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.
.
