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Vanguard, Final Chapter of Book 1 (2/2)

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He felt strangely comfortable here, in the darkness. It was as if being wrapped in the softest blanket, warm and pleasant by the fire in a cold winters night. He couldn't see anything, hear anything, taste anything, but he could feel the softness underneath him, cradling him like a child. The roar of battle and the taste of blood had disappeared as soon as he felt that great branch smash against his temple, hurling him away from that world... and into this one. Whatever this one was. He tried swallowing, and felt saliva pour down his throat-—so he still had his body, which was good. He tried wiggling his toes, and that too went alright. He tried breathing, and when he did, he could no longer feel the steel arrowhead that had dug in through his chest. And then finally, he tried opening his eyes.

He had expected many things, but this was not one of them. In his last moments, the word 'Fennerheim' had rung in his mind a few times, and he had thought of all the mead fountains, the endless banquets, the fighting for those feeling the fervor, and jarl Fenner himself. But that was not what he saw, when he opened his eyes. No mead, no food, no jarl... only stars. Endless, sprinkled upon a deep, dark sky of night, with the silver moon as a crown upon the heavens. He gazed up at them for quite some time, counting them, watching clouds drift by and be tinted silver in the glow of the moon. That was when another sensation overcame him: cold. A cold breeze swept in over him, sending shivers throughout his entire body. He was gazing straight upwards at the sky, feeling absorbed by it all, and in the corner of his eyes, he could see mountain peaks. Only then did he realize that he was lying down.

He slowly sat up, and felt wet earth underneath his fingers. Cold, but far from dead. He looked around wherever he was, and concluded that he was not in The Fairlands any longer. The Fairlands had hills, yes, but not mountains like these—-these reached so high into the sky that it was impossible to tell when they ended and the heavens began. They surrounded him like great big walls, but with pine forests covering their sides. Each one of them were topped with a little cap of snow, just as he remembered them. These were no unfamiliar mountains, after all. In fact, he remembered this place all too well.

Next, was the smell of flowers that he felt. Sweet and tickling, he quickly realized that it was not a bed of wool or silk that he had been lying in, but a bed of flowers. A meadow, in fact, wide and untouched by the makings of man or Mjaln, pristine in its silver-touched beauty. It thrived in a little valley at the feet of the mountains, where the cold was nowhere as strong, and flowers could grow with ease. He remembered this place like had he been here just yesterday. He remembered the river that flowed down from the mountains and cut through the meadow, splitting it in half, and he remembered how the valley would continue in between the mountains, with a little village at its end. But most of all, he remembered the time he had spent with his daughter here. Playing, picking flowers, chasing foxes. He could still hear her laughter.

“Papa...” a sweet voice asked from behind, gentle like birdsong “...Are you alright?”

Ramund was afraid to look around at first, scared that it might just be a play of his mind. He stopped breathing, and he felt his blood surge to his head, filling it with images of his daughter's face. But as he slowly looked over his shoulder, he did not have to imagine it any longer. There she stood, fair-haired and beautiful, draped in the dress that had been immortalized in the little porcelain figure of his music box. But the little porcelain version of his daughter was nothing in comparison to this. Her hair, loose and long, silver and smooth, swayed gently in the mountained-chilled breezes that moaned across the meadows. Her blue dresses did as well, and her face seemed to glimmer in the moonlight-—especially her eyes. Ramund had never for a moment forgotten those eyes, ever since the last time he saw her. Deep blue like the ocean depths, and soft like silk, they carried a harmony that made him forget all the evils in the world. He felt young again. He felt thrown back to days of tranquil family life, the simple days of hunting for the evening meal and telling bedtime stories for his daughter. If this was the afterlife, he really did not mind missing out on Fennerheim. This is all he wanted.

“I'm... I'm quite alright.” Ramund stammered, and slowly turned to face his daughter. Down on a knee, he gazed into her eyes, feeling her smile radiate a warmth into him that he had not felt for so many years. His lips jittered, his fingers trembling on his knee as he saw how happy she looked. His throat seemed to clog, his blood aflame, and tears beginning to trickle down his wrinkly cheeks. He quickly wiped them away.

“Are you sure?” she asked, slowly tilting her head, seeming a little concerned “Please don't cry, papa.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, trying to hold back the tears. He chewed at his lip, and couldn't hold himself back any longer-—he reached out and embraced the little girl, his daughter, holding her close while weeping on her shoulder. There was no need for words; even she knew that. He felt her little arms wrap around his torso, and her silver hair on his cheek. It was so soft.

“My sweet Freyja... it has been so long.” he said with a shaking, shivering voice, but a smiling one too “I feared I was never going to see you again.”

Ramund felt her little arms squeeze a little tighter around him “Don't be afraid, papa.” she said, resting her head on her father's great shoulder “Everything is going to be alright.”

Ramund swallowed, trying to release that thick clog that had set itself in his throat. It was only after several minutes that he let go of his daughter, Freyja, and looked her into those ocean blue eyes again. She was so beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered.

“Freyja, sweetheart...” he said, wiping the last tear off his cheek “...am I dead?”

Freyja, much to Ramund's surprise, suddenly let out an amused giggle. Her nimble fingertips held to her mouth, she continued to giggle for a little while, before giving a quick shake of her head “No no no, papa, you're not! Don't be silly. Come. I want to show you something.” she said, quickly turning about on her little heel, lightly skipping through the meadow.

“Wait!” Ramund called out as he rose to his feet, even though he still felt weak after what happened to him “Freyja, wait. If I am not dead... then where am I?” he asked, that question having hung in his mind ever since he opened his eyes and saw the stars.

Freyja came to a stop a stonethrow from him, and smiled over her shoulder, her sweet voice raised to call back “In your head, of course!”, before setting into a hopping jog again, her hands spread out to try and touch all the flowers at once, her blue dress flapping.

Ramund blinked, a little confused at first. But as he thought about it, it all made sense. If he wasn't dead, this could not be the afterlife. And if he wasn't conscious... this had to all be in his head. He looked around the place, at all the flowers and stars and verdant mountains, wondering how this could all have felt so real. Did this mean that the Tu'Myaa commander had not killed him, but only knocked him unconscious? Did this mean he would wake up, or would he bleed out and transcend from the dream world to the actual afterlife? As he hurried after his daughter, trying to keep up, it all began to make more and more sense in his head. The god of slumber was the god of death as well, after all. Perhaps the legends were true, the ones that said that dreams were a look into the afterlife. And if that was true, maybe he wouldn't even notice when this dream became his eternal rest. Deep inside, he hoped that maybe he would get to see the halls of Fenner anyway... but he knew that he had unfinished business in the living world, and he was not ready to fail his captain. He had not done so before. He was not about to start now.

Even though his body felt limp and feeble, he still managed to catch up with his daughter, keeping a steady pace at her side. She looked towards him and smiled, her hair bouncing and waving with each little skip she took through the meadows. He couldn't help but smile back. Still, there was one question that bugged him horribly.

“I have to ask...” he said, having gathered some of his senses again “...if this is just a dream, does that mean you are just a figment of my imagination?”

The little girl looked up at him again, still smiling “Mm hm.” she uttered, giving a single nod “I am what you need to see right now. You're dying, after all. If you die, your daughter is what you would like to die beside, right?”

Ramund's smile faded a little, as the illusion was shattered. But of course it was so. This little girl that he jogged beside, the one that skipped beside him and led him deeper into the meadow... who was she? Was she really just something meant to soothe him, as he drew his last breath? Maybe it was the work of spirits. Maybe she was a gift. He decided not to think about it so much, and just enjoy her company for a little while longer. If he was really to pass on, this is how he would like to do it.

And then, rather suddenly, something curious happened. The flowers that he had felt batting against his shins in his struggled stride came to an end, as Freyja led him into what seemed like a little clearing of sorts. It was a little circular space, no more than a few meters wide, but with no flowers or ferns at all. Just bare earth... nearly. The earth felt soggy and muddy underneath his sabatons, and in the middle of the little clearing, was a flower.

“There, papa!” Freyja exclaimed with a smile as she skipped over to the flower, and crouched down beside it. It was a beautiful little thing; shaped like a rose, but with petals of many different colors, and without any thorns at all. He slowed down, and looked between the flower and Freyja, wondering. He approached slowly, and crouched down beside it as well, smiling.

“It's beautiful.” he said, not daring to touch. He looked back at Freyja “I don't remember this flower.”

“Oh that's just because it isn't real.” Freyja said almost nonchalantly, as she reached out to pick it. It slipped effortlessly from the muddy ground, almost as if it was meant to be picked and had set no roots. Its colors flared at her touch, roiling and shifting like oily colors mixing together. She held it for a little while, before looking up at her father, handing it to him.

“Here, papa.” she said, smiling “Smell it. I found it just for you.”

Ramund looked down at the rose, trying to remember if he had found something like this in his past, but nothing came up. Maybe it was as she had said: not real. He took the flower and smiled back as he whiffed a little at it. His eyebrows rose at the sweet smell, softer and kinder than any rose he had smelled before. It tickled in his nostrils, making him want to sneeze, and went straight up to his head. He felt dizzy—very dizzy. He blinked a few times and saw how the rose turned to sparkling dust in his hands, seeping through his fingers. He couldn't hold his balance any longer, and fell unto his rump, sloshing in the mud. The world was a blur of dazzling colours all of a sudden, the mountains around him turned yellow, the sky turned pink. He could only vaguely make out the shape of his daughter approaching him, still smiling.

“You need to wake up, papa. They need you.” she said with a voice slightly distorted by the flower's almost intoxicating effects “I'm sorry I tricked you... I was afraid you wouldn't want to leave. Forgive me. I'll see you soon.”

Ramund was in a haze of confusion, his tongue feeling so thick in his mouth that he couldn't muster out a single word. But when Freyja leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead, it was the punch that knocked out the bull. His strength collapsed, his balance confused and drunk, and he hardly even realized he was falling before the back of his head had already sloshed into the mud. He stared upwards at the pink night sky, as darkness overcame him-—again.

“Injecting serum in 3... 2... 1....”

Ramund felt a burning adrenaline surge through his body, his limbs aflame, his eyes flinging open. With a roaring shout, he rushed to sit up, but was immediately felled as he felt an immense pain in his chest where the arrow had pierced him. He slumped down again, and as he felt that it was not mud underneath him any longer, but the soft cushions of a bed, he realized that he had woken up. He stared upwards, heaving and gasping, and saw not the night sky any longer. No more stars, no more silver-tinted, drifting clouds under the serene moon. Only a moldy ceiling of bolted planks. The smell of flowers had given way to that of sweat, burning candles, and ale. The cold breezes had given way to the warm, sticky air of a tavern. And the sound of his daughter's voice had given way to the hasty chatter of a distressed crowd.

He gripped at his chest, and felt that he had been stripped of his armor, his upper body now bare and wrapped in bandage. He blinked, his mind in a disoriented discord, his eyes blurry with fatigue. He struggled to breathe, and it felt as if the bandage around his chest was keeping his lungs from expanding. With weary eyes, he looked around where he was, and found himself in the main hall of an inn, of sorts. It was hard to tell. There were so many people running in and out of the door in the very back of the hall, some carrying tools, others carrying people. There were painful cries here and there that broke through the monotonous blare of the crowd, and he saw that he was not the only one here who was hurt. But there were some here who were not fortunate enough to wake up again.

“Ramund? Hey! Hey! Look at me, big guy!” a voice called to him, and he saw fingers clicking in front of him. He twitched a little, his eyes slowly following the fingers, running up the arm and eventually resting upon a face that struck him as surprisingly familiar. The smooth, white skin; the sharp, intelligent eyes; the elven ears... he was almost certain his mind was playing tricks on him, but he had to ask.

“...Lex...?”

“Hahaa!” the man before him broke out in success, arms raised high-—this was when Ramund saw the white lab coat, stained with blood and other questionable substances of orange and green “I am a genius! Welcome back to the waking world, Ramund. How well can you understand me?” Lex asked, moving a little closer to peel open Ramund's left eye with his fingers, careless for if he felt it or not.

Ramund didn't resist, too weary to care at this point “I... I can. I understand you well.” he slowly sat up, peeling Lex's fingers out of his eyes, grunting at the pain in his chest.
“Whoa there, don't rush it.” Lex hurried to his side, a hand on his shoulder to have him lie down again, but Ramund brushed it away.

“Lex, I... Duncan. Where is Duncan?” he grumbled, having an even harder time speaking than breathing “Is he well?”

Lex ran a hand through his frizzy, spiky hair, looking about the place. He was wearing his bird mask, but it was pulled up unto his head to reveal his smooth, elven face. His lips squeezed together, eyes too, as he stared out over the crowd that filled up this surprisingly large inn—-it was almost as large as the mead halls Ramund remembered from his homeland.

“I can't see him right now.” Lex replied, looking back at Ramund and offering a little shrug “But I know he's well. The same goes for Rose, Duncan's mother, and... some other guy. He claims he knows you, but I don't recognize him.”

“That would be lieutenant Wolfe.” Ramund muttered tiredly. He looked down at his chest, and saw the bandage that wrapped him up like a gift—-a bloodstained one. Most of the bandage was deeply red, focused around two spots: one on his chest, and one on his stomach. It hurt badly, but the pain was a bargain, considering that he could have been dead. With his mouth ever so slightly agape, tired and panting, he looked back at Lex, and asked: “Lex... how am I alive?”

Lex seemed amused. It was strange to see him amused right now, Ramund usually far more acquainted with his serious, professional demeanor-—especially when people seemed to be dying around him. Still, his lips curled upwards in a little smile, and created a single wrinkle on his otherwise plain cheek.

“I could actually ask you the same, old friend.” Lex said, as he slumped down into the bed beside Ramund. His sharp eyes fixated upon Ramund's bloodied bandage, a tongue running across his lips, as if trying to smoothen the way for difficult words to come out “I actually don't know how you survived.” he said with a chuckle, looking into Ramund's eyes “I'll be blatantly honest there. I haven't the faintest clue of how you're not dead. That arrow went deadly close to your heart, and would easily have killed stronger men than you. Not to mention that you got one in the gut as well... yet here you are, alive and well. I'm not saying it is beyond science, but... it's damn well close.” he smiled, seeming almost ridiculing in face of his own words.

Ramund opened his mouth. He was about to say something, but he wasn't sure it would make any sense. Could it have something to do with what he dreamed about? This was something he could not explain. Instead, he looked to Lex once more, and spoke with a submissive voice “Lex, I have so many questions.” he decided to be outright “I thought you dead for certain.”

Lex looked over all the dying people around him, and at this point, didn't seem to mind his duties all that much-—there were other people tending to the wounded, for the time being. He did a little shrug “When that lurker got me, so did I, Ramund. I thought I was done for, but it seems Keyen had it in for me that day. I'm usually not a religious guy, but this time, I had to turn my head heavenwards and say thanks.” he smiled a little, amused “I think we both know how lurkers usually kill their prey by impaling them from behind, but I think this lurker wanted me for dinner, and wanted it as fresh as possible. So it dragged me away, probably thinking I was just some scrawny, defenseless piece of meat. Scrawny? Perhaps so. But defenseless?” he snorted, nose wrinkling “Not so much. I managed to concentrate long enough to make all the vines around me whip around the creature's neck and strangle it on the spot. Wizardry is funny like that-—while we might not have the same array of energies to pick from, like you shamans do, wizards like me do posses much greater control of our environments. It was a piece of cake to kill the lurker then and there.” his smile dwindled a little “What was not so much a piece of cake, was finding my way out. You obviously got quite the head start, since by the time I arrived in Westport, the town was practically turning itself inside out and preparing for a mass migration to Rimnoll. Hell, the mayor and I have made quite the pals, after I told him that I know you personally. He's here right now, as a matter of fact.”

Ramund's eyes widened, amazed “The Westport mayor? Truly?”

Lex gave a little nod “Very much so. He told me about how you came to him and rather forcefully convinced him that staying put would mean certain death. Something about hurling a dead demon unto his desk, if I recall correctly. Not really how I would have done it, but... hey. I can't argue with the results.” he said with a smile, a hand fanning out before him to present the hall full of people.

Ramund stared at the great crowd filling the drinking hall, tending to the wounded, reuniting children with their mothers-—if they were still alive. Looking at all these people, he saw only benevolence and care. Could these truly be the Westport people? Had he misjudged them, for the filth they lay in? He felt a guilt overcome him, but that guilt was washed away by a sense of joy revitalizing him. He thought all hope had been crushed when the Tu'Myaa began to plow down the Casserton people... and yet, there was still a fickle flame of it inside of him, warming him.
“Is he here? The mayor?” Ramund asked, turning to Lex.

“Of course.” Lex responded, raising a hand to point over the crowd “Somewhere over there. I'm certain you will easily recognize him.”

Ramund quickly scooted off the bed, ignoring the pain in his chest. With heavy breath, he left Lex to attend to his duties again, while slowly pushing through the crowd around him. He gripped his chest, feeling the stained blood on the bandage, feeling the sweat that coated him and gleamed in the light of lanterns. He shot a glance out the window, and saw that the sun was going down. Over green hills, the sun cast orange and red over the skies, and darkness was at bay. The last time he had his eyes open, it was only noon.

Before long, as he pushed through the crowd, he came to a stop at a little round table in the very back of the room. It was like breaking through the thick of a jungle and stumbling into a clearing, this one nought but a few meters wide. And in the middle of it, sitting by the table with a cup of tea in his hand, was the mayor indeed. With wrinkles littering his face and liver spots all over his frail hands, he was easy to recognize indeed. His thick eyebrows seemed to have fallen lower and lower with each number added to his age, and his hair could boast nothing more but a few pale and thin strands on his head. But what truly caught Ramund's attention, was who sat on the other side of the table, sharing a cup of tea with him. It was the Tu'Myaa chieftain, still puffing at his pipe.

“Ah, you live!” the chieftain said through the side of his muzzle, as he looked up to see Ramund in his rather haggard, bloodied figure-—it was still horribly unnerving to feel the gaze of a man who had a blindfold over his eyes “The spirits mean you well, I see.” his grey, fluffy tail slumped over the side of the chair, and was speckled with blood; he must have been up close and personal with the battle himself.

Ramund was stifled for a few seconds, and it seemed the Westport mayor was as well, as the two met gazes. The mayor swallowed, his wrinkly pale lips silent for tediously, uncomfortably long, before he gave a little nod in greeting “...Good evening.” was all he had to say. Ramund took the liberty to sit down with the two leaders, feeling quite entitled to an explanation. He looked between the two, his eyes bouncing from one pair of eyes to another, not quite certain what to say. But soon enough, he spat out.

“The spirits seem to be in a mirthful mood.” he said, trying a smile “To bring me back from the brink of death... but I am assuming they were not alone in doing so. Were they?”

“That they were not.” the Westport mayor said, as he put down his cup of tea and ran a sleeve across his lips “But I suppose it could be said that it was they who lead us to you. That, or this is one heck of a... yes, 'mirthful' coincidence.” he looked up into Ramund's eyes; he was significantly shorter, and had to bend his neck slightly backwards to get a good look at the big man before him “My people and I were on our way north to Rimnoll, when we saw the fires. Big, billowing capes of smoke caught our attention, and we decided to intervene. We came to see the massacre that had unfolded on the hillside... so many dead. So much blood.” he shook his head, looking back into the ripples of his tea “The death count was innumerable. I've never seen The Fairlands like this; and I who thought Westport was a horror to look upon. Man and Myaani alike have suffered great losses, but we as the third party, decided to help them both. I had met your friend, Lex, some time ago, and he was fortunate enough to be with us when we stumbled across the aftermath of the battle. If it wasn't for him, the death count would have been even greater... your death included.”

“And now we, the Tu'Myaa, are banished to nomad's life.” the chieftain spoke with a dire tone, his blind eyes staring forward from behind the fold, the cup of tea resting in his lap “There have been no winners today. This was all a horrible accident that should never have taken place. I have been so blind not to see what a bloodlusting fool my commander is. His order to rain death upon the Casserton people was an ungodly one, a disgraceful sin for which hundreds have had to let their lives. And for his crimes, he has been stripped of his rank, his honor, and his acceptance in the Tu'Myaa pack. While he may have suffered a great punishment, it can never compare to what horrors he has wrought. Our home, now nought but ashes. The hills run red with blood, and the ravens gorge themselves upon hundreds of bodies that should never have paid this price.” he let out a long breath “But in the ashes of our own home, we shall rise like a phoenix, and set aside our differences. With the help of our good friend here, we shall see to it that peace does reign over man and Myaani, and that we all shall find safe harborage behind the walls of Moonby Sanctuary. It is the least we can do, to undo the sins that have befallen us this day.”

Ramund gave a slow nod, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees “The Casserton people may not be so accepting about this new-found alliance, though. They came to your gates because they found the slain body of a woman, and blamed it upon you, the Tu'Myaa. But I know the truth of it.” he swallowed, trying to quench his hesitation “It was my captain, see. He has always been a great man and a strong leader, but as dark spirits would have it, I fear that the war has finally begun to take its toll upon him, despite that we are no longer deployed. But it seems that war is not so easily left behind. My captain mistakenly took a woman for a demon, and slew her on the spot.” his head lowered slightly “I know nothing more.”

“Dark spirits indeed...” the chieftain breathed out, darkness in his voice “Your captain is ill, my friend. Ill with the touch of darker things; ill with the confusion of friend and foe. If he were a soldier of mine, he would not be allowed near a weapon, for the safety of all-—himself alike. Tell me, friend... how attached are you to your captain?”

Ramund knew what the chieftain was about to suggest, but it was not an option-—not while he still drew breath. He gave a nod again “Very much so, chieftain. My captain has fought by my side for years, and I consider him as much a brother, as I would one by blood.”

“Then he is of your responsibility.” the chieftain declared, doing a little twirl of his tail.

“Now now, let us not be hasty.” the mayor said, putting his tea cup down and raising his chin “I realize that this man may be a danger, even to himself, but as you said yourself, chieftain: he is ill. And illnesses can be treated. In the right hands, I'm sure he'll realize that he is safe, and has no demons to fear.”

Ramund hoped that the mayor was right. It seemed almost impossible to fathom that Duncan had killed a fellow human-—an innocent woman, at that-—but there was no denying it. Duncan had fallen much deeper than he had imagined, and he feared that there could be little chance of pulling him from the dark, cold hole that he was in.

“Is there any chance I can see to him?” Ramund asked, his eyes moving between the two leaders.

“You can, but he shall not answer you.” The chieftain responded, as he took a sip of his tea “In truth, only one of your companions shall: the man that calls himself 'Wolfe'. My warg riders were bound by the orders of my former commander, and saw only bloodshed before them; they wounded your friends badly, but slew none. Even the woman of age will live, with the aid of Westport's barber surgeons and my healers.”

Ramund was glad to hear this; Duncan was ruined enough as it was, and if his mother didn't survive, surely it would drive him into insanity. He let out a long breath, and smiled slightly.

“This is good. We may just yet recover from this travesty. These have been some dark hours, but in the fires of war, perhaps a true alliance can be forged... a rebellion, as you mentioned.” he said, turning his gaze to the chieftain. He looked out a nearby window briefly, and saw how the sun was already half-way down the horizon, over green hills and greener groves. A question came to mind.
“I've been meaning to ask...” he began, looking between the two before him “...where are we?”

The mayor chuckled a little “I almost forgot that you've been out for so long. Hours on end, in fact. While you were not an easy man to carry, my people and I have actually brought you several leagues north of the battlefield... we are but an hour or two's walk from Rimnoll, by now. Some say they can already smell the rain.”

Ramund noticed how the chieftain's foxy nose whiffed at the air as if to test that theory, but didn't seem to come to any conclusion. Ramund looked back at the mayor, and smiled “You've been quite effective, mayor. I am impressed. I must admit: I had feared that you would not heed my warnings, and simply stay put to meet your end at the coming storm.”

“Yeah, well...” the mayor leaned back in his chair, peering into the murky color of his tea “...when you burst in my door, you did give me a pretty convincing argument. When I was cleaning up all that demon blood, the smell made me realize that maybe you weren't just another pet of Lucius Deum. I thought it over, and... well. Here we are.” he looked over all the people in the great hall, watching them sit beside the wounded, lay piece of cloth over the faces of the dead, or try to give back children hope, despite that they had just seen the bodies of their parents be taken away.

“My people aren't really so sure about it all, though. Most of them are frightened and confused, but telling them about what is really happening would only frighten them even further. Some think that I've finally succumb to the pressure of Deum's crusade, while others are just happy to be away from the stink of Westport. I must confess... I hadn't thought that the Fairlandish highlands could be this beautiful. I was born and raised in Westport, and the beauty of it all was mostly just something I read about in books, and heard about in taverns.” he sipped at his tea, and gave a sigh. He shook his head “But I digress. My people are well aware that going back to Westport is not an option-—the guards have been telling them so over and over again. Even so... they could do with a little motivation.”

“What I think your people truly need, is someone to comfort them.” Ramund mused, peering over the great crowd of humans and Myaani “Someone to reassure them, that what they are doing is the right thing.”

The chieftain perked his large, greying ears towards Ramund, and cocked his head “Perhaps you are suggesting something, friend?” he asked, but Ramund knew he didn't need to answer. He only smiled.

“Perhaps I am.” he rose from his chair and gave a little nod to each of the two before him “Gentlemen. If you do not mind...”

First then, the mayor realized. His wrinkly eyebrows rose “Oh! Oh, no, not at all—go ahead. I could never, but... yeah. Maybe you could.”

Ramund did not hesitate. With a chin raised and a smile growing on him, the already tall and strong man made himself even taller as he stood upon one of the bench-chairs, in the back of the room. He gazed out over the masses before him, at all the broken souls, all the weeping faces and children bereaved over their mothers and fathers. He saw slain spirits and feeble hearts; dwindled courage and thriving fear. It was with a voice of authority, that he called out to the crowd.

“All of you, stop what you are doing!” he said, and with lungs like his, his booming voice was easily heard by every and all. He saw as all the men and women and Myaani turned their gazes to him, wondering. A silence fell over the crowd, washing over it like a stifling wave. And in that silence, he spoke again.

“I do not think you heard me. I said 'stop what you are doing!'.” he repeated, and now he saw confusion make its way over their faces-—exactly as he had predicted. They had all stopped in their tracks the first time he said it. His face grew stern “And yet you continue doing it. I see that you are doing it right now... trembling. Fearing. Dreading. I see it clear upon your faces, your every action speaks words louder than words, and they scream 'we are afraid!'.” his eyes rolled over each of their faces, looking them in the eyes, looking through them.

“Do you know what you are afraid of? Do you know why your eyes cry out in dread, why your arms feel heavy, why your skin goes sweaty, and why every beat of your heart feels like a nail is being pushed into your chest? Because that is what evil wants. That is what darker spirits smile upon--every time you think to yourself that fear is the only way, darkness laughs at you. It laughs at you, and its grip around you only grows stronger.” he raised his chin slightly “In my homeland, we have a very clear understanding of what fear is. In this world, there are two opposing forces that determine the outcome of nearly everything: courage, and fear. Courage is the light that guides our way to brighter days, and the light that illuminates the path forward. But fear... fear is the darkness that will shroud the truth, and leave you confused, disoriented, and doubtful. It will hamper all attempts to move forward, and in worst cases, you will begin moving backwards.” the room had gone fully silent now, as his powerful voice rose to ring off the walls.

“Take a moment to look at yourself right now. You are on your knees, grieving for those slain today, convinced that the world is nothing but blood and darkness. And I will not lie to you: blood and darkness makes up a great part of it. But is that a reason to sit down on your backsides, wrap your arms around your knees, and begin feeling sorry for yourselves? No!” he said, and stomped his sabaton unto the table so hard he heard a crack in it. He rose a pointing hand, and let it soar over the crowd “You are all better than that. I have witnessed it myself. You are not cowards. You are heroes, each and every one of you! If you were cowards, you would not have come to the aid of those fallen at the battlefield. If you were cowards, you would not be here, caring for lost children and mending the wounded. If you were cowards... I would not have been alive to speak with you this moment.” he glanced to his left, and saw Wolfe amongst the crowd, smiling.

“Cowards are slaves of fear. They are slaves of the darker forces, bound by the manacles of reluctance. But you carry no manacles. You are not slaves! There is not a single man or Myaani in this room that cannot call themselves a hero, for I have seen the courage in your eyes! I have felt the warmth chase away the cold, and I have seen the light ward the darkness! The darkness will continue to lurk, and the fear will continue to bite at your hearts, but who are you, the heroes of today, to succumb to it?” he showed his teeth in a glorious smile, as he saw the spirits return to eyes here and there, like candles being lit one by one.

“Let me tell you something about courage. My dearest daughter, Freyja, once came to me one dark night. She had experienced a nightmare, and she had told me that she was afraid. So she asked me: 'Father. How can I find the candle of courage, if it is too dark to see?', and I told her: 'That candle has never left you, my dear. It is only a matter of lighting it.', and I shall say the same to you. You all carry the candles of courage, and while a candle may only give a fickle glow, a thousand candles will become the sun that gives sight to the blind, warmth to the cold, and hope to the hopeless! For let me tell you, and let it never be doubted upon, that the night is only as dark as you let it. Light those candles, and let me see your fire! Prove to me, to us, and to yourselves, that no matter how much blood has been spilled, we will never succumb to fear! And by five gods almighty, I swear to you now, this is one flame that shall never die!” he shouted, and in the wake of his voice, hundreds came to follow it with mighty cries of vigor, fists raised and eyes ablaze with hope, courage, and strength. He let out his arms like wings, raised high in glory.

“Onward to a brighter age, my friends! Beyond this border, a new land lies, and new hope to be found at the end of the road! Though the days are dark, though you have been forced from your homes, we will find light and safe harbor in a new world! And by all spirits, we will bring about the dawn!” his voice was aflame with vigor, one he had not had the chance to show in so long. The hall was ringing with a hundred roaring voices, each and every person inside singing their praises to honor this new dawn. Ramund smiled widely and bowed deeply, as the people, this newly forged rebellion, hooted and cried out in excitement. Ramund stepped down from from the table, and found Wolfe standing before him, arms folded, lips smiling. With a voice that he could only barely hear over the vigorous shouting of the people, he said “Nice speech, Mjaln... I'm beginning to think that the historians need to get their pencils out, and begin writing a new chapter.”

Ramund smiled, and put a hand on Wolfe's shoulder “Do not worry, my friend...” he said, his heart alight with the hope he had spoken so proudly about “...We will not need historians, for the world to remember this day.”
Ahh, here it is: the final chapter of book 1. It is officially called 'Unto A New Dawn', but it was too long to fit in the deviation title. Anyway, it has been one hell (pun unintended) of a journey, and one I am glad that you, dear readers, have followed me upon. We have explored the disillusion of soldiers, the darkness of war, the rigors of insanity, and what great power can do to a man. And we are only half-way! I have great plans for book 2, and ones I hope you will explore together with me. See you then!
© 2014 - 2024 SteenBelhage
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It is good to see that Ramund is still very much alive. And boy, did he deliver a great wartime speech.
It is also good to see that the efforts of our little troop did not go to waste.
I did not expect the mayor of westport to heed the warnings of our friends.
But he might be a good man after all. Only time will tell.

I think this new allience may get very far. Maybe they are the last drop that throws the entirety of the mortal realm into rebellion. Lets hope this is for the good, and not an opportunity for the deamons to take over everything. Well lets face it. Fighting on 1 front is hard enough. Fighting on 2 fronts is even harder. But if more nations join the fray, I think that things may turn to interessting events.

I must say this is an interessting end to a great journey, and at the same time the start of a new one.
I am looking forward to the continuation of this story.

Good luck in writing the next part, and I'll see you on the flip side!


(maybe I'll edit this response later. Its very late here and I might have missed something)