced to mere pest control? We, the Scourge of Shiryu, the Bane of Life, and Deliverer of Death?

"Shut up," Vincent scolds the voice, pressing his hand to his temple, as if he had a headache. "I'm not that person anymore."

No of course not, the voice chides. You're the White Necromancer now, the Undead Paladin. You wouldn't harm a fly. Yet here you are slaughtering these pathetic fools like cattle. You, who once served as Death Himself, are now pest control.

"Screw you," Vincent snaps, and the voice quiets.

Finally... A moment of peace. Vincent seizes the opportunity, completing one last sweep of the area, before arriving at a grandiose set of double doors. The doors are severely out of place in the rundown hideaway; large bronze gates gilded with gold and silver, and knobs shaped like dragon heads.

For a moment, he thinks he's going to be sick. How utterly disgusting, pretentious, ridiculous... There aren't even enough words in a 400 year old Immortal's vocabulary to describe this... This farce. This ridiculous farce. Vincent feels his blood begin to boil, and his fury awakens. A fury long since dormant, a dragon slumbering for over three hundred years... Now unleashed. In that moment, he allows himself to give in to that other side. A wave of darkness washes through the cave, extinguishing every trace of light in one fell swoop. The gilded gates, once grand, now rot and melt into dirt and ash. Vincent steps through the now open doorway, as calmly and silently as death itself.

The leader's chamber is strewn with relics and gold, items and trinkets, clothing and more, all likely plundered from hapless travelers. It is a sign of arrogance and foolishness, that the 'holy bandit' displays his loot so openly and freely. Now, bickering and arguing, all in fearful and confused tones, can be heard from within.

"How the hell do I know why the torches went out, you stupid lug?!" One voice yells, a voice that suggests it's owner is clearly used to having his way. Vincent singles him out as the leader immediately.

"W-Well, I dunno boss, can't you use your magick or somfin?"

"Oh gee, why didn't I think of that!!" The bandit leader replies sarcastically. "Maybe because I'm not actually a Type 1, you dolt!"

As amusing as this scene is, Vincent soon grows bored. Before another syllable can be uttered, he lunges, striking as silently as a ghost and as suddenly as a squall at sea. The unsuspecting man's eyes go white, and Vincent retrieves his blade from the man's gut, allowing him to crumple to the floor. In a smooth, split second movement, Vincent then hurls his dagger at the other's throat. Then, only he and the leader remain...

"Huh?! W-what was that?! Is.. This blood?!" The leader suddenly screams, frantically reaching for his sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Vincent warns quietly.

"W-where are you?! Show yourself coward!!"

Vincent chuckles, and the inhuman sound echoes throughout the room, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. "I am everywhere, and nowhere. I am here, I was then, and I will be tomorrow."

This only serves to terrify the man further, and his fear satisfies some darker side of the wraith called Vincent. "W-who... No, what are you?!" The bandit leader demands in terror, his voice shaking like a leaf caught in the wind.

This time, Vincent allows the silence to linger. He slowly stalks forward, and the only sound in the dark room, is the sound of slow, methodical footsteps, boots on a hard floor. When he is close enough to smell the man's fear, and the alcohol on his breath, Vincent finally allows the silence to expire. "I am Death," he replies, and the man screams.

A few minutes later, as Vincent cleans his weapons outside, beneath the moonlight, he has a sudden odd thought. I really am pest control. Strangely, there is no reply.

Ah, home sweet home... If anyone in their right mind could call it that. But then again, he isn't exactly in his right mind. Still, it's been a good home, and it's served him well over the long years... Known by many names throughout the centuries, this mythical hall of old has proved quite the hideout, for an eccentric old Lich. Buried deep within the mountains on the Cleatian border, is a sprawling city of stone and rock, a place once called The Mines of Gorgath, some three hundred years ago. At that time in history, Gorgath was a prosperous mining city and the capital of the dwarves, populated mainly by dwarves and traveling peddlers. It had been the first city outside of Shiryu where Vincent had stayed for longer than a couple days. As it turns out, he ended up staying for a couple centuries. He had loved the place back then, it's bustling life and hearty people. Now however, the once grand city was a lonely place, forgotten by scholars and time alike. Gone were the iron hot forges, and the endless lights. Gone were the merchant's peddling their wares on every corner, and the taverns full of boisterous men and kegs of mead. The splendour of it all was replaced by a calm silence, a vast loneliness, penetrated only by echoes of the distant past and memories of long ago. Now, the clamor of blacksmith hammers have been replaced by dripping water. It's a melancholy feeling, coming home here every day, but it's better this way. Vincent long ago lost contact with the outside world, preferring instead to live out eternity alone. He has only allowed one other being to know of this hallowed ground, to live here with him...

"Silver, I'm home!" Vincent calls out suddenly, his voice echoing across the high stone walls, as he steps into the once grand city square.

His call is soon mirrored by a far greater one, a roar of truly 'draconic' proportions. A familiar sight swoops down from the dark ceiling above, a beautiful dragon with glistening silver scales not much larger than a baby wyvern, maybe fifteen feet long at most, plus the wingspan. Silver, as he named the adopted dragon, was young for a Sky Dragon. Vincent had found her abandoned almost a hundred years ago, her parents likely killed by hunters. She was just an infant then, and even now, she is still a baby, at least by Sky Dragon standards. Silver lands just a few feet in front of him, nearly knocking him over in her excitement.

"Easy girl," Vincent say gently, showing an uncharacteristic amount of affection for the creature. In a way, this dragon was like the daughter he never had. "Sorry I'm late."

Silver nuzzles his leg gently, almost like a cat would. She growls ever so slightly, but it is not a growl of aggression or warning. Rather, it is both a contented, happy gesture and a firm rebuke for him being so unusually late. He pats her head gently, and makes his normal rounds throughout the city. This has become a routine for him over the years. Whenever he returned from the outside world after an extended period of time, he walked the city, inspecting it for damage. While he found some things he could repair, most he could not, and so this had become more of a nostalgic stroll down memory lane, to calm him. Silver folded her wings and tucked her tail, making herself more compact, and followed close behind, like an obedient puppy. After a while, Vincent made his way to the heart of the city, a great palace of bronze, granite, and steel once used by the Dwarven Kings of old. Due to it's unique construction methods, the palace remained largely unscarred by the ravages of time, and it was here Vincent made his home, as he had for over two hundred and fifty years. Despite her size, Silver easily follows her master into the massive structure. Vincent enters the great hall with a sigh. It really did feel good to be back. He assumes his place at the end of the hall, slumping into the large bronze throne, the throne that used to belong to the King of the Dwarves. Silver immediately plopped down at his feet, curling her tail around her and resting her head on her paws. Again, Vincent is reminded of a cat. A big, overgrown cat with wings. And fangs.

"I'm tired girl," Vincent says suddenly, and the dragon's ears perk curiously. She lazily lifts a single eyelid, waiting for him to continue.

"I had another relapse earlier. Just a small one, but still... I grow more unstable, and I tire easier. I think it's time I return to slumber, at least for a little while..."

The dragon looks up at this, alarmed. Vincent allows himself a small smile. "Don't worry Silver. I won't be asleep long."

She relaxes at this, and Vincent sighs again. So tired... His eyes slowly flutter close, and he drifts into a long, and very deep sleep.

"Pleasant dreams master," a voice says softly, though he never hears it.

He was awoken with a sharp pain in his cranium.
"Nngh..." He groaned,slowly opening his eyes.
He felt around until his hand touched sand.
"Sand? Am I on a beach?" He thought slowly pulling himself up.

The sand now clear from his eyes the youth stared at the pile of bodies on the beach.
He closed his eyes upon spotting the dead and turned to a new direction.
"My first visit to an unknown continent and already people are dead. That's a bad omen." He thought.
He trudged slowly through the sand looking for survivors. A small sound caught his attention.

He turned to the direction he came from only to see the dead passengers skin disentrgrate.
"....what foul magic is this?" He asked aloud. Their skin became nothing more than pale bones,and their eyes replaced with empty
Darkness. From nowhere swords and shields appeared in their hands.

"So,this continent has the walking dead? No... Unless necromancy is a practice here." He sighed.
Before his musings could delve deeper he foun himself ducking under a sword.
He scurried back as the skeletons charged at him. His fingers fumbled to his sword,but before he could draw it they were already upon him.

Unfortunately, his foot caught a twig sending him tumbling down into the thick sand. He raised his arms as a skeleton tiered over him, axe ready to bring down.
The strike never came and he moved his arms from his face as a bright flash washed over the skeletons. "Phew! Goo thing I decided to do a daily patrol." A voice chirped.
His eyes flittered over to his rescuer. From the looks she was no older than him with Silver hair and a white robe. Her emerald eyes glinted at him mischievously as she walked over. "Thanks." Serlen said slowly climbing to his feet.

The girl grabbed his wrist and began to drag him towards a forest.
" what are you doing?" He yelled. He received no answer as they rushed past vines.
"Saving your life,duh. There's a necromancer somewhere and you are a prime target." She snapped.
From the horizon he could see the villages gates. The two barely made it through before they closed.
The girl let go of his hand leaning to catch her breath.

"Okay,maybe we should start this over." Serlen frowned.
In a moment the girl was up in her feet flashing him a grin.
"Good, I'm Shalla." She greeted holding out her hand. He clasped his hand in hers smiling slightly.

"I'm Serlen, heir to the-" he paused not sure if he should trust a stranger he just met.
"I mean I'm Serlen, a Traveler." He corrected.if she caught his slip up she made no acknowledgment .

"Welcome to Kami village. We aren't that far from the Cleatian empire." She chuckled.
Serlen took a look around. "I'm sorry,but I can't stay for long. I'm visiting a relative of mine in the empire." He lied.
Shalla leaned in raising a curious eyebrow.

"You are a horrible lier you know that? I mean your face scrunches up as though your thinking about the lie before it comes." She smirked.
Serlen took a step back his cheeks a flaming red.
"I've never been good at that,but you have me cornered." He grimaced.

Shalla took a step back analyzing him." Mhm. You're probably a blue blood by the look of your clothes. To busy to help a village with a necromancy problem?" She asked angrily,crossing her arms. Serlen furrowed his brows at the accusation.
"I'll  admit you have me pegged for Nobility,but isn't this a bit rude to accuse me of such a thing? We met not three minutes ago!" He exclaimed.

The girl seems to take a step back and let's out a loud sigh of frustration. " sorry, I have a tendency to get carried away,and the recent attacks to the village by this necromancer is putting me on edge. ... Could you help us? We have the money to pay you." She pleaded stepping forward.
"I'll do it for free. Just point me to the direction the most recent undead have been." Serlen replied.

Shalla clapped her hands excitedly," great! I knew I could count on you," she pursed her lips," there's a small shrine not to far from here and the undead are building... Something. It puts my holy magick in edge." She shivers.
"If I'm going to help I need to know everything about magick on this continent." Serlen ordered.

Shalla nodded and proceeded to fill him in.
"I propose a quick rest. After all, necromancer a never sleep." She muttered.
Serlen stared at her confused before it dawned on him.

"An undead necromancer? Certainly new,but nothing I haven't faced yet." He said.