Lorekeeper
And Pun-isher
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— As it began, so was it decided long before. Stagnation interrupted by destruction, silence betrayed by a call reaching far and wide. The stones thirsted for blood, and blood they would receive. —
“There is a pulse to our home, as with any other. We can feel its heartbeat with every moon, in the swelling and fading of the tides. And before it, we are minute. We each are but one wave in a vast ocean, carried away from this Temple and cast on the shores of far lands. Thus we celebrate your return today, and that of every son and daughter that returns to Eridani.
And thus we say that we are sworn to balance, yet do not control it. No wave can shift the seas, but we can each hope to extinguish a fire burning on their shores. For if the pulse of our home is one of traveling tides, the pulse of our world is one of war. The beating of our land is one of rising evil.
Rest your bodies and your pride, children of the river, that we may go back unto the world without hubris. Free of the delusion that we each can save the world, humble enough to remember that we may only take what opportunities are given to us to right a wrong. To turn a skirmish or war, so that the wronged may learn to stand on their own. And to return with the waves, where gold and glory are too heavy to sail.
Welcome home.”
Walking west along the shores of the Forsaken River, the gold and orange hues that all but burned away the mountain’s veil of clouds reminded Gabriel of Elder Letho’s speech. Twelve hours of walking had passed, and still the words would not leave his palate. Like an excessively seasoned meal, they were as hard to digest as they had been to swallow. Ever since the last coming of The’Galin, each homecoming speech left a longer and longer aftertaste. This one, far from an exception, had been the worst of them all.
“We’re making good time. Assuming mad old Pontius doesn’t get it in his head to spook the big cats again, we should be at the source right before night falls.”
“Mhm.”
“The guardian’s test should be a breeze if you’ve managed to get your water control, well. In control. Striking around me instead of bringing me down with the lumbering thing would be nice. I know it’s been almost ten years since you had issues with it, but how’s that been coming along?”
“Yeah.”
“...And while I have your rapt attention, I’m thinking I’m going to marry Master Lena. Move in with her, have three kids named Gabriel, Gabrielle and Gabrielus Deafius.”
“We’ll think about it when we get there, we were kids last time we saw Crenon Gate.”
What few trees remained at the foot of Eridani’s northern mountain were soon abandoned by any living creature with fur, feathers, or just the sense to flee from the sounds of a swift impact, a rough tumbling and an indignant cry.
Gabriel rose to his feet, standing up to turn what had been an absent-minded walk into a sprint that began inches away from the river he nearly fell into and ended inches from his older sibling. “What are you trying to start? Did the sea salt dry your brain or something?”
“And he finally disembarks. I know it was rough out there, but what’s going on with you? You’re usually the sharpest of us all. Now you’re drifting like a drunk sailor chasing his figurehead.” Adam had always been one for tough love, but a long time apart had lowered Gabriel’s guard. Of course, the younger of the notorious pair was too annoyed and bitter to readily confess to that.
“You maced my arse, you mongrel idiot!”
Adam had seemed punier than his more threatening looking sibling from a young age, yet he stood firm. In spite of his disadvantage, it was concern that lifted the clear grey of his eyes to meet the swamp of dark green hues and light blue motes. "And I'll hit the other side if you get that distracted again when you're supposed to be watching my back! Seriously, brother, what troubles you? Friendly and familiar as the words appeared, there was a strength behind them that Gabriel knew well. Appearances meant very little when it came to their oft-separated team, as a hand was more than sufficient to count the times he had prevailed over his older brother. And every single time he rose, it was this deliberately jovial, melodic and yet faintly severe tone that administered the necessary lesson.
“You try that and I will seriously run you through… Despite his reaction, Gabriel was quick to take the hint. His brother was the only person he snapped at in this manner, but that same bond made him the only person he could quickly spill his problems to. “Elder Letho.”
“The old goat wouldn’t leave you alone today, eh? Prodigy this, prodigy that, our son who stood up to a god, and won’t somebody please stop me from running my pompous mouth. Almost made me jealous; he wasn’t quite so happy with me at your age.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He made very sure to butter me up for this mission.”
“It is a very important mission. This is the river we surrendered our clan names to. You know what it means for our sorcery. It’s got to be an embarrassment for the Elders that we haven’t opened the Crenon Gate yet.”
“I know I got dropped into this at the last second, but that’s not it. Today was the first time I got to hear him give the speech. He was Lena’s mentor, so I thought he might be different than the others.” A smack of the tongue, two, three. The ascent through the coldest part of the island numbed the senses, but this was a bitterness born of slow, simmering realization. Cold would not remove the stomach-turning feeling, nor its rise through the young man’s throat.
“Is that so?” Now it was Adam who sounded distracted, off even, but his eyes had turned as bright and focused as they did in anticipation of battle. His gaze became firmly fixed on the figure of his brother, keeping pace even as shorter legs made the snowy end of the trail more difficult to manage. He was waiting, not only for the next words, but for the right ones.
“We shun personal pride, but he tried to swell my chest with it. He talks about taking what opportunities the balance of the world offers us, but the Elders have been very selective with the missions they send me on.
“That’s right. This is what you’re good at, you can read more than just a battle. You have to see the bigger picture. What pattern are you seeing? The talk of pride was suddenly very relevant. At that moment, it was exactly what uplifted Adam’s voice, but there was a dissonant contrast with the anticipation in his eyes. Patience had been substituted by eagerness, which was swiftly escalating into downright hunger.
“Stalemates. Deadlocked battles, sieges, skirmishes with more dead morale than dead bodies. The kind of fight where our intervention couldn’t be more obvious. I go in a stranger and leave a hero, no matter where I sneak off to rest.”
“You snore like a wild hog that got maced in the buttocks, which would explain — Nevermind. Jokes can wait for tomorrow. Go on, please.”
The speech didn’t need prompting to continue, picking up in speed and intensity until it became a full-blown rant. Some light encouragement was all that took for the cracks in that particular dam to begin overflowing. “The Keldros mines were no righteous mission. Sure, starving the robber barons was hardly a poor deal, but the people had long departed. The miners were enchanted stone, like the Guardian. They used the rock to restore themselves and left the ore behind. When they got strong enough, they left to become house wardens. So flooding the place just meant that only people like us could get at the silver. So what was all of that about gold and glory? He might just be the worst hypocrite of the lot, and we’re up to three generations of Initiates under their tutelage.”
“Would you change that if you could?
The question was quick to come, but slow in the delivery. Each word was cautious, pregnant with further anticipation, and starving for an answer. Had Gabriel not been swept up in his reverie, he might have suspected that Adam never wanted to hear him speak as much as he did at that precise moment. A moment that hardly lasted, as the question barely finished before the desired answer was barked right back.
“Of course I would— why else would I be this angry?” Truth be told, however, he had released most of his tension already. Though his brother seemed elated at the moment of fury, the way in which he grinned and began trudging through the sunset-stained snow at full speed kept him from noticing the steadier puffs of air. Something colder than the air was starting to flow freely where the tarnished regard for his Order had long impeded rational thought.
“Perfect! That’s exactly- That’s everything I ever wanted to hear you say. I’ll catch you up along the way, we’ve got a lot to do from now on. Come on, hurry up! You’re not the only one, Gabriel! And when we come back, you’ll see just how many of us there are!” All attempts to reply were completely overtaken by a hearty laughter that defied the gelid winds of Source’s Pass. Gabriel had never seen his brother quite this pleased, but this was not the kind of mirth they often shared. Thunderous as always, yet forceful. Avid. “That’s right, you silt-sodden hunk of rock! My brother is back!.
The Crenon Gate was an unwelcoming place. More so than the day two children had been reckless enough to stow away with scholars seeking to study it. It stood at the center of a massive circle of stone, carved and polished to a degree of perfection that mortal hands could not achieve and erosion should not allow to remain. Two openings led to this eerie ascent: One opened to the east, carved by hands far younger than the ancient site, yet long since buried all the same. South, along a canal formed where the stone seemed to part of its own accord, flowed the source of the Forsaken River.
At the center stood an imposing structure of rough stones fit so tightly together that the dim light of the newborn evening made it easy to mistake it for a monolith. Dull azure streaked by white and gold stood firm, well below the peak and yet far more intimidating. The lines followed a strangely even and natural pattern, flowing upward from the base where the river seemed to coalesce. This motif ended abruptly at its summit, where the colors still shone bright and clear, offering a message to all who would dare approach.
ALL WHO ART SWORN UNTO BALANCE, BREAK YE AND REBUILD
The brothers were far beyond exhaustion. Every heaving exhalation was quickly stolen away by the unnatural winds howling along the cliffs. The thin trails of fleeting warmth fled their sore nostrils at such a speed that the wind should by all rights be casting them down the deadly heights. Instead, it seemed to flow through them, into their bodies, a breath of the world itself that found their breast unworthy. It carried away breath, resolve, focus, at times even memory. The idea that this was where their people cast away their clan names suddenly made more sense. Perhaps they lingered here for so long that the wind took even that from them.
They stood, if it could be called that, hunched and ragged under a clearer firmament than they had seen since their infancy. Before, they had been reprimanded and dragged away from this stone by harried researchers trying to explain that there was no test for two insolent children to throw their lives at. Now, they felt belittled once again. The whole of the heavens, every single star of the celestial expanse seemed to turn their joined beauty into judgement. Who were these fools that dared to disturb the silence of the Gate?
“I’m out… I’m out of ideas. That’s the seventh time we’ve broken this thing to rubble, and it’s just...” A wheezing cough delayed Adam’s ragged voice for a minute, each following the other so quickly that he dared not speak until his throat ceased convulsing. What ice remained on the once proud mace only clung to its form through the same sheer stubbornness that let the man’s swollen, bruised hands keep a grip on the frost-shaping weapon. Impact after impact was beginning to leave more of an imprint on the extremity holding it than the stone on the receiving end.
Whatever their expectations may have been when approaching the source, the creature that stood before them met none of them. Surrounded by rubble from every prior clash with its opponents, it waited with a serenity that ill fit their desperate state. Stone bound by light crumbled again and again, each time reemerging in a form that seemed yet more vulnerable to the tactic that felled its last, but still outmatching it. Seven times it fell, and six it forced the brothers to prove its equals in terms of sheer flexibility. Inviting a seventh such show of proof, it stretched a smooth and porose hand out almost gently.
“Again?”
...That was new. It had made no sound before, only waited patiently for them to make the first move. It spoke without threat, overt or implied, making itself a gentle instrument for the rising gale. Stranger still was hearing a calm word from what now seemed to be a faceless statue of old Pontius. It figures, thought Gabriel, that I’d get taunted by the only decent Elder we had in my lifetime.
“No, no blasted way. I’ve got one try left in me, and we’re no closer to figuring this out. Besides, I don’t want to know what your legs feel like right now.”
Gabriel had no small reason to invite his brother’s concern. The source of the river provided an endless supply of water for him to strike with, and these were strongest when he stood at the shallow, frigid bed. It was trivial to make the water flow around his body, but fatigue was making his focus falter more and more frequently. Hypothermia would soon become more of a hazard than any guardian construct.
“The Elders won’t send anyone here for a while if even we can’t solve this.” It took quite the force of will to still his breath long enough to rush out the words, though the reply outmatched it for haste and frustration.
“The Elders don’t matter anymore. And I guess this doesn’t either, now.”
The statue’s hand lowered almost dejectedly. With an unnaturally light stride for the heavy echoing of its footsteps, it moved closer to the brothers. Standing where it did upon their arrival, sleek and familiar where it was once lumbering and misshapen, it scrutinized the two with a gaze of featureless stone. Adam stopped in the middle of turning toward his brother, eager to depart but still reluctant to turn his back on the warden that spurned defeat at every turn.
“Wasn’t this your big idea? Open the… Open the Gate, then s-stake a legitimate claim?”
“Start backing away slowly. Don’t take your eyes off of this thing. It’s let us breathe so far, but if it’s imitating Pontius now… Look,I don’t see this thing opening. And since this was the only chance to do this without bloodshed? Trust me, the Elders really don’t matter anymore. As soon as the next ships set sail, we’ll—”
The wind howled no more. A more harrowing sound took its place: The gasping memory of a breath denied. A cry that found no air to birth it, nor to ask the question begged by the plunging steel that stole it.
Only one man stood before the guardian now, and it asked with the mountain winds what the one that no longer stood would have.
“Why?”
A thin trail of red marred the river’s purity, carried away from a spreading pool. With no will to halt the waters anymore, the rapidly chilling blood lingered around Gabriel’s legs while clear stones grew crimson from drinking of the rest. Tears flowed as freely as his kin’s blood, but neither pain nor cold cracked his voice anymore. His stance, head and gaze turned forward, was as rigid as the interloper’s. The hazy image of the Crenon Gate filled his unfocused eyes. He wondered, almost idly, why the rapidly freezing tears had stopped running so soon. Why he had acted so swiftly and ruthlessly. But what he truly couldn’t understand was: Why did words come so easily now?
“The Elders have forgotten our principles. Under them, the Order of Tempests will languish. We are already a shadow of what we were meant to be. In a generation, we will become less than that. But what Adam was determined to do all this time was something worse. A bloody revolution would cast away these values all the same.
What would we become after slaughtering our way to the elders and seizing power? The very thing our god came here to have us prove we are not. Tyrants, chaos with a lofty name. And it would not take a generation. If everyone else had the blood of their brothers on their hands… We would be done for in a night.
Better that people like us fade away, as the Elders will in time. Worthier warriors will win the hearts of our people when we’re gone. ”
“You are broken, Gabriel of the Crashing River.”
He was unsure what to make of the statement. Given his state, it seemed obvious enough. What was there left for him to do but freeze to death, to die as cold as the blood that coursed through him at the moment of his deepest betrayal? His thoughts were already as numb as his legs, to the point where even the slow grinding of stone upon stone was enough to cut them short and drown them out.
The Crenon Gate had opened.
It was as though one could see right through the mountain, beyond the horizon, and stand closer to the stars. For an instant, its light was almost welcoming. Then the kinslayer’s weary vision was flooded… quite literally. Once fully open, the gate unleashed a rush of water that completely enveloped him. The Forsaken River threatened to slam against Gabriel, but did not sweep him away as it did the rubble, his weapons or the corpse of his brother. If the current remained so swift, they would soon drift past Eridani and into the sea, into the deepest oblivion. However, the water neither bit with further cold nor robbed him of breath. It flowed through him as the ruthless winds had, seeping into his very essence and carrying the guardian’s voice in their place.
“You are broken, but you will rebuild. And after you, so will your people. Your heart is turbulent, but it is given unto Balance. It is fit to carry the Legacy of the Crenon Gate, divided as you are. May Achernar be restored when your mind is still once more.”
“Barkeep! I can almost see th’bottom of me tankard! And I still see only one of ye!” The rolling of silver coins punctuated a hoarse voice with enough energy to make up for its bygone years.
A rugged and flame-tanned hand struck the bar, seizing the coins with a jovial slam. The barkeep’s typical uniform - long sleeves and a spotless apron - were nowhere to be seen. It was a burly arm and thick smock that met his eye instead, tense muscles and a pattern of burns paving the way to the all-too-wide grin of a… peculiar barmaid.
“A good thing, that. Don’t think you could handle two of little old me.” Keen eyes of the clearest green surveyed the customer from underneath what strands of red escaped a rather long ponytail. Though she could hardly seem friendlier, the woman behind the bar was quick to spot trouble… And that hammer at her waist looked like it had seen an awful lot of use.
“Well, haul me an’ flog me. Shanna. Straight here from the forge? You gon’ sleep any time this week?” A somewhat wrinkled, yet completely spotless bald head turned up in surprise. Grey-dotted black eyebrows, the closest thing to hair on the hunched man’s whole figure, pulled up a heft of loose skin from under the closely secured straps of an eyepatch. Someone had clearly done their best to look the part of a sailor, though they’d forgotten the hat.
“Captain Thorn, baldest rat in... however many seas there are these days. Pa’s got his hands full with the hopefuls lining up. That registrar gal is scaring them off by the dozen, but they all drink their fill. Look at him go back there. So, the usual?”
“Spiced.”
“Ooh, feeling expensive?” The tankard was swapped and cleaned with surprising grace for someone of otherwise very forceful demeanor. “You haven’t sailed in ages, how’s the coin still pouring in?”
“One of yer ‘opefuls. ‘Pretty boy’ over there with the blue coat, eyein’ up the registrar.”
“Gabriel, huh? So that’s the one you brought in. Didn’t take him for the type.”
“With scars like that? Ye goin’ daft on us?”
“This is The Old Fang. You know how many of those I’ve — Actually, for crying outloud, this is Bren. Doesn’t get any more rugged than us.You know how many scars I’ve seen? Half the injuries around here nowadays are just from the Arena’s morning breath.”
“Fair enough, lass. But I’ve seen the rest. I think. Been sailin’ that lost soul anywhere with a tussle for years now. Pay’s as good as it gets, quality silver for trips I have to make anyways. Leaves port, gets all bloodied up, comes right back to me ship before it’s time to leave. Crew doesn’t much like the lad, but I reckon that’s just on account of ‘im being quiet. When there’s trouble at sea, ‘e’s got our backs and we got his.”
“Didn’t ask for his whole story, but alright, you’ve convinced me.”
“First time I change your mind. Well, I’ve still got more blood than drink, so I’ll toast to that.”
“I’m pulling your soon-to-be-peg leg, actually. I stopped paying attention halfway through, but the guy’s at the registrar now.” For all her flippancy, she did immediately take Thorn up on his word and pour a hot beverage. This time, the payment came reluctantly.
The registrar’s table was practically pristine. Not a single filled form on her side, but enough weighted scrolls to sign up the tavern’s entire population if they were so inclined. Hardly a typical sight, given the eagerness most of her peers were met with. This wasn’t quite what surprised Gabriel, but it did raise some questions that the pair of boots on the table didn’t seem eager to answer.
“Come on, people, I am booored! Doesn’t anybody want to live forever?~” If one thing could be said for this lady, it was that she was…honest. Leaning back on a heavy wooden chair, she huffed a sigh and resumed nibbling on a corner of the white hat that rested precariously over her face. ...Yes, that would be what a very bored person might look like.
“I’m in.” Hands on the table, Gabriel picked up the knocked-over quill and waited for the representative to hand him a form… Or react at all, really. It took a few more seconds of frustrated gnawing for her to intone a dull and practiced droning.
“Round twelve, Cerise, here we go. Alright, prospective participant. Are you aware of the risks of injury and death faced by entering the Arena as a combatant?” Rather than wait for a reply, she quickly inhaled and continued with a steadily increasing pitch. “Do you accept of your own free will the choice between valor and death, and acknowledge sole responsibility for any injury sustained during the events, whether you be stabbed, beaten, crushed, impaled, disemboweled, dismembered, burned, electrocuted, covered in wasps, mauled by bears, and generally humiliated to within an inch of your life before ignominiously bleeding out for the entertainment of the crowds?”
The crowd shifted ever so slightly away as the woman was reanimated once more, her rising enthusiasm and balance-defying gesticulations clearing enough space to leave an empty circle around her and the unimpressed young man. Gabriel was unsure of what to remark upon: The fact that she had extended the brief waiver so dramatically or that she said all of that so loudly that it drowned out the scribbling of his quill— And all in a single breath.
“There. Form’s full. Is that it?”
The attendants that had slowly drawn back were startled by the crashing of a chair and the rattle of inkwells. She moved fast, almost faster than they could see. Cold hands were suddenly upon Gabriel’s face, gently turning it for the close scrutiny of an intense amber stare. It was as though she had completely inverted her mannerisms; entirely too giddy for comfort yet suddenly calm and clinical in speech.
“Oh, yes. You will do. These are a fighter’s, not a poser’s. Let’s see… Big knife, you were lucky with that one. That looks like a kick, maybe armored, but probably just a really unlucky angle. And that… Ooh. Bullwhip? No, silly. Too old for that. Leather! That must have taken a tooth. Now, I could technically say that you looked like just a madman with a deathwish so I can still reject you, but I’m going to be nice and assume you’ve given a lot more of these than you’ve taken. Would I be right?”
Now Gabriel had a pretty good idea of why this table had such a low entry rate. He wasn’t much for sudden physical contact, but he settled for brushing her hands away. It was almost as if she had been playing with a doll rather than scrutinizing an entrant… even if in such a peculiar way. “Yes.”
“Wonderful! Still, don’t take any offense, but you might want to… You know. Dodge when you’re in there. The stones thirst for blood, you see, and whether it’s yours or that of your enemy doesn’t make a difference. And do your new best friend Cerise a favor: Put on a good show, or I’ll make a good list of whatever the Arena doesn’t do to you for when you get out. If you do. For making me look bad, you see. And now...” Seeming to forget about her ‘best friend’ entirely, she snatched the form and stormed towards the bar, screaming her lungs out while dramatically pointing at his signature. “Alright, every single one of you that bet I wasn’t recruiting anyone tonight! LINE UP AND PAY.”
As the gathered congregation returned to their seats, save for a few people dejectedly passing coins to a now very happy Arena registrar, Gabriel found himself in the middle of an entirely different crowd. A nearby regular addressed him with no small amount of awkwardness, covering the emotion with a hearty slap on the back.
“I think she likes you.”
“Great.”
“That’s not a good thing.”
“Great.”
There is a pulse to this place.
To most of Bren’s inhabitants, the thought would be meaningless. They moved with this pulse, lived by its beat and grew from its call. But for Gabriel, it was a feeling that was impossible to ignore as he entered the arena for the first time. The senses that directed his power took some time to settle after first colliding with a flow so vast that he couldn’t quite perceive the whole of it. Although he was familiar enough with the sensation to filter it out, the impression only grew stronger while crossing the walkway to the Factory Arena.
Tick.
One could describe it as jarring at first, discordant even, but the rhythm of hissing, grinding and clicking became clearer as the arena gates loomed closer. The pulse was stronger here, a mechanical heart reaching up from below to turn the Clock Tower’s muscles of stone and metal. Nearer to the acoustic center, it had a certain music to it, one that could disorient or guide his senses according to how well he kept his wits about him.
Tock.
The walkway was retracting already. Even before a message echoed down from on high, it was clear that this experience would be nothing less than the blood sport he was warned about. The hissing steam and wafting stench it left behind offered a sharp reminder to what senses were left untouched by the shock of entry. Gabriel’s pores dilated, clinging to clothes that absorbed just the right amount of moisture to stop flapping with each hissing interruption to the stagnation of the industrial air. His nostrils narrowed— It would take time to get used to the smell, even once more instruments were added to the sinister orchestra. Still, he relaxed his torso for but a moment, clenched his abdomen as he began breathing deeply and steadily.
Tick.
Evenly spread combatants. This starting position would delay his usual tactics for some time. It was too easy to turn one’s back on an opponent; it would take a calm mind to spot the opportunities that the scarred young warrior normally thrived on. The pillar didn’t exactly help either, but oh, it would have its uses. Rotation shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was on his hips, but was nonetheless no immediate concern as his legs bent ever so slightly and kept him aligned. Sealegs - he thought - I owe the Captain a round. In truth, it had been the years of sailing back and forth from his abandoned home that developed them, but only Captain Thorn had explained the parallel between the sailor’s habit and a warrior’s stances.
Tock.
Don’t look at the walls. The pillar is your axis. One hit from that tree might be the end of it, but distance is in your favor for now. There’s few things that water can do to that… Better see it in action before narrowing down ideas. The man to the right could be more dangerous, but he might just be the spark you need all the same. Let him see you begin. Show just the right hint of strength to one, and vulnerability to the other.
Now breathe.
Tick.
Gabriel chose to mostly ignore whatever boasting was ensuing to the other side of the pillar, paying only enough attention to deem it meaningless. From his point of view, being able to kill someone on the caliber of other champions wasn’t a particular distinction in here— It was an inescapable requirement to dare entry. Starting to step ahead and slightly counter-clockwise, careful to not yet turn his back on anyone, he breathed deeply and at a pace that subconsciously found the medium between his optimal rhythm and that of the clockwork stomach they had all plunged into.
A crystalline flow arced behind his back, thin as a finger at first, then steadily broadening in its spiraling course around his right arm. Both of the nearest opponents were too far for any water attack to be worth attempting. The one to the left couldn’t be defended from with a water impact, and would be very involving to affect with it... not yet. Not with a fresh and prepared opponent to the other side, and no guarantees that the elegantly garbed musician beyond him would grab his attention with miraculously convenient timing. It was only worth looking threatening to the desert-tanned warrior, then.
“Let’s dance.”
TOCK
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