27th Spring, 403 A.V.
Cobalt Mountains, a few hour’s walk from Syliras
A wild, tameless wind blew high through the dips and valleys of the hills that covered the southern region of Sylira. Its song going unheard or unappreciated by the solitary figure pacing down the game path that hugged the edge of the humblest of the Cobalt Mountains. It was midday and he wore both armor and sword, which caused a sheen of sweat upon his shaved pate. But the day was generous in it’s beauty, the flourishing flora growing wildly along the woodland edge a true testament to Caiyha.
Something about the Most Divine Witch had always enticed Theophates. Especially the beauty of her domain when coupled with the eerily majestic gaze of his own patron, Leth. A smile graced pale lips that would go unnoticed. The hill country around him was right now immersed in a fiery day gifted to the world by Leth’s fiery love, Syna. Theophates grunted softly with the effort of pulling himself up yet another deceivingly gentle hill. The heavy blade at his back tugged ceaselessly at his shoulder with it’s sheath. But he was used to such a nagging distraction, he had lived with the great weapon across his back for more than one hundred years now.
Nostalgia.
It was the ever constant mourning that lived within him. Though he had seen friends come and go, and a great many wondrous things, he did not dwell on such things. It was more an ever-present sorrow at the past as a whole. He was prone to such bouts of emotion, having a longer than usual past. Mentally he compared it to walking towards a great grey storm, the brightest always behind and a promise of upheaval ahead. But he knew this, at least in part, was just his emotions getting the better of him. The day was bright, and the city below thrived on where once there was only a beach. Only a beach and a lost man.
He was such a fickle thing. Going on these long day walks to clear his mind with a self-inflicted therapy, he was attempting to shake himself from such reveries. But he had found mankind and all of it’s cousins, no less promising and in the past. This murky mood was only his own self absorption coming into play.
Theophates had just mounted the crest of the hill when he came to this realization once again. He quickly focused his mind on the many positives of his life. But this also is folly. He had lived too long to approach life in such a self-center way. Those positives could be dashed away from him like so many leaves on the current. To achieve… whatever it was he had been searching to achieve he needed to take solace in the residual effects of his actions. The good he produced for the world would be the path he walked. But his wake had left little of significance in the past three centuries of his life, quite a while longer than many of his peers.
“Why am I plagued so by mediocrity? Surely my soul has more potential…” His odd habit of talking to himself broke through his discipline in his preoccupation. When you have spent centuries coping with other’s mortalities, sometimes you could only hope to confide in yourself. But he surely wasn’t expecting an answer…
“Troubled thoughts for a man in trouble.” The words slid through the air like a noxious poison against the bright backdrop of the day.
Theophates froze his ground eating pace and turned. Three men stood clad in wool and animal skins. They all wore unkempt beards and two carried clubs. One had a buckler and gladius viciously bright with a well honed edge. They looked supremely confident as their grimy faces presented leers in the wake of their leader’s jibe. Theophates did not satisfy him with a response.
The dull bite of the scabbard belt vanished as the Ethaefal lifted the sheath over his head and set the tip to the ground. He sighed and let the blade slide from it’s aged home. Kasai shone menacingly in Syna’s light. He made a point of slowly setting the weapon against his shoulder. The intimidating blade had served to dissuade attackers before, but never when they outnumbered him so greatly. He was not confident it would sere here, though he did not show his doubt openly.
“We’ve still got you outnumbered.” The gladius-wielding man said, as if in retort to the unveiling of Kasai.
“A problem of the moment.”
Theophates worked hard to keep his voice even and low. There was still a faint chance of turning these brigands away with words. He was not overly confident in his ability to fend off three men.
The most brave, or most nervous, of the clubmen hopped forward haphazardly. His movements told Theophates that he was not a murderer by trade, but necessity most like. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Theophates held the sword aloft between himself and the bandit, point aimed forward so as to deceive the victim of true length and reach. The two stepped around each other, the Ethaefal careful to keep the man between himself and the other two.
The man swung wide with a spittle-spraying snarl. The club ripped through the air with a subtle roar in the wind. But the unyielding flat side of Kasai’s blade met him. Theophates had one fist gripping the hilt and the other forearm braced against the blade. He stepped in close and threw the pommel’s edge into the face of his opponent. The blow threw his head backwards with a whimper.
Theophates used both hands to lift the blade above him. He groaned with the effort of swinging downwards, onto the man’s exposed chest. Kasai bit deep in the torso of the bandit. There was no mercy in it, save that it may have been a quick death. Dark blood erupted from the wound, lurching out onto Theophates’ shoulder and towards the others opposite him.
As the man’s body fell limp to the ground, Theophates was forced to kneel down with him, Kasai’s blade stuck deep in the wound. He yanked and again pulled harder to free the weapon, ushering on a sickening wet noise from the corpse. He had been lucky neither of the others had attacked.
The cold realization that this luck was becoming more short-lived was growing within him.
Cobalt Mountains, a few hour’s walk from Syliras
A wild, tameless wind blew high through the dips and valleys of the hills that covered the southern region of Sylira. Its song going unheard or unappreciated by the solitary figure pacing down the game path that hugged the edge of the humblest of the Cobalt Mountains. It was midday and he wore both armor and sword, which caused a sheen of sweat upon his shaved pate. But the day was generous in it’s beauty, the flourishing flora growing wildly along the woodland edge a true testament to Caiyha.
Something about the Most Divine Witch had always enticed Theophates. Especially the beauty of her domain when coupled with the eerily majestic gaze of his own patron, Leth. A smile graced pale lips that would go unnoticed. The hill country around him was right now immersed in a fiery day gifted to the world by Leth’s fiery love, Syna. Theophates grunted softly with the effort of pulling himself up yet another deceivingly gentle hill. The heavy blade at his back tugged ceaselessly at his shoulder with it’s sheath. But he was used to such a nagging distraction, he had lived with the great weapon across his back for more than one hundred years now.
Nostalgia.
It was the ever constant mourning that lived within him. Though he had seen friends come and go, and a great many wondrous things, he did not dwell on such things. It was more an ever-present sorrow at the past as a whole. He was prone to such bouts of emotion, having a longer than usual past. Mentally he compared it to walking towards a great grey storm, the brightest always behind and a promise of upheaval ahead. But he knew this, at least in part, was just his emotions getting the better of him. The day was bright, and the city below thrived on where once there was only a beach. Only a beach and a lost man.
He was such a fickle thing. Going on these long day walks to clear his mind with a self-inflicted therapy, he was attempting to shake himself from such reveries. But he had found mankind and all of it’s cousins, no less promising and in the past. This murky mood was only his own self absorption coming into play.
Theophates had just mounted the crest of the hill when he came to this realization once again. He quickly focused his mind on the many positives of his life. But this also is folly. He had lived too long to approach life in such a self-center way. Those positives could be dashed away from him like so many leaves on the current. To achieve… whatever it was he had been searching to achieve he needed to take solace in the residual effects of his actions. The good he produced for the world would be the path he walked. But his wake had left little of significance in the past three centuries of his life, quite a while longer than many of his peers.
“Why am I plagued so by mediocrity? Surely my soul has more potential…” His odd habit of talking to himself broke through his discipline in his preoccupation. When you have spent centuries coping with other’s mortalities, sometimes you could only hope to confide in yourself. But he surely wasn’t expecting an answer…
“Troubled thoughts for a man in trouble.” The words slid through the air like a noxious poison against the bright backdrop of the day.
Theophates froze his ground eating pace and turned. Three men stood clad in wool and animal skins. They all wore unkempt beards and two carried clubs. One had a buckler and gladius viciously bright with a well honed edge. They looked supremely confident as their grimy faces presented leers in the wake of their leader’s jibe. Theophates did not satisfy him with a response.
The dull bite of the scabbard belt vanished as the Ethaefal lifted the sheath over his head and set the tip to the ground. He sighed and let the blade slide from it’s aged home. Kasai shone menacingly in Syna’s light. He made a point of slowly setting the weapon against his shoulder. The intimidating blade had served to dissuade attackers before, but never when they outnumbered him so greatly. He was not confident it would sere here, though he did not show his doubt openly.
“We’ve still got you outnumbered.” The gladius-wielding man said, as if in retort to the unveiling of Kasai.
“A problem of the moment.”
Theophates worked hard to keep his voice even and low. There was still a faint chance of turning these brigands away with words. He was not overly confident in his ability to fend off three men.
The most brave, or most nervous, of the clubmen hopped forward haphazardly. His movements told Theophates that he was not a murderer by trade, but necessity most like. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Theophates held the sword aloft between himself and the bandit, point aimed forward so as to deceive the victim of true length and reach. The two stepped around each other, the Ethaefal careful to keep the man between himself and the other two.
The man swung wide with a spittle-spraying snarl. The club ripped through the air with a subtle roar in the wind. But the unyielding flat side of Kasai’s blade met him. Theophates had one fist gripping the hilt and the other forearm braced against the blade. He stepped in close and threw the pommel’s edge into the face of his opponent. The blow threw his head backwards with a whimper.
Theophates used both hands to lift the blade above him. He groaned with the effort of swinging downwards, onto the man’s exposed chest. Kasai bit deep in the torso of the bandit. There was no mercy in it, save that it may have been a quick death. Dark blood erupted from the wound, lurching out onto Theophates’ shoulder and towards the others opposite him.
As the man’s body fell limp to the ground, Theophates was forced to kneel down with him, Kasai’s blade stuck deep in the wound. He yanked and again pulled harder to free the weapon, ushering on a sickening wet noise from the corpse. He had been lucky neither of the others had attacked.
The cold realization that this luck was becoming more short-lived was growing within him.
