Prologue II: The Investigator III

III

Flask: Open the rightmost window and climb through, prying the lock or frame with the dagger if need be. Once inside, listen at the stairs for any sign of activity above or below.

Wendell tested the window. Locked, as expected, but this sort of glass window frame was cheap for glass which was already moderately expensive. Having some rudimentary knowledge on breaking and entering, though not enough of some his friends who call themselves thieves, Wendell carried around a dagger sufficient both in protection and thin enough for low-level lockpicking. He wasn’t particularly good at lockpicking, though, and so in his attempt managed to completely destroy the lock. Brushing the pieces of it off the window frame and onto the ground, Wendell carefully opened the window and entered the house.

He crept as close as possible to the staircase and listened carefully. From below, the staircase winded out of view and he heard the faint sound of running water. From above, the landing to the second floor was in view and the low murmur of voices drifted down the staircase from the third floor… or so Wendell assumed.

—

Flask: Draw the longsword and carefully descend the stairs leading downward. Wendell would like to determine if the girl is being held separately from the voices upstairs.

He sheathed his dagger and drew his longsword. There were exactly four men left inside this house and he decided the easiest path would be the one that avoided confrontation if at all possible. Voices came from upstairs and so his mission would be made easier if the girl were held downstairs. He felt the pulse of adrenaline surging through his body, his hand gripped around his longsword. Wendell took no pleasure in bloodshed but he knew that aversion to violence was the philosophy of a fool or a dead man.

The staircase led down to a port hidden inside the hill that the house sat upon. A landing made of eroded stone large enough to support a small wooden dock was fashioned at the bottom of the staircase. A transport vessel, relatively small, perhaps able to fit around five or six comfortably was anchored. Despite the strong current running from deeper inside the cavern, deeper into the hill, the boat was immobile. Wendell knew the touch of magic when he saw it. His threat assessment of the remaining men skyrocketed. He slowly walked to the bottom of the staircase and peered around the corner to find a sleeping mercenary, positioned barely out of sight from inside the staircase, with his sword on his lap. His head was pointed towards the staircase, but slumped onto his chest, and he snored softly. Could he have charmed this boat?

Yet magical mercenaries were not cheap and usually did not wear steel plated armor. Armor tended to interfere with delicate magics it seemed. The tall man, the short man. Neither had worn armor. The girl was not here. She was upstairs, either on the second or third floors.

Still, there was a guard here. One of two mercenaries left, if his count was right. Wendell could ignore him, but the guard would prove problematic if he needed to use this as a quick escape route. Maybe he could knock him out or kill him. Or perhaps the guard had vital information? Mercenaries tended not to break easily, but these could be cheap mercenaries.

Your move, Wendell

—

~Wendell’s Stats~

Equipment

• Heavy Leather Armor
• Steel Longsword
• Short Dagger
• Flint
• Blue Ring of Magic Shield, which glows bright and produces a shield of blinding light if an imminent magical attack is detected. May not be used twice in quick succession.

Traits

• Lesser Stealth – Lesser actions of stealth come more easily to Wendell.

Prologue II: The Investigator II

II

Flask: Walk a distance of several meters away from the campsite, to a position on the treeline that is both out of view of the campsite and in view of the sentry on the roof of the house. Use flint and dagger to start a small, controlled fire on the forest floor there. Circle around to the edge of the forest nearest the rear of the house, as close as possible, and proceed to the path alongside the rear in an attempt to climb in through a back window.

Wendell rummaged through the supplies hidden near his campsite. There were some items that an adventurer would be caught stupid without, and Wendell was not stupid. He gathered his Flint and walked slowly along the inside of the woods until he reached a point he felt was both within view of the sentry on the roof and reasonably far from his own campsite. If this worked, then the mercenaries would come for him, but their search would be delayed by his false fire. He knew, though, that they would probably search and find his original campsite, but by then the girl should be secure. Using his dagger as his substrate, he started a small controlled fire at the edge of the forest – only large enough to scream come hither to any eyes carefully scanning the forest for an interloper such as Wendell.

The knight circled back around through the forest until he was as close to the house as possible. He started up the hill, the sea to his left, carefully hidden by the misshapped formation of the steep hill he climbed. He watched the rooftop mercenary closely who noticed the fire as Wendell was nearly halfway up the hill. He quickly ran inside – there must be a door on the roof – and out the front door of the house with another steel plated merc towards the fire. Two mercs gone, two left. And the tall and short men with no weapons.

Successfully avoiding cover, Wendell reached the back of the house. He looked inside both of the windows on the first floor, carefully, and saw no men. The leftmost window led to a room with a large, long table – perhaps a meeting room. The rightmost window entered closest to a staircase, the rest of the floor seeming to be one large room full of boxes of supplies. It was apparent that anything of interest would be happening upstairs or… Downstairs? Wendell realized a moment later that, despite being on the first floor, the staircase through the right window led down as well as up.

He regarded the structure of the wall. It was malformed, misshapen, and with enough footing that a versatile adventurer may climb it. He had climbed worse, once, and could perhaps make it as far as the roof, or at least through the second floor window. Alternatively he could enter the right window and head up or down the stairs. He could also simply enter the left window, into an empty room, and attempt to gather his surroundings there.

How will Wendell enter the house?

—

Wendell has gained the trait of Lesser Stealth, for his successful ruse with the campfire.

~Wendell’s Stats~

Equipment, referring only to the items on his immediate person

• Heavy Leather Armor
• Steel Longsword
• Short Dagger
• Flint
• Blue Ring of Magic Shield, which glows bright and produces a shield of blinding light if an imminent magical attack is detected. May not be used twice in quick succession.

Traits, characteristics of the person. In the Prologue, this will be a tally of traits gained, not a total tally of traits owned.

• Lesser Stealth – Lesser actions of stealth come more easily to Wendell

A meta note on traits: for now, basically the rationale of your response will be checked against your character’s list of traits. Wendell does not have Greater Stealth and so will not be able to sneak through a room of armed men unseen. However, with Lesser Stealth, actions such as the one he demonstrated in this chapter are far more likely to work. A character without the ability to gain Lesser Stealth may have burned his hand setting the fire, or may have been seen climbing the hill. Characters gain traits by trying new things and seeing that they either work or didn’t, as Wendell did here.

Prologue II: The Investigator I

“UGG.”

The note was left under the door to his house, tore away at both the top right and bottom left corners. Though the message was lacking subtlety and the orphan’s mark were rudimentary, Wendell had to admit that they were getting better at subterfuge. It was certainly better than long, detailed requests he had received in the past. Until recently, he would answer this note by quickly going straight to the orphan’s hideout. But the brewings of rebellion and growing dissent among the people had led to an increased presence from the guard, making treks across town to engage in conspiratorial meetings quite hard for a man who tried to live without suspicion. Instead he entered the door to his humble one-floor dwelling, burned the note, and left a candle burning at his open window.

Wendell helped the orphans when he could and in return they helped him. He was an independent investigator here in Alva and made frequent use of the orphans for information. They were a network that extended across the town, seeing and hearing many interesting things simultaneously. He worked outside the bounds of the Guard which earned him their trust. It had been a long day and he was tired, but there seemed to be some need of him still. He lay down on his bed, not sleeping, as he rested and waited.

Tryp came an hour later through the front door, striding with no pretense. The orphan was fifteen, one of the oldest yet remaining, and the group’s leader. His hair was a messy black extending far past his ears, resembling Wendell’s somewhat. The knight sat up and nodded to the boy who spoke, “Sir Wendell, do you remember Val? Twelve years old, golden hair, skinny as rails?” He could have been describing several children, but Wendell nodded. The girl had a sort of innocent aura about her, as many children her age did, that made the truth of her situation all the more sad to him. “She was taken yesterday by some men with weapons. They found us, in the hideout – they barged down the door and came straight for her, threatening to kill any of us who got in their way. They grabbed her, screaming, until they dumped some drink in her mouth that knocked her out cold. They carried her out and our scouts followed.”

“Their carriage was waiting outside the entrance, near the Knight’s Oath. Threw her in the back and left quickly. We told the Guard, but they did not care.” Wendell frowned. Would Hatch have told the boy that? “So one of us followed them for awhile. They left east, through the Farms and down the Main Road. The scout dared not travel any farther, for fear of not being supplied well enough. We should have come to you sooner.”

Wendell agreed. Every moment spent talking was another moment that she was traveling farther from Alva and closer to whatever danger her captors had in plan. He began gathering his things for his journey, not having nearly enough time to prepare that he would like. “Orphan girl in Alva, what is she to them? You sure she doesn’t have parents? Maybe someone’s out to get them.”

Tryp shook his head. “No way. I knew her when she was orphaned. Her father killed in a shipwreck, her mother abandoned her and turned to whoring. She died a year later. “

“Alright. Why did they come for her? Were they coming for her, or simply an orphan girl?”

Tryp didn’t answer for a moment, which Wendell noted with alarm as hesitation. “I’m not sure. They definitely came for her, though. They barely looked at us, just went straight for her.”

Tryp was lying about something, or was keeping something close to his chest. Wendell had no idea what it was, but he had no time to argue. “I’ll try to find her.” If the men had come for the girl specifically, that was a good thing. Perhaps that meant they had a need for her and maybe she wouldn’t be harmed too badly.

He gathered his equipment. He had been an adventurer once, not all that long ago, and had gained one or two precious artifacts that he would be caught dead without.

—-

Wendell’s Journal

Val – 12 year, golden hair, blue eyes, skinny as rails. Find her, find out why she was taken, and take her back to the orphans in Alva.

Day 2

Tracked Carriage for three days. Each night they stopped and set up camp in a clearing, not concerned with hiding. Spotted the girl each night. Her arms were tied, but they seemed not to physically harm her. Four men clad in steel plated armor – mercenaries – formed a perimeter about the campsite. Each carried a longsword and a short dagger – no bowmen. Apparently they do not expect to be attacked via range. A very slender and tall man sat next to the girl around the fire, talking with her as they ate before sleeping each night. He wore no armor, merely plainclothes of different color each day. His hand bore no rings. His eyes bright, probably blue or green.  Another man I rarely saw, mostly spent his time inside the caravan, was short, fat, and bald. He waddled strangely and spoke little, venturing forth only to grab his dinner.

He reread his previous entry, as was customary for Wendell. His memory wasn’t terrible but he was nothing if not extremely cautious. One minor forgotten detail could be the difference between life and death, so he believed. He paused for a moment, thinking, before writing down today’s entry.

Day 3

The Carriage has stopped and unloaded.

Followed them through dense woods for half a day. Eventually came to a clearing. Still within the view of the dense wood we came to a hill that sloped upwards sharply, leading to a clearing only large enough for a three story wooden building. On the other side of the hill was the sea, extending far outward. Not the ocean but still of formidable size. The land met the sea far below the hill, meaning that quick exit through the ocean would be dangerous. The Carriage stopped at the foot of the hill. First the mercenaries led the two men and the girl to the house then spent the next while loading all their belongings up the hill, leaving the horses and Carriage at the bottom. I suspect something unnatural about this formation, the house seems so absurdly placed – perhaps unimportant for now though.

From the front face, I see one door and two windows on both the first and second floor and none on the third. While the mercenaries carried their load I walked around and saw that from the side, close to the cliff’s edge, I could traverse up the hill unseen and go through the back. On the rear side of the house was two more windows on either floor, facing only the sea, but enough land was there that I would have no issue climbing inside. Alternatively I could simply travel through the front, but I would be seen.

One mercenary was on the roof, looking outward but only forward from where they came. My camp is located far out of his peripheral on the edge of the wood. Unlikely I could be spotted. The other three mercenaries as well as the two other men were inside. The sun will be entirely set soon and my time is short. I do not know what they plan to do with the girl, now that they are at their destination. Or perhaps they are only refilling with supplies, but I cannot trust that this is not a journey across the entire world of which I am not as equipped.

He had around an hour before it was dark enough to carry out his mission. He spent the time gathering his thoughts and supplies as well as keeping watch at the house. Two main entrances – one in the front where he would come in loud and another behind where he would hopefully remain quiet. Inside was a girl in danger and his success in retrieving her may dictate for the next while how the orphans would treat him. Plus saving the girl was something he’d probably try to do anyway. Without any more time to waste, he began.

 

The night has gathered. What will Wendell do?

—

Flask has gained control over Wendell Coe.

 

Wendell’s Equipment

Heavy Leather Armor

Steel Longsword

Short Dagger

Blue Ring of Magic Shield, which glows bright and produces a shield of blinding light if an imminent magical attack is detected. May not be used twice in quick succession.

Prologue I: The Craven V

Will you sacrifice some of your Will to activate the Distress Beacon?

DeadApe: yea I sacrifice that shit

Hathorn held out the other end of the rod to Brandon who, despite a moment’s internal debate, grabbed hold eagerly. When the most powerful person in the world offers you a piece of his magic, only a fool would say no. “Look me in the eyes,” he commanded, and when Brandon did he felt the world shift around his fingertips. The center of the rod glowed with a brilliant orange as the inscription ‘H.A’ appeared. As soon as it had formed, the glow faded, and the Magus let go of the rod. The boy ran his fingers along it, but for as much as it had felt powerful a moment ago it now felt exactly like a small wooden rod

“It doesn’t seem very magical.”

“It won’t, until you need it. When you are in great distress, and all hope seems lost – simply snap it in half and I will come. It will never work again, and once you use it I will have some small agency over your Will.”

“What does that even mean? You can force me to do things?”

“You will feel compelled to aid me. But, again, I am a hero. What could I ask of you that you should not do anyway, as a hero-to-be?”

The warming glow left with the Magus. Della quietly followed her teacher out and retired back to her own cabin. She was to stay. Did he really feel that I needed that much protection? It didn’t make sense to Brandon, but he was tired. Far more tired than he realized. With the charm gone, he felt exhausted, and all the questions he had for the girl or her master seemed insignificant anymore. The boy tried to sleep, but couldn’t, and when the ship took off the loneliness seemed to grow stronger. Brandon wasn’t sure where he was, exactly, but he knew that Port Rectus was a long ways off. If that’s where I’m really going. In that silence on the first night of his departure and every night that followed Brandon’s mind wandered over the last few days of his life as a Beaumont.

Seeing Tam being burnt, the dungeons, the trial. Like a drum beating into his head he had told himself over and over again that he saw the woman he loved burned alive. In the months following his departure he matured and admitted to himself that she was not as significant to him as he had once believed. He grieved her loss, but he knew that what he felt for her wasn’t a true love. She had merely been the only person outside his sisters who seemed to take an interest in him and, to her, he was a powerful friend. She indulged him and he let himself be indulged. It was easier that way, and for the few hours after their escape it seemed exciting and terrifying in the best way. He was doing something right by saving her from his father. Even now he saw no fault in that. Where had he gone wrong, then? Was it when he ran and let her be burned? In some of his lighter moods, he was able to argue that maybe he had done no wrong. Yet that feeling of guilt hung around him as if it were sworn to him by oath. Because how could he have done everything right if she died?

He wondered about his family. He was close to his older sister, only a year older than him. She hadn’t cared that he wasn’t brave or knightly. She resented her father more so than he did, at least before the trial. He felt  the pain of his absence thinking of her, knowing that she had lost a friend in him. He wondered if she had ever tried to visit him in the dungeons and knew that even if she had their father wouldn’t have allowed it. The baby of the family was his younger sister by four years. She had loved Brandon too, though had been loyal and devout to their father. He wondered what she thought of him. Did she think he was a murderer, like her father would have everyone believe? Even worse, all of his family now knew he was dead from the charred corpse left in the dungeon. His father may know better, but that was no solace when the disappointing, magic-abusing son was better off dead anyway.

He lost weight. In time, part of him healed, and he spent less of the day in bed and more reading what few books he could find aboard. This wasn’t a luxury ship by any means, but several of the crew members were literate and had amassed a small collection of books. They would often lend their books to him with the strict promise of harsh abuse if the book were damaged at all. While usually he would have preferred reading about fairy tales and stories of heroics, Brandon tried to learn as much as he could about where he was going. Port Rectus was along the western border of the realm in a region known as Peptallia which extended three hundred miles inward and along five hundred miles of coastline. Beaumont castle was another five hundred miles, he estimated, though Brandon wasn’t as good with numbers as his sister. East of Port Rectus by around twenty miles and a little south was Brandon’s destination, Alva. He could find very little information on the city itself, only that it is not very large. North of Alva by a hundred and fifty miles and some distance eastward is the capital of Peptallia, Ryobosom, where the Lord Damino resides.

They made frequent stops. He had guessed that the trip would take two months, perhaps three, but it took a full year. Della came and went. He never saw her come and go, but for weeks at a time Brandon would notice her absence.

She spoke to him only once during the trip, one night near the end of his stay. He was reading in his cabin when she descended upon him. He was surprised, as she had before made a point of being seen as little as possible by him or any others. She sat in the same chair that her mentor had. “Time is sometimes funny here, but we’ll be at Alva in a month. I’ll be introducing you to Captain Hatch of the Alva Honor Guard, which is just their silly name for a town watch.”

He had grown much in a year, but the thought of fighting still frightened him. Despite all his studying he possessed no more experience in combat than he had when he left. Still, forces he could never understand had dictated that he were a hero to be. When a powerful magus’s apprentice hands to the aimless coward a quest, he asks no questions and simply nods, “Alright.”

“Is that it? Alright?”

Brandon shrugged. He had long since come to terms with his projected place in the universe, as dictated by the most powerful man in existence. “It’s not like I have any better prospects in a town I’ve never been to.”

“And you’ve decided that this is the best course for you, why? Because Hathorn says so?”

He nodded. “He said he knew I had to go to Alva, and he’s the only hero I’ve ever met. I figure that his plan is better than none at all.”

“Did you ever wonder why you have to go to Alva? I mean, isn’t it awfully convenient that not only does the Lord Magus free you from prison but he gives you a quest and a magical token?”

Brandon was starting to feel uneasy. Whose side was she on? “He said he knew that I had to go. He saw me in his visions and came for me, which is why he went through so much trouble.” Was this part of a test? In the stories he’d read, sometimes an illusory woman comes to the hero to test his principles. Recognizing this as one of those such encounters, he felt more comfortable. He knew he was not going to lose his cool to a temptress. “After all,” he continued, “how many people have ever been given this opportunity at a second chance? Before Magus Alanine came to me, I was sitting in my filth in a jail cell ready to be executed by own father.”

She flared up, visibly upset. Brandon recoiled. What was going on? “Have you no sense in you at all? You have [i]no idea[/i] how many people have been given this opportunity. I do, though, and trust me when I tell you that Hathorn’s schemes and plots are not to the benefit of you. He will see you dead if it were for what he felt were the greater good. When you snap that Rod he gave you, he will own a part of you that you will be unable to reclaim until you settle your debt with him. He will save your life if need be, but the measure of danger you are in will be commensurate to the amount of will you owe. If he saves your life, you will owe him your life. Which means he will gamble you for whatever cause suits him.”

He tried to wrap his head around this. “That doesn’t make any sense. He already did the spell. Doesn’t that say how much will I contribute?”

She shook her head. “Do you really think you know anything at all about magic?”

They were getting off point. “Alright, so I won’t snap the Rod. What does that have to do with him finding me work with his friend?”

“His friend is the Captain of the Guard at a town you’ve never been to. Seems to me that the chance of you running into danger is pretty high. Don’t trust him. Act like a simple peasant. Someone dumb and unassuming… Make yourself useless, and get away as quickly as you can. When you have escaped Alva, then bury the rod somewhere deep and hidden. You can’t destroy it in risk of summoning him though if you destroyed it in no apparent danger then I suppose you would owe him very little other than an explanation. Keep in mind that attempting to subvert his scheme for you may bring his anger.”

He was feeling less sure of himself, but still he pressed on, “Even if I wanted to run away, where would I go? Why would I run away from a guaranteed work? I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but he’s a hero. I’m supposed to be able to trust him, and you’re supposed to be his apprentice.”

“Hathorn’s no hero. There are no heroes. The magicians set the rules and everyone else plays. As far as what you’re supposed to do, I don’t know.” She stood to leave, “I’m not going to talk about this any longer. I’ve seen people in your shoes die. Be careful.”

They rode the trip to Captain Hatch in silence.

END

DeadApe has lost control over Brandon Beaumont.

Prologue I: The Craven III

DeadApe: Brandon tries to think of a lie so that he won’t seem insane. He imagines a story about a cave bear who kills Tam in their sleep and drags her deeper in the cave. But he knows that they will not find any tracks to match his story, and will catch him in his lie. In his hopelessness Brandon is honest and explains to the guards that Tam was killed by some sort of mage who must live deeper in the cave. She was turned to cinders, and with no explanation. He balls as he speaks to the guards.

III

The first few times they asked, Brandon thought of lying. He could imagine a black bear coming from the depths of the cave and taking with it the poor peasant girl. But then he could not explain why there were no blood trails. A dozen fantasies of how Brandon could be totally innocent, how he could save face and not look like a coward. Yet, he told the truth, for as much as he was craven, the Beaumonts were honest. He started to cry. He was shaking, voice unclear as he spoke, “There was… a mage. A g-g-iant wall of fire, and fireballs. Sh-she tried to run, but got hit. She burned to death and I ran and ran.”

There was a cave only a few miles away from the castle. In it there was a mage who had killed a sweet and innocent peasant girl. The story had a certain terrifying rhythm to it. The word spread from the mouths of the investigators across the castle and to the small town surrounding it. Lord Beaumont banished all visitors and investigators to Brandon in his attempt to curb the growing panic. To no avail; a high intensity tension seemed to permeate the air as the fear of a dangerous mage raged like wildfire. Some workers went home to their families. Some shops closed. There were stories of towns like theirs gone overnight from dangerous magic. Hours later, word began to spread of a trial. Apparently, the court was not confident in the boy’s word.

Another day passed. The world was changing above him, but Brandon’s senses were dull. He felt hopeless. A visitor came then, sent to him from his father. A book of arcane arts was found in the boy’s travel bag and the boy was officially on trial. His brain registered this as a lie – he had packed his travel bag quickly and he possessed no such book.

“The issue is… complicated. Look, you claim that you were attacked by a mage. Not just magic, but an actual mage. Do you know how insane people would behave if that were true? Do you know how insane people are already acting?” He made a loud annoying click click with his mouth and smiled deeply, his teeth perfect. “The Arcane Justiciar arrived yesterday. Luckily for us, it was the Arcane Justiciar. The King’s Magus himself. He will be investigating the cave, regardless of the outcome of this trial. So if there was actually a mage,” he fixed his eyes hard on the boy now, “which I’m sure there isn’t, he will be dealt with. By the King’s Magus himself.”

Understanding darted across the boy’s face and the legal advisor smiled again. Brandon’s heart was pounding as he asked, “My father is going to sacrifice me?”

“Come now, boy, are you dense? You are on trial, yes, but you wouldn’t be if the girl had lived. She is a peasant. Your father is going to submit a convincing argument that the tome they found belonged to her. You will not intervene, and you will be freed. The girl will be blamed, but she is dead anyway. The unbelievable,” Click, click “presumption of a mage in the cave will be dealt with.”

They’re playing me. “What if… I refuse?” The words fell out of his mouth with no real conviction. The hope of release alone was enough to stir his chest with a rising sense of urgency. All of sudden he wanted the trial done and now.

“You can’t refuse.”

The words thundered through his head hours later when the guards plucked him from his hole and brought him to his trial.

Dalton Beaumont was making a show of his son’s trial. The boy was encompassed on all sides by rows of anxious townspeople shuffling back and forth. Their eyes were fixed on Brandon and the boy realized that they hoped he was guilty. People who had loved him before. He recognized all of them and knew many of them by name. Yet even those he held most dear were staring at him and wishing in some part of their being that the boy was guilty and they were safe. His head throbbed. He felt as if he were floating through a dream.

The father told the son’s tale for him. Tammary was assigned a prestigious position in the father’s service and refused. She had somehow, “quite mysteriously,” convinced Brandon to accompany her in absconding from the castle. The two had rode until they come upon a cave. The girl, again quite mysteriously lured the boy into the cave. “From there, Brandon remembers little. He was found outside, face down in the mud, visibly exhausted and perhaps charmed. He spoke madness of a mage inside the cave. When word came to me, I immediately signaled for an Arcane Justiciar who arrived yesterday. Fortunately for us, the King’s Magus Hathorn Alanine answered the signal. ” Dalton motioned for a man in the stands to rise.

The man was tall and wearing a decorative black cloak hemmed in gold. His hair was dark and short, falling inches below his eyeline. His face was young and beautiful, free from blemishes and full of youth. He intimidated the room with deep blue, distant eyes. His youth deceived few in the room, as many knew from the stories that the man was older than most everyone alive. When he spoke, his voice never faltered. Brandon felt queer looking at him, as if the two had met before. A sense of familiarity slowly rose in the boy and then waned. He had never met the man before, that was certain. “I have not yet visited the cave. I will strike out tonight. Unfortunately, the boy’s account was rather vague. There was a mage but that seems to be all I know now. Though I sense no arcane power from the boy, my senses have been fooled before by sufficiently powerful magi. I am unconvinced that this boy is sufficiently powerful, but I will not declare judgment until I have seen the cave myself.”

Dalton nodded. “A tome titled Destructive Arts was found in my son’s bag and presented to you yesterday.”

“Indeed. It does seem to contain detailed instruction of magical practices – I am not sure how such young children would come across a book lifted straight from the library of the Hall, but it does seem to indicate that one of the children were likely involved, unfortunately.”

The book was taken from the Hall of Magical Inquiry? Either his father had somehow stolen the book and then planted it in his bag or Tam really had been a mage.

“Thank you, Lord Magus Alanine.” The man sat again. The boy could feel his eyes.

Dalton motioned towards another person. This time a girl that Brandon recognized as one of Tam’s friends. The girl was frightened, her face white and her eyes red as she stood. “This is Tammary’s best friend Sues. Would you please tell everyone what you told the investigators?”

She nodded, “T-t-tam… wanted to be a witch. Sh-she tried to fo-force me into her… rituals, but I ref-refused… She said she needed noble bl-blood… and mine cousin is in the line to inherit Castle Skyreach. Sh-she told me that was enough, and that she only needed a li-little blood… “ The girl cried and cried until she could no longer speak and sat down. Dalton, gravely, “Thank you.”

Almost shrugging, the father concluded, “It is obvious to me, as it should be obvious to you now, that the girl lured my son with her dark arts into the cave to try to kill him and steal his noble blood. Her best friend tells us that she had been practicing magic, the tome was found in the possession of the children, and the Lord Magus does not think it insane that children could be at the source of all this.” He shook his head solemly. “I fear that the girl was misguided. Inside the cave, I now believe she charmed my son’s memory and attempted a ritual at him that backfired and took her own life.”

Panic. Brandon had reached a breaking point. Something rose inside him and

–

DeadApe: i might be a coward but i believe in jsutice

–

“Tam wasn’t the mage.”

Quiet.

Dalton spoke calmly, “My son, your memory…”

“No.” Brandon felt… brave? “She wasn’t. She was innocent. The mage was deeper in the cave and I saw it kill her.” The audience was murmuring. Some were walking out. Hathorn was among them. Dalton mentally marked each one that left as potentially dangerous. Brandon felt powerful for the first time in his life. His sense of justice seemed to overpower his cowardice. At least, temporarily. He knew that he wasn’t quite there yet.

His father’s face had been a display of anger, nervousness, and finally resolution.

“The trial will conclude for the day. This farce will be ended tomorrow. It seems to me that the investigators must reevaluate our primary suspect.”

The guards dragged him back to his cell and locked him away. All left but one who stood posted permanently outside the cell. When the excitement of the trial faded, the realization of his impending doom became more and more real. I did the right thing, and now I’m going to die. In his stories, the hero was supposed to be rewarded with love and adoration. I’m no hero, and my love is dead.

That night, Brandon lay awake feeling as dull and muted as he did before the trial. Now, at least, his fate was certain. Tomorrow his father would find him guilty and have him killed to keep the peace. He knew that the Lord would have lectured Brandon on the difficult decisions of a lord if someone else had been in his shoes. His constant guard stepped away from his cell for the first time since the trial had ended for the day. A few minutes passed and the guard hadn’t returned. Instead, a woman dressed in black came for him.

She appeared outside the boy’s cell, materializing in front of his eyes. She walked through the bars of his cell and smiled. “We have around a minute. Take my hand, or tomorrow your father will kill you. The choice is yours, but make it quickly.”

Prologue I: The Craven II

DeadApe: Try to grab whatserface and run out of cave. If I cant manage to take her with me, i leave her and run. After all I am a coward. But i most definitely cant fight the knight

II

Brandon grabbed onto her arm hard and she twisted violently, resisting against him. He pulled her as best as he could towards the exit to the cave but soon she broke loose of his hold and was on the ground again. He had enough time to register the fireball coming from out of his peripheral to realize what was going to happen to the girl half a moment before it did. He turned away, protecting himself from the vision of Tam being hit by a fireball directly, being consumed in flame. Brandon started to run and her screams soon died as he felt her presence leave.

The lordling ran as fast as he ever had before, his chest pounding with pain, his legs numb from overuse. The flame knight had thrown another fireball at him, though it had missed by a wide margin, and since he had not had any trouble. Still, he felt the heat of the cave now doused in fire at his back and some other level of his mind was telling him to run. When he did finally break free of the cave, he collapsed onto the ground, heaving. I’m going to die here. Tam is dead, Tam is dead. His vision fogged over and soon turned to black as he fell unconscious.

–

Lord Beaumont’s men found Brandon there, unconscious in the mud. A healer with the group treated the boy while the search party began to split into smaller groups. One group headed in the direction of the continuing path that Tam and Brandon had been following, searching for the peasant girl that wasn’t around. Another group went into the cave. A third, smaller group of two cavalrymen known to all as the rallymen stayed at the campsite, ready to alert either of the search parties of any information that comes from the boy.

The first search party followed a path that rode deeper into the woods. The party consisted of four men, who were following the path at a leisure pace. They had decided early after the split that this had been the group with the smallest chance of actually doing anything important, and so had decided to continue going slow until the rallymen gave them further orders. And after a few hours of not hearing anything, the men had grown more tired, and were practically walking their horses. They had not yet seen any sign that anyone had traveled down the road in the last day or so, and had no reason to believe the girl would be around. One of them wondered aloud if the two would have made it if they had stayed on this path. The men argued back and forth on this matter for a long while, before deciding that it depended on how clever the two had been. Lord Beaumont had sent out a decently sized search party, but it wasn’t by any means impossible to fool.

The second search party also consisted of four men who left their mounts at the entrance to the cave before proceeding in on foot. Before they had traveled far enough to need torches to see a bright orange glow had become visible in the distant depths of the cave. For a long time, as they delved deeper into the cave, they had seen the glow becoming brighter and brighter as they got closer. But now the glow seemed to grow no brighter and no closer. The men had felt like they had been walking hours. Daylight wasn’t quite visible behind them, but despite all the progress their aching legs had swore, they felt as if they hadn’t traveled at all. All the men had been wondering quietly for awhile whether something… strange was going on. Strange things didn’t really seem to happen too much in real life, mostly in stories, but it was possible. When one of the men finally voiced the concern, so did the others, and the group felt much more insecure in the cave. When they felt certain that something strange was going on, they turned and began walking to the entrance to the cave, expecting a trek equally as long as theirs. But, as they had all feared, they had been at the entrance within minutes.

The rallymen hadn’t had much to do. They had mostly been waiting for the healer, who for a long time had been waiting on the boy. Soon, it would be time to give up on the peasant and take the Beaumont back to the castle.

Brandon woke some time later, briefly. When his eyes fluttered open, the healer smiled and asked, “Where is the peasant girl?”

Her name is Tam. “She’s dead.” The healer just kept smiling. Soon, though, two of the men from the failed second search party had come to the healer’s side, oddly tense around the Beaumont. “She’s dead?” One of them asked, “Where is her body, son?”

“In the cave.” Brandon could feel his mind slipping out of consciousness, his chest was hurting so bad. He felt something else, too, a sort of dull pain deep in his chest that confused him. What is it that hurts so badly? Everything seemed to fog and black out again for him for a few minutes before he opened his eyes and saw all the men except the first search party looking at him.

“How far into the cave?”

Brandon struggled to think, “Not… far. Half hour’s walk.” The men looked certifiably fearful then. Before he fell asleep again, he felt the chains wrap around his wrists, and he felt several men hoist him and throw him onto the back of someone’s horse. He passed out again.

 –

Three days passed.

Brandon had spent the entire time locked in his room. His father had forbade any from telling his son of his circumstances, but one of the men more loyal to Brandon let slip that they suspected magic was involved. He had known, then, that there was to be a trial. He was suspected as using magic, and his father had no choice but to send for an Arcane Justiciar. In the meantime, many had come asking Brandon questions.

The most common question was, “Brandon, how did the peasant girl die?”

Bold text like the above is usually meant to be meta-instructions. Italics after each post will be my notes. In this case, DeadApe will answer the question and the story will proceed based on his answer. If anyone is confused by this sort of formatting, let me know.

Prologue I: The Craven

I

The cold bit through Brandon’s leather tunic, his full plate of armor left behind. They had been riding for several hours and had gone farther than either of them ever had from home before. Tammary was the first to run into the cave, beckoning for the lordling to follow. Terrified, he pleaded with her to continue riding farther, but she refused.“The cave will be warm, come on. The horse may die.” Madness, thought the lordling, even as he waddled into the cave. He was a fat boy, bursting at the seams from his indulgences. Never one for horseback riding and running, he had felt terribly out of place. And yet, you can’t be a Knight if you refuse the first girl to come crying for your aid.

They traveled into the cave, sloping downward to the a small clearing not far from the entrance. There Brandon grumbled about how they were going to be caught as he fumbled, building a fire, trying carefully to remember exactly how it needed to be done. Brandon had never built a fire before, but he wasn’t without some intelligence. And so, before long, the fire was built and Brandon wondered if the fire would be seen from outside the cave. “My Father has his men out now, I’m sure. We have to keep going, Tam.” He was trembling, nervous, and already could imagine his father’s punishment at this stupidity of his.

“Are you a knight, or a craven?” She said, her words striking what little pride he had. [Neither, he thought. Then, a moment later, as if as a reminder not to fool himself, No, that’s not true. I’m as craven as they come.

“I’m a Knight.”

“Then act like one.”

She drove a small stake into the grown and tethered the horse to it, tight. The horse appeared to be agitated and did not rest easy. Tam had been good with horses, fortunately. Brandon had only horseback ridden as much as his father had forced him, as much as any man should know how to ride. The thought made his stomach turn over again. “My Father can’t lose a son. You know that.”

Tam was a peasant girl, daughter of one of Lord Beaumont’s handmaidens. She had been a girl born with fiery spirit into subservience. Brandon felt love for her from the onset, when her mother brought her to court to present as a servant to the Lord. He had assigned her various menial tasks, but none would survive her spirit. She would rebel against the head cook at being told what to do, and she had been thrown in the cells for days. She’d do the same to any of the Lord’s menial workers, and at a personal favor to his favorite handmaiden, Beaumont gave her a chance at being a handmaiden of his own daughter. For years, the girl grew alongside Brandon’s sister, and soon grew more beautiful. She had developed as a woman and had earned the attention of the Castle Guard. And so, the independently wealthy Captain of the Guard of Beaumont Village had offered a sizable amount of coin to the Lord for the girl’s service. The Lord, perhaps to repay the girl for all the trouble she had one caused his workers, had happily agreed to sell the girl’s service.

When she had heard of her new employment, frightened, the young girl came to Brandon and begged he help her escape. She had grown to like the boy, though not love him as he did her. Yet, he was the most powerful person she knew, politically, at least, she told herself. She asked and, smitten by love, and inspired by the possibility of showing bravery for once in his life, he accepted without hesitation and the two rode off within the hour.

Now, as his love lay sleeping on the ground across from the fire, the despair in him began to rise and rise, even greater than he thought possible. He felt it nearly impossible to breathe, he had been so terrified. He lay awake, unable to sleep, his eyes locked on the entrance to the cave, knowing for a certainty that any moment would bring by his father’s riders. For a long while, nothing had come, and Brandon’s heart had calmed. His eyes grew heavy, and he soon relaxed. Alright, if they haven’t found us yet, maybe we’ve got a shot. Maybe we traveled farther than I thought. And then, before his sleep took him, one final happy thought floated through Brandon’s consciousness, Maybe they don’t care that we’re gone.

A few moments later, Brandon jerked awake at the sound of the horse yelling out and beginning to run deeper into the depths of the cave, his anchor snapped with great force. Did I check that Tam had secured it well enough? Brandon instinctively jumped to his feet and yelled, giving chase. He was  large and slow, and he ran out of breath even before he ran far into the darkness. Behind him, Tammary was running with a torch, much faster than him. Soon enough she passed him by. He panted and heaved and tried his best to keep up with the girl. Soon enough, he saw the outline of the horse in the distance as Tam grabbed the rope still dangling from the horse’s neck and stopped it from moving. When Brandon was only a few feet away, he began to walk, heaving and trying desperately to regain his breath. The horse pulled away, then, kicking Tam to the ground. She screamed as she fell, landing hard on one of her arms. “Brandon!” She yelled, “It… it may be broken.” The horse ran deeper into the cave, which had opened a considerable amount.

Several things happened at once.

A large thunderclap accompanied a crack of lightning that originated from nowhere, piercing through the air above them. The horse had been screaming an unnaturally pitched deafening neigh. In the air was a tangible feeling of gathering strength weighing down on Brandon. He felt as if his joints were moving through a vibrating quicksand.  From where the horse had been running rose a large wall of fire spanning the entire length and height of the cave, consuming the horse and endings its screams. The roar of the flames barely drowned out Tam’s screams as she struggled to her feet. From the orange walls came a large, towering man clad in burning steel armor. He held in one arm a giant tower shield and in the other a sword larger than Brandon. He walked toward them, the flames from his armor burning a trail in his wake. The peasant girl rose with Brandon and opened her mouth but could no longer scream. Brandon, himself, terrified, had trouble finding the strength to move his legs. I’m dead, my god, my god I’m dead, oh my god.

The man swung his sword towards them, still out of reach, but sent forth a ball of flame towards them. Brandon grabbed Tam by the sides and yanked her down, her face barely missing the brunt of the attack, her cheek taking only a cursory burn. Tammara started screaming and frantically rose up again, shaking, and refused to move any further. Brandon shook her violently. “We’re going to die!” She fell on her knees in front of him and large tears fell as she cried. Her beautiful brown eyes darted around from one side to the other suddenly and rapidly, her voice shouting hitched and uncontrolled. She’s gone mad! Another ball of flame came towards them, barely missing Tam, and she shrieked again. He was barely forty feet away now, and Brandon had still not even processed what the hell was happening.

The man was coming closer.

What do I do?

The Craven is controlled by DeadApe