An abandoned village is an eerie sight, even in broad
daylight. Though the Hunter was for the most part immune to fear, the scene was
still somewhat disquieting. A hot evening breeze blew through the main street
of the small village, stirring up dust and blowing dead and dry foliage. A door
creaked somewhere in the distance as it swung on rusted hinges. The sun’s dying
light painted the withered village in a haunting red glow that seemed almost
hellish.
Though he’d spent hundreds of years now among humans and
their brethren, the Hunter still found it difficult to understand some of their
more esoteric ways and customs. At that moment, it was their buildings that
perplexed him the most. Though they were all different in their own subtle
ways, each one seemed to serve the same purpose. But this appearance was
deceiving; each place served a specific function within human society. Some
were homes where people lived, while others were shops or other places where
people practiced commerce. The idea of money and possession had at first seemed
strange to the Hunter. Slowly he’d gotten used to the idea and had even begun
to see why it held such an appeal to the denizens of this world.
The pair were halfway through the village when the Hunter
finally stopped and admitted to both himself and his companion that he had no
real idea where to find the house they were looking for. He swung down off of
Stalia’s back, studying each structure in turn, trying to discern one from
another. What constituted a home, or a shop? That these constructions were
dilapidated and falling apart did not help the matter.
“Well, now that you mention it, perhaps I might admit we may
very well be in the wrong place.” The Hunter scanned the village by the last
light of the sun. “But my instincts say we aren’t. He, it, was here.”
Stalia pawed the ground and turned, looking both ways down the
wide lane.
“Perhaps we should just begin searching each one, until we
find right place.”
The Hunter’s companion pawed again, and he turned to face
her.
“I know, but he might have left some valuable advice, or
clue. He was here with it, for centuries. Come.”
The Hunter proceeded to the nearest building. It was a small
place, no windows apparent on the front or sides, merely a gaping rectangular
maw where a wide door once stood. Darkness stilled within, darkness penetrated
by the Hunter’s intense stare.
Broken furniture occupied most of the floor space here.
Signs of centuries of neglect were everywhere, from the thick layers of dust to
the rotting of wood on every appointment, wall, and ceiling. Some of the items
the Hunter recognized, others he didn’t. But after a quick scan it became
obvious the object of his search was not here. He glanced at his impatient
companion by the light of the rising moon as he emerged from this building to
move on to another.
The moon was high in the night when the Hunter at last found
the place which he sought in the haunted village. It was a small place, smaller
than most of the other buildings in the village that had obviously housed one
merchant or another. The Hunter was well inside, scanning the interior when he
noticed the long line of bookshelves and knew he was at last in the right
place.
Reading these books in darkness was indeed a challenge, even
for his incredible eyesight. One book after another failed to yield the clues
he was looking for, but the Hunter knew they’d be here somewhere. Maxxal was
simply too thorough not to keep at least some notes. Just as despair was
beginning to set in, the Hunter picked up a small book with the word ‘Diary’ on
the cover. After thumbing through a few pages, he knew he’d found what he was
looking for. At first, none of the pages he read seemed to have the information
he needed. Then he came across what he was looking for, a passage that filled
him with hope, and dread.
'The whole village has gone insane, everyone is chasing one another
with all manner of weapons and tools, anything sharp they can find. I went out
when I heard the commotion, and that's when I saw it, the cause of what was
happening. The boy from yesterday was out on the steps of his house, watching
the carnage with some kind of sadistic smile. Then I noticed the black glow
over his head, and that can mean only one thing, he's been possessed by the
Revenant. Gods and heavens, help us all if that is true. I can't take it alone;
I have to get out of here and...’
The Revenant. So that’s what people had been calling it. The
Hunter paused a moment to consider what the word meant, if anything. To him, it
was the Destroyer, a very descriptive and literal name.
This must have been when it escaped. After centuries of
captivity, the Destroyer would have been considerably weakened, and probably
not even able to manifest itself on its own. How sad and unfortunate that a
child had to cross the path of this monstrosity. The Hunter’s heart went out to
the child in that moment, while grief and regret began to assault his soul.
Damn those humans anyway. If not for their desire for revenge, this all could
have been averted.
A sudden calmness came over the Hunter, soft words relaying
peace and harmony. Stalia once again righted him when he began to go wrong. The
Hunter smiled, inwardly as well as out, and emerged from the old shop to glance
at his beloved companion.
“What indeed, would I do without you? I think we both know
the answer to that. You have been my comfort and my solace, the enduring rock
upon which I may lean. If ever any one creature has truly loved another, then I
love you.”
The Hunter smiled as Stalia answered his sudden
pronouncement with solemn and heartfelt words of her own. Presently, his grin grew wider.
“Of course. And we shall speak of it again, when the time is
right. But you are correct, we have a duty to perform just now.”
Stalia was mentally offering him some sound advice when they
suddenly felt another presence in their midst. The Hunter turned quickly, his
right hand ready in case his weapon was needed.
Before him, with its wings still widespread from its sudden
landing, outlined in the moonlight stood one of Aeonith’s more unusual
creatures. It had the long stout body and lengthy tail of a lion, with four
legs and wide paws to match. The wings were leathery and bat-like, but long
indeed when unfolded. The creature drew them up alongside its broad shoulders
as it stared at the Hunter and his companion with a calculating stare. Its eyes
were human-like, as was its entire face. The head and neck were a man’s, a
human man, with thick black hair upon its head, and a long square beard falling
from its chin. The Hunter knew the creature as a manticore, a being from long
ago in Aeonith’s history, and one of the last of its kind. He knew its name as
well, having met the creature centuries earlier. But it had been years since
the two had seen one another, and the manticore
regarded the Hunter almost as a stranger for a moment. Then suddenly the
creature’s face relaxed somewhat, and small grin appeared on the manticore’s
face.
“Greetings old one. It has been a long time, has it not?”
The manticore’s voice was deep and low, full of power and authority. A stark
contrast indeed to the Hunter’s lighter and calmer speech. The Hunter allowed a
long moment of silence to linger. At last he nodded slightly.
“Shagon. Greetings to you as well. Old one, you call me?
Does that make you young?”
Shagon the manticore regarded the Hunter with a curious
expression. “Nothing can make me young again, I’m afraid. You however, haven’t
aged a day, have you not? An enviable circumstance for some, I should think.”
“Then they should think again.” The Hunter replied, looking
sharply at the manticore. “How goes your new mission, as it were? You were
going to join some new group of wizards as I recall.”
“Hardly new anymore, that was several hundred years ago.”
Shagon’s expression suddenly turned dark. “It goes ill now, and grows worse
every day. The Council of Archmages has turned from its noble roots to follow
some dark purpose that I have yet to fathom.”
The Hunter allowed the surprise in his mind to show on his
usually tranquil face. “Indeed. Have you no idea what that purpose could be?”
“Not as yet.” Shagon replied. “I do know however, they are
working with some strange force, an incorporeal power that does not manifest in
this world, yet it can see and hear, and speak.”
The Hunter kept the sudden dread off of his face. He prayed
that his suspicions were wrong.
“Tell me everything.” The Hunter replied.
Shagon obliged, beginning at the beginning.
Centuries ago, after the Great Shadow War was over, the most
powerful mages of the time gathered together to form a group that could control
the burgeoning power of magic in the hopes of averting another disaster like
the Shadow War. It was their dream and goal to steer young mages in the proper
use and control of the arcane arts of magic. This new Council would teach young
wizards to use this power wisely and with restraint, and to have a healthy
respect for its effects on the people and world around them.
But as the years went by, and new wizards replaced the old
ones, power’s corrupting influence began to be felt among the members of the
Council. The elders of the Council began holding the most powerful secrets for
themselves, and soon began closing the schools of magic they’d opened centuries
earlier. The wizards became more restrictive about who could learn and use
magic, teaching fewer and fewer students each year. At last all the colleges of
magic were closed. In time the Council used its influence with the new Mytarian
Empire to have the very practice of magic outlawed except within the Council’s
own circle and those they deemed worthy. And now the wizards have turned to
some darker purpose, some ambition that could only lead to more power.
It was only of late that Shagon noticed the elders on the
Council interacting with some otherworldly power. Their conversations were
often short and cryptic, but what little he was able to gather left him with a
profound dread of what might be to come. The power of the Council was
considerable now, both arcane and political. For quite some time now the
Council had been advisors to the various Mytarian emperor’s through the years,
until now they were the sole advisors, and they guarded this position fiercely.
“I do not yet know what the Council is planning,” Shagon said,
after pausing a moment from his retelling of the past, “but I’m sure it is ill
for the land and people. The Council is thoroughly corrupt, the elders seek
only to empower and enrich themselves now.”
The Hunter failed to keep apprehension from his calm
exterior.
“You’ve no idea what they’re planning, or what this dark
power is they’re working with?”
“Not as yet,” the manticore replied, “but I do know that
they’ve already set their plans into motion. Even as we speak, the Council is
moving against the Order of Truth and Light.”
Surprise leapt onto the Hunter’s face at this revelation.
The Hunter knew well the monks of the Order, and their pacifistic ways. Though
well-trained in the martial arts, and possessing a mystical power of their own,
the Order had maintained its dedication to peace throughout its long existence.
The monks were formidable in their own right, but had never risen to the level
of threat to any people or nation. And the Hunter knew well that if not for the
monks of the Order, that terrible catastrophe known as the Desolation might
have ended very differently.
A sudden realization struck the Hunter with the force of a
severe blow. The escape of the Destroyer, the corruption of the wizards, and
the attack on the Order could not possibly be a coincidence. And if the
manticore’s information was indeed correct, and the Hunter had every reason to
believe it was, then his worst fears were now confirmed, and the world and
people he had come to love were now in great danger.
“You must discover what the Council’s purpose is,” the
Hunter replied at last, “and who they might be working with. And you must
discover it soon. If we do not act quickly, it may too late.”
“I must first save the Order,” Shagon replied, “or every
other effort will be for naught. I have one ally left within the Council, one
who still believes in the old purpose. He is endeavoring to find out what the
true purpose of the Council is, and who they are allying with. When we discover
this I shall find you. Until then, I must do what I can to save the Order.”
The Hunter nodded in agreement, knowing how important the
monks would be should his instincts prove correct. “How will you help them?”
“There is one among them who can touch the purest form of
their power, though he has just now regained the use of his abilities, and is
not yet aware of his full destiny. He is the greatest hope of saving the Order.
I have to reach him as quickly as possible to warn him of the dangers to
himself and his brothers and sisters. Even now they are being killed, and he
too may suffer that fate if I cannot reach him in time.”
Shagon unfolded his great wings in preparation to take to
the sky.
“Where will you be, old friend, if I should need to find you
again?”
“Pursuing the Destroyer. It is free once again, and if it
remains free your world will suffer the consequences. I have the means to
return it to our world, but I must first find and subdue it. I wish you well
and, good luck, I believe, is the old sentiment. We should meet again, and
soon.”
The Hunter paused, looked down, then back up at his winged
companion from days gone by.
“By the way, there may be a new sorcerer-king in south very
soon.”
The manticore raised an eyebrow at the profound revelation.
“Indeed.”
Shagon nodded and leapt, disappearing into the night air.
The Hunter watched him go, much farther than human eyes could have seen. At
last he turned to his strong and silent companion.
“So it is as we feared. They are returning.”
