renewal

[Talon]

45 Frost 122

Silver-white fire blossomed where Talon stepped. Where he walked, the mistborn corruption that was warping the world around him was burned away. He concentrated on the purifying nature of the fire that he wielded. He watched as corrupted people and animals were incinerated in the wake of his purifying flames, their inhuman shrieks and beastly howls telling him everything he needed to know. There had been a few that he had managed to spare from further corruption, purifying their bodies. There was a point however, when not even the cleansing nature of his dawnfire could undo what those afflicted by the mist corruption became. Talon brought up a hand. In his palm a sphere of dawnfire began to grow until it resembled a small sun that blazed with the light of the morning. He released the fire allowing it to spread outward from his body to form a dome that rushed outward, burning away the mist corruption as it went.

The dawnfire slowly began to dissipate. As it did, creatures sprung up from the shadows that were cast by the light of his aura. Dozens of them crawled out from the shadows and began hastening toward him with ravenous intent. Talon turned to face them. As the creatures scrambled toward him, gaping maws dripping with viscous shadow, a roar split the air. Not a moment later, the area was filled with scorching hot dragonfire that swallowed everything in its path. Talon felt the fire wrap around him. The heat incinerated the surge of shadowspawn that had launched itself at him but Talon remained unharmed. He was kin to fire with it being his Arche element and as the Demigod of Light, one of his chosen forms of its expression was the fire of sunlight and the dawn. No, fire was as close to him and as nurturing as the caress of his beloved, the very dragon who breathed the fire that was now protecting him.

Aoren landed. The mighty red dragon spread his wings as he finished expelling his fire. Talon fluffed the feathers of his wings slightly and shook them, ridding them of some of the ash that had collected on his form. The steps of his beloved dragon caused the ground to shake slightly as Aoren came to sit protectively around him.

There will be much work to be done, beloved. Are you sure we should not be devoting our time to shoring up Kalzasi?

Aoren’s mind-voice was like thunder and fire when he was in his dragon form. It was a soothing heat that wrapped around him and calmed the edges of his frayed nerves. Talon nodded. Of that there was no doubt. Zaichaer was in ruins. Its people were scattered. Those that remained in the mist-corrupted city were fighting for their lives. Compounded by the advent of the eclipse and at every turn, they had the odds stacked against them. The angry part of himself wanted to believe that this was what such a place mired in prejudice deserved. He recognized that was just the part of him that was hurt, traumatized and still healing.

“We can no longer be islands in the Northlands, beloved. With every passing day, there are those who see us as a land to be conquered as opposed to a sovereign territory.” Talon leaned down, taking a handful of rock and earth into his hand. He brought it up close, extending his aethereal senses he focused on the aura radiating off of the dirt as opposed to the individual grains of rock and earth. He could see a significant portion of the misty corruption had been purged from its but there were still trace elements that had not been burned away. He was not surprised. It was easy for him to banish superficial corruption but with what happened here? It would take many dedicated seasons of work before Zaichaer recovered from the fallout. If it ever did.

“If we are to stand united, Karnor must be shown that unity is the way forward.” He let the dirt fall from his hand. “Besides, this will eliminate fears that I am going to go on a rampage.”

The dragon chuffed.

By all rights, you should finish what that blast started.

He did not voice disagreement with his husband. By all rights, he should have leveled what remained of the city. But that would not have brought him peace. It would not resurrect his mortal father, Savien. It would not bring back the thousands of people killed. There was no going back to what they were before all of this unfolded. Not for him. Not for anyone. He was silent as he looked out over the ruins where they stood. The place they stood in was mostly ruins. The buildings were all mostly collapsed. It was an open place where something of an enclosure could be built. He was using his power and influence both in Kalzasi and abroad to arrange for supplies and materials to be given to Franky and the survivors in the Knob at the moment but that was not a permanent solution to the problem that they faced.

“We will build the enclave here. I will devise a few methods to make it more defensible.” He would also be implementing controls to help not only combat the mist corruption but to push it back. It would take time but he would find the right methods. It was simply a matter of getting started.

[Mirage]

"A splendid idea."

A man's voice said, the words coming before his presence was felt. To the two beings so closely tied to the Aetherium it would feel as if he had stepped out of thin air, though Talon could feel a slight indication of the path he had taken, a ripple not in space but something broader, and near them stood the familiar, stooped figure of Arthel Greymon.

He walked closer with a shuffling step, slowly picking his way around rocks and rubble with a pipe in one hand while the other stroked his long beard. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked at Talon, true joy and happiness present both in his posture as well as his bearing.

"This humble old man greets the Dawnking." He spoke reverently, half joking, and he gave a slight bow which left him wincing as he straightened once more. His eyes then turned to Aoren and paused, flicking back and forth as if reading something only he could see.

"You are freed from your collar, youngling." The words were said in perfect draconic, the power inherent in the language thrumming in the air as the old man gave Aoren a smile of his own, "May your wings never falter and your claws remain sharp."

Beyond his words and fluency in the language of dragons, the old man gave off an air of trustworthiness, and even familiarity. In a sense he 'smelled' like a dragon, though he was clearly human. Perhaps it was due to being "dragon friend", but he did appear close to kin, especially to the blue scaled dragons.

.

[Talon]

Talon recognized the voice that spoke. He recognized the man who popped out of thin air or rather…something broader. Around the edges of Arthel, he could see a mirror of the same horizon that he often perceived when stepping into the realms of the aethereal. It was not as raw but he got the feeling that it was just as vast. For the briefest of moments he saw not the stooped old man but a young man with those same sparkling blue eyes. Full of wonder and unburdened by the toll that years took. Still joyful but less weighted by wisdom. Again, he knew Arthel. Though the memories did not immediately present themselves. Like many things since fully joining with the whole of himself and ascending to most of his full strength, there were moments of deja vu. Ancient was Arcas memory and what was not immediately necessary was often left to dwell in the fog of time, lest Talon become overwhelmed by the tidal wave of thousands of millennia all at once.

“Arthel.” He inclined his head with a smile. When Arthel addressed Aoren, speaking in fluent Draconic, his eyes went wide. His conscious mortal mind did not know the words as they were spoken but the subconscious divine part of him, understood them clearly. The red dragon fixed Arthel with a stare, studying the man intently for a moment before dipping his large head. Talon watched as Aoren’s snout neared Arthel, giving the old man a sniff.

He smells like a dragon.

Aoren snorted and withdrew his head before giving Arthel an approving nod. He came to sit comfortably, molten eyes surveying the ruinous landscape around them. Talon observed Arthel closely for a moment.

“Did you know?” He posed the question softly. “When we met that day. Did you know what would happen?”

[Mirage]

Memories were peculiar things, at once a part of the soul and a part of the greater aetherium, belonging to neither yet linking both. The passage of time for a god was not a simple linear path, and so it was that if he tried Talon would begin to recall things he had always know, but forgotten.

He met a young man in the early days of the Dawnmartyr order, when they were not yet called that. Just a boy following brave men to adventure as he saw it, but the road was long and more twisted than he could have ever imagined.

He crossed paths with an middle aged man in blue and green armor on the banks of a now lost ocean, a net in his hand, casting out into a dark sea that writhed with shadows sometime in the later ages after Arcas' fall.

He looked down on a man who seemed both youthful and old, small like humans were, but as a Moratallen all races seemed small to him. The man pointed him in a direction north of a great tree that stretched to the heavens and beyond, telling him there was someone he must meet.

He sat quietly near the fire as an older man with greying hair spoke softly after a long battle. The Cult of Mending was growing more bold, their acts terrible and peculiar, but the old man somehow still smiled. His blue eyes twinkling as they did whenever they met.

It was not just across his past lives. The deeper Talon probed the more he would come to bridge the gap between his memories... those of this time, and others that had branched away from this reality. Time and time again the man came, sometimes old, sometimes young. His age seemed fluid, greying in one century and with a full head of wavy blonde hair the next. Yet every time they met he smiled a joyous smile, and greeted the man, the person, not the god.

Arthel looked back at Talon, puffing on his pipe before looking around the destruction of the city.

"Yes." Arthel nodded slowly, "And no."

Shaking his head Arthel sighed and gingerly lowered himself onto a large stone, letting his hand rest on one knee as continued, "I can see the path that fate will take as if I view it from above. You, and others within are like fish in the river of time. I can see what stones may block your path, or that a storm is coming that could whisk you away to another stream entirely. Sometimes the river is not a single flow, but thousand upon thousand of smaller streams, creeks and trickles that slowly collect together further down the mountain"

He took a long draw of his pipe before exhaling slowly, "The signs were there. The weaves of calamity that surrounded Kalzasi when we met muddy the waters, but more than that the influence of that one twists the laws of plausibility such that even Vhexur himself might not gamble on his odds of winning."

Chuckling at his own joke the old man rubbed his now mostly bald head. His wrinkles had deepened since they last spoke. He did not hide himself, or perhaps he couldn't. The marks of divine hands were still blazing upon his body, including the mark of eminence that rested on his left forearm. Three marks in particular overwhelmed the others. The first was a soft white and gold, pure life and vitality flowing from it to infuse the old man continuously. The second was a shroud that held something at bay, inevitable in its finality. The third was the scar upon his back which threatened to swallow the man whole at any moment. The flicker of light that was Arthel's soul was like a candle in the wind, but still the old man smiled warmly at Talon.

"Do you remember what I said when I saw you last, in your office at the Palace of the First Wind?"

.

[Talon]

The large piece of rubble that Arthel had perched upon, shifted. It reshaped into the form of a chair with a simple cushioned seat. Talon finished sculpting it beneath the Riverwalker as he recalled more about Arthel. At least as much as he could presently process. Directly across from him, rising from the dirt, another chair formed from the dust and debris. They were not ornate chairs but Talon drew upon his years of studying form, shape, and function both at the forge and through his study of Semblance to at least make them comfortable. He seated himself across from Arthel.

“You said many things when we met in the office. Some of which I understand much better than I did then.” Sadness crossed his face for a moment and he let himself feel that sadness. Across their soul-bond, he felt Aoren drew closer. The great dragon that he had finally allowed himself to be, was a source of more warmth and comfort than Talon could truly express. When the moment passed, Talon sighed.

“You asked me if I was happy.” Talon shook his head. “I was. As happy as I could be at that time. If you were to ask me now?”

His gaze went distant and suddenly Talon looked not like a warrior lounging in a rough chair but a king contemplating the weight of nations. Talon was still on his road to recovering from everything that he had been through. It would likely be years before he was able to move fully past it. Having his bondmates however, made the journey much easier. He thought on the state of Zaichaer. It saddened him that such devastation had befallen one of the sister-cities of Karnor. He might not have agreed with how Zaichaer approached life but he never saw it as his role or place to cause harm to those who lived there. He thought on Kalzasi. His homeland needed to change. There was change on the horizon for Kalzasi. Whether or not he would be at the helm of that change was to be decided. He wanted to be but that would be for others to decide. He would simply do as he always had done, lead the way forward.

“I suppose I am still finding it.” He smiled at Arthel. Such was the journey toward Hope. Beaten, bloody, bruised and weary but always picking himself up to keep moving forward. Shaking his head he drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly.

“You told me of the Calamity. About how it is spread its influence across the land once more. That…concerns me but I have not yet had a chance to figure out how to approach that problem. Though, I suspect its influence might have something to do with some of the disasters that Karnor is facing.” He frowned. He had never met the Calamity in person. He knew the legends about it. He certainly knew about the Saintiri that existed in the Warrens. He had narrowly escaped death as a boy during his Warren March at the hands of one.

“You also told me that you would tell me your story.”

[Mirage]

Arthel smiled thankfully for the chair fashioned for him. His bones were weary, and his back ached, so any form of comfort, however minor, was welcome. He listened quietly to Talon's reply, nodding along at times.

"Happiness is an elusive thing. Like an old and beloved friend we are overjoyed when they visit, grow sad when they depart, and pine for them when the days grow long and dark." Reclining slightly in the chair the old man closed his eyes and absently chewed the end of his pipe before continuing, "The weave over Kalzasi has faded now, so do not concern yourself overly much with what to do about the Calamity. It, and its siblings, are in the end beasts. Intelligent and cunning beast yes, but they follow their instincts and act as they are designed."

Arthel cracked one eye and looked in the direction of the Astralar Mountains, "They are not all inherently evil. The Calamity is like a natural disaster. It is a storm, an earthquake or a tidal wave. When it stirs it brings disaster, but not out of maliciousness."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but caught himself. Returning his focus to Talon and Aoren the old man straightened and tapped his pip on the palm of his hand.

"I did say I would tell you a story, my story, and I am a man of my words. Mine is a long tale, one that you my lord know well, at least the beginning."

Breathing in deeply on his pipe and tilting his head back, Arthel let out a stream of smoke that spread out into a dome around the little group. It spun and danced with intricate colors as several marks on Arthel's body began to glow. One mark in particular grew brighter still, and with a flourish and snap of his fingers the smoke was gone and the three found themselves on the outskirts of a village that was still smoking from a fire that had burned it down.

Both Talon and Arthel were still seated, and the scene was one that Arcas would recognize.

"This story begins before the battle of between light and shadow. Back when a young Arcas had just finished training in the sword beneath Raxen, the greatest blade master to ever live." As they watched a small group of men emerged from the burned husks of the village, eyes downcast, forlorn. They had been too late. In their lead was a young Arcas whose head was held high as he marched forward with determination showing in his set jaw.

"I was only a boy back then when my village was destroyed by the first bands of raiders that claimed allegiance with the armies of Ilixidor." Arthel snorted as a boy no older than 10 rushed after the group, pleading with the men at the back who shook their head and pointed off northward, "They were just bandits who used the name of Shaeoth and his generals to justify their horrendous acts. My village and my family were just a passing amusement for them, and I would have died as well were it not for the timely arrival of dawn."

The boy with blonde hair grew louder, his voice cracking as he seemed to argue with the men, pointing at his village with rage filled eyes. That was when Arcas himself came closer, alerted to the disturbance to kneel before the boy.

"That day I told you a lie." Arthel smiled at Talon, "I said I wanted join your group, the budding foundations of what would become the Dawnmartyr. I told you I desired justice for my village, but in my heart I only sought vengeance. I realize now as an old man that you knew what was in my heart, and yet you took me in. I will never forget that day, because my heart burned for revenge, but you never lost hope in me."

With a wave of his hand the scene changed and they now sat atop a hill overlooking a fallen city. Fighting was still underway as men glowing with the power of dawnfire fought soldiers in solid black armor. Armor which Talon would recognize as kin to that which the Emperor used on him. A young Arthel fought furiously with hate in his eyes as he slayed one man after another. Fury and rage filled him as his sword wreathed in white fire cloaked the head off of one soldier, setting his body ablaze before setting his eyes on his next victim.

"I was the rebellious sort." A look of regret came over his expression as Arthel looked at his younger self, "I followed your teaching only on the surface, but in my soul I longed for those who hurt me to suffer as I had. I was arrogant, tempestuous, but you were patient. I did not deserve the kindness you and the Dawnmartyr gave me."

Again the scenery changed and they placed in the middle of a war. It was a scene that Talon and Arcas knew well, and it brought great sorrow to Arthel's eyes as he pointed to a man being held in a large Orkhan's arms.

"It was not my fault, I know that now, but on that day when you were struck down I blamed myself." Shaking his head he drew a long pull on his pipe, "It was selfish, foolish, and was an insult to those closest to you who grieved the most with your passing. A part of me believed that the vengeance in my heart had tainted the order, and thus you by extension, for if a vestige of vengeance existed in the camp that represented Justice and Hope, was that not a single chink in the armor of the Dawnmartyr that the dark lord could exploit?"

Breathing a sight Arthel shook his head again as he looked at his younger self who stood off to the side with a devastated expression, "I was still the same boy you found in the village despite having grown into a man physically. I, like many of the dawnmartyr, were uncertain what to do. So after the battle was finished... I left."

The scenes began to change again, cycling to show the passage of days, seasons, and eventually years. A young Arthel grew into a man, and with each passing cycle his expression hardened, his eyes grew fiercer, and the blade in his hand more bloodied.

"I spent years scouring the world, hunting for remnants of the army of shadows. I thought it was my mission to purge all of the remnants of Shaeoth's influence, no matter small. Hate became the only thing I could feel, that is until I met her."

The scenes stilled on the edge of a lake beneath a crescent moon. There a blue dragon lay, her head turned in the direction where Arthel stood in the treeline, his clothing dirty and his face haunted.

"Mirai was a kind dragon. Intelligent, strong, and a bit too mischievous." The shadow of a smile returned to Arthel's lips as he looked at the dragon, "To this day I do not know if our encounter was fated or if it were pure chance. She never said, and I never asked. Mirai became my first friend, and with patience and kindness she helped me see what I was doing to myself, and to those around me."

Arthel looked at Talon then, "We are blind to our own actions, Talon. Though we may look inward and try to understand ourselves, we cannot know what affects we have on others. What they see in you is not always what you see in yourself, and sometimes your actions cause more ripples than you would ever think possible."

Again the scenes began to flash past, "Years past, and Mirai and I grew closer until she accepted me as a true Friend. She gifted me a drop of her blood, and adopted me as a younger brother. She also gave me a choice which would change my life forever."

Undoing the ties of his collar Arthel showed Talon a strange mark on his collar. It seemed to move and shift, like sand dunes in the wind.

"As you are aware, blue dragons have a special connection with Velar, Dragongod of Time. They look after the timelines, ensuring that the tapestry of fate continues to be weaved uninterrupted. Mirai, with the blessing of Velar and Vicis, offered me the lost mark of Aeternus. The mark which was once used by the ancient Hytori to build Erosya, the city of Dreams."

Fumbling with the strings of his collar Arthel eventually managed to retie the strings and once again waved the scene away. They hovered in darkness now, the light of Talon and Arthel's mark the only thing to push back the eclipsing darkness.

"I accepted the mark, and with it found a new purpose. I thought back to the time I had spent with Arcas, and his teachings, and resolved myself to live a new life dedicated to bringing the ideals of Justice and Hope to the world until the Dawnking returned. With the support of Mirai, and her children, I created a place that rested outside of the passage of time. A place I called Tirin."

Light bloomed in the darkness as the three now found themselves sitting at the top of a tower made of polished green stone. Below them a castle sat on the banks of a crestline lake. Waves crashed on the shore where silvery blue sand shown like gems in the light from the white orb far above. There were people present, all wearing similar uniforms in blue and green, walking the ramparts or training in a large courtyard. Dragons could also be seen curled around towers and flying through the air, their scales a beautiful spectrum of blue.

"I collected men and women from across the ages who held the beliefs of Arcas and the Dawnmartyr close to their hearts. In each passing age I would often find where the new orders had formed, sometimes with a different name, and selected those who I felt were worthy to join my new order in Tirin. In my hubris I named my order the Justicar of Tirin, and acted as if those I selected were somehow chosen to be something greater."

The smile that had formed slowly vanished as the old man seemed reluctant to continue, but did so anyway. They found themselves in a large chamber like throne room, but there were multiple seats all at equal level with one another. An older Arthel, lines of age now showing on his brow, sat in one of the chairs conversing with a man with brown hair and average looks.

"I found Fredric during the age of your last reincarnation. He was a simple man from a village whose story was much like my own. His family was claimed by the Graveplague, and he sought out the Dawnmartyr to join and bring justice against the Cult of Mending. I admit our similarities blinded me, and I took him on as my own squire. I trained him myself, gave him everything I had, and even contemplated leaving the order to him when my time had come. Little did I know that my bias prevented me from seeing the early signs of his fall, when I could have perhaps prevented what was to come."

Once more they were outside, but on the banks of the great lake where its waves lapped against their feet. Arthel stood, a bloodied visage with horror painted on his face as he looked down at the corpse of the man Fredric.

"The power to alter time and fate is not something just any person can possess. It requires fortitude of mind and heart to know when, and if, something should be done. They risk their judgement being clouded by the infinite possibilities that they hold at their fingertips. Fredric was a kind man, a good soul, who cared for others unconditionally."

Though the words were positive, the tone of regret that came with them rang heavy in the air, "Fredric wished to prevent pain and suffering, a desire which is admirable, but as we know suffering has its place in the mortal world. My foolish squire tried to use this power to bring peace, kindness, and a world without hurt and pain into reality. He became obsessed, and eventually he broke through the barriers of the Aetherium as his obsession became his power."

The other Arthel knelt down and picked up a scroll case, thick with leather ties etched with old runic scripts that were difficult to decipher. He stared at the object in his hands, conflicted as to what to do with it.

"Fredric realized that disasters were caused by a series of events, all seemingly random and chaotic, which often they were, but at times some things could be predicted. He researched methods, concepts of foretelling, and used the power of Aeternus to begin systematically removing parts of the tapestry which he believed would stop the greatest disasters in history from ever occurring. In the end it was not the Justicar of Tirin that uncovered his plots, but the Seers of Galetira who watch the tapestry as it is weaved. They saw that a crimson blade was severing portions of destiny in order to forcefully change Fate itself. What he did instead was cause the tapestry to begin to unravel."

With the scroll in his hand the younger Arthel turned to look at the broken towers of his citadel, anger slowly fading into grief and regret.

"Fate, however, is not something a mortal can tamper with heedlessly. Fredric, known as the Crimson Duke now to the Seers, was unwittingly writing his own story into the tapestry. That is how we eventually found him, but not before he had destroyed the Order from the inside."

Everything faded as Talon, Aoren and Arthel returned to the present, in the ruins that were Zaichaer. Arthel looked even more tired after his long story, slumping slightly onto the arm of his chair, his pipe forgotten.

"In the end it was the foolish overconfidence of a young man trying to right his supposed wrongs that lead us to today. I have spent thousands of years correcting and repairing portions of the tapestry that my squire selfishly damaged. The Justicar of Tirin are no more, but the duties that we upheld still must be done."

Shaking his head the weariness showed plainly in every part of the old man's body language. Tired, aching, but despite all of it there was no signs of him giving up. Hope was still there, and after all of the centuries of life Arthel had come to recognize that of all the tenants which Arcas presided over, Hope was the most important of all.

.

[Talon]

“A disaster one too many, is the difference between despair and faith.” Even the most steadfast of people could buckle under the weight of too much adversity. Disasters, whether natural or unnatural, had to have their ebb and flow. Karnor, and the world at large, had been mired under the weight of so many disasters that it was difficult to see the forest for the trees at times. Talon had found himself focused on so many large-scale issues that he often lost sight of the smaller solutions to those problems, problems that mattered to the everyday person. The average person did not care that the cause of an avalanche was a sorcerous beast capable of wielding mind-boggling power. They cared that their home was in ruins, that their family was displaced, and whether or not they would be able to make it to the next day. It was because he was focused so heavily on the large-scale problems that he believed so strongly in the humanitarian work that the Order of the Dawnmartyr performed.

“Evil is often subjective. The emperor would not consider his command to imprison me an act of evil. I see it differently. I learned many things because of the ordeal. I can even respect the decisions he made and why he made them. That does not negate the atrocities he and his servants committed in their quest to achieve their goal.” As if to accentuate his words, Aoren let out a soft growl behind him. His dragon-husband’s tail came to sweep across ground and loosely wrap around the chair that Talon was sitting in. Across the bond, Talon sent a thread of calm to placate the anger that grew inside himself and Aoren.

“Ah, but here I go. Waxing philosophical. Please.” He inclined his head and settled in to listen to the story that Arthel had to tell. As the world around them shifted, Talon beheld a power that made him quirk an eyebrow. Across his senses of the aethereal, he saw the very threads of Ransera’s natural weave, ripple and part in a way that lifted a curtain. He was not merely watching an illusion but as he beheld the first event that unfolded before him there was a moment. There was a pause.

Standing in a shaft of sunlight, bathed by the light that once belonged so lovingly to Ysadrin, Arcas paused. It was strange and yet somehow right. To see himself standing there, looking so much like himself and yet distinctly different. Arcas in the past turned his head slightly. The Arcas of the present met the gaze of his past self and the two of them shared an infinite amount of understanding, of curiosity, fury, anguish, despair, joy, hope and love. Knowledge of everything that they faced and would face passed between them. He said nothing aloud but in that moment, he knew Arthel’s words to be completely true.

He had known the truth of what rest in Arthel’s heart that day.

He had taken in the boy, knowing the man he would become.

Seeing the Dawnmartyrs fighting against those black armored soldiers, armor that reminded him so much of what had served as his prison, he felt another shiver. Then the world shifted to that day. Arcas was filled with a great weariness. He saw the shocked and stunned faces of the army of light. He heard the sorrowful screams of those who had followed him into battle. Most of all, he heard the broken sobs of Raxen as the Orkhan demigod desperately tried to speak a new truth into existence. A new truth that would not be. He did not judge Arthel for the path he walked. It was a path of pain, of grief and anger. For how could he pass judgement when he had lost hope and been broken down to the point of despair?

Seeing the blue dragon explained many things. The formation of the Knights of Loch Tirin was something that fascinated him. More than that however, he was astounded at the revelation that Arthel possessed the Rune of Aeternus and the mention of the Lost City of Erosya. But as soon as he saw Fredric, he felt a bone deep sense of foreboding overtake him. Something about the young man, while noble, made him pause. That pause only grew to uncanny alarm when Arthel began speaking on Fredric’s motivations, his passions, and his endeavors that ultimately led to the ruination of the Justicar’s of Tirin. Everything cemented in his mind when he saw Arthel standing with the scroll of Fredric in his hand.

Talon’s mind immediately went to the non-descript book that the emperor had clutched so tightly. The book that had eldritch knowledge of things to come and calamitous portends. He let Arthel settle for a moment in silence before he spoke.

“You have done much to bring Hope to the world Arthel, in my absence. For that, I am eternally grateful.” He was. Of all the things he presided over, Hope was often what the world needed most. It could be a fragile thing but it was desperately important to the growth and progress of mortals and the world they all lived in.

“Something tells me the Crimson Duke saw his demise coming. Do you know of the Book of Calamities?”

[Mirage]

Arthel was silent for a time, glancing down at the hand that held his pipe as if he had just remembered it was there. With trembling fingers he raised the pipe and held it in his teeth, drawing in a long breath and watching the embers glow and the stream of smoke as he blew out with another heavy sigh.

"Good men make for even greater tyrants." Some strength returned to his eyes and Arthel sat up, stroking his beard with one hand, "The book of calamities... Yes, I know of it and the source from which it comes. In the end my squire was craftier than I was. He had copies of his manuscripts, many incomplete, scattered at different points in the primary timeline, an action which caused many, many branches in the tapestry to form and some events to never occur at all."

"Though I do not know how he came about it, I am certain it is one such manuscript. In a way it helps to explain some of the peculiarities of late." He gestured around at the destroyed city, and at Talon himself, "Parts of the current timeline have begun to... alter. The time it took for Raxen and I to find you, the Calamity stirring, certain beings being released before their time."

Arthel chewed on his pipe, his expression becoming thoughtful, "I suspect you are correct. There are still signs that what Fredic set in motion are still causing ripples in the tapestry."

.

[Talon]

The echo of familiarity resounded in Arthel’s words. In a flash he could see himself seated upon a throne of alabaster, attended to by knights adorned in pristine silver armor. His vision took a more aerial view and he beheld a land that was equal parts wondrous and terrible at the same time. A kingdom ruled by the tyranny of Light, where Justice reigned supreme with an iron fist and was overseen by a fanatical theocratic cult. His gaze returned to that alabaster throne and sitting there was not himself but…a man with features that resembled his own. The minute the two of them locked eyes, the man’s face lit up with a smile. He rose from the throne and strode forward, arms wide as though to take him into an embrace. The man mouthed a word but Talon heard no sounds. The vision ended. Talon felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He did not know whether he had simply witnessed a terrible daydream or a vision of the future. Either way, it left him feeling a bit unsettled.

“So, what now?” He sat forward in his chair, folding his hands together as he contemplated the road ahead.

“There is much that is currently in disarray in the world.” He nodded toward the split in the sky that was tentatively contained through the efforts of the Covens of Zaichaer and the Circle of Spells and what was left of the Reconciliators. Then he gestured to the Eclipse. Not to mention several other things brewing in the background.

“As much as I enjoy the chance to recollect with an old friend, something tells me that you do not make many purely social calls these days.” Talon sat up straight and reclined in his chair. He studied Arthel steadily.

[Mirage]

"You have always been a man of action." Arthel nodded with a smile, "Quick to assess a situation, and quicker to act once a decision is made. It is an admirable quality, and one fitting the Patron of the Dawnmartyr order."

His expression grew somber as he too looked up at the torn sky, then at the dome over the center of the city where the Presidium used to reside.

"And why must there be a reason for an old man to speak to his oldest friend, when the end is so near." The old man asked with another, less joyous smile, "Even in the darkest of days, when time seems limited and our battle never ending, it is important to speak from the heart to those you treasure. You never know when your story will reach its conclusion, and those precious memories are sometimes the only things which keep you going when hope is lost."

When he looked at Talon again Arthel slowly stood to walk closer to his first savior, "Alas, you are perceptive as always. I have come for a reason, on this day, at this hour. There is a question I must pose to you, a very important one."

Raising a trembling finger, a small light of mischief came to Arthel's eyes, "Let us say you have the power to do anything you wish, across any time, and any fate. Yours has been a road paved in trial and pain... Unfortunate, and possibly unintended."

There was a short pause of hesitation, before the question came, "If given the ability to do so, would you change your past to subvert your destiny? Save your father? Or even this city?"

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