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ScientistXxXx · Video Games
Not enough ratings
397 Chs

The Wraith of Albion by froste

Links: -https://fiction.live/stories/The-Wraith-of-Albion/NiMkwZ4Ar29fEARwt/home

Synopsis

Having lost everything in a surprise assault, the last Ranger of a vanquished nation sets out to gain beautiful and exotic allies and seek bloody vengeance on the creatures that murdered his species.

I am the watcher in the wild…

You are adrift. There is nothing but the black—soothing and peaceful. For aeons you could float, revelling in the silence. The peace.

Through the brightest of days…

Tickling your ear is a voice. It is faint, but immediately familiar. Soft and lilting, you recognise it as your own. But the words…

And the darkest of nights…

…they are unfamiliar to you. You suppress a groan, loathe to disturb the wonderful silence. You want the noise to stop.

I keep my vigil…

You stir as you hear another voice. This one much more distant and fainter still than your own.

No beast will slip my mark …

You think it is a woman.

No criminal will evade my justice…

She sounds… agitated?

And no drake will escape my fury…

No.

For I am a Ranger of the Darkwood …

No, there is more to it than that.

And through the blessing of the Huntress…

Muted as it is, there is something in there that chills you like a winter frost.

Mine hunt is everlasting...

It sounds like…

For I am the watcher. And my aim is true.

Terror.

Waking up is pain. Head hurts. Arms can't move. Legs refuse to move. Pressure unlike anything you've ever felt. Feels like something's trying to crush the breath from your body. It's darker than pitch black and there's a thick, musty smell that reminds you far too much of the old crypts in the ancient depths of the keep

Keep…

Oh, Gods, what happened to the keep?!

With sensation comes clarity, and with feeling comes more pain. You gasp and hack as a fine, powdery substance trickles into your open mouth. Sputtering and hacking, you cough it up. Tastes like dirt. Your eyes are open and yet you can see nothing. Have you been buried? Panic takes your heart and squeezes. Breath quickens. Heart pounds and pounds and pounds and it's going to burst out of your ribcage if it doesn't slow down and you feel light-headed and—

You don't know how long it has been when you come to. It's still impenetrably black, though, and breathing comes a little harder than it did when you were last awake. The fear threatens to take hold once more but this time, you quash it. Passing out again probably will not end well. Run the timeline, Eoin, you were…

Were…

Like a dam bursting, the memories rush back. There's so much at once that, for a heartbeat, you fear you might lose consciousness once more. You grit and grind your teeth, fighting just to stay aware.

An oath. Taken in solemnity at a blackened keep on the edge of a thick forest that dotted a savage and dangerous mountain range that stood like a sentinel at the very edge of the world. A man, his features unmistakably familiar, watching proudly as…

You feel the tears streaming down your face before you're even aware of the rending heartache.

There was a rumble. An otherworldly and unholy din that sounded like the gods had all clapped their hands right next to your ears at once. Then the very walls collapsed in on top of you and the others. The man—no, your father—saved you. Pushed you clear.

Then the ceiling descended upon him, and he vanished in the time it took to blink. No final word or ruffle of your hair, just a wide-eyed and desperate panic in his eyes as the world swallowed him up as a Drake swallows livestock.

Pain the likes of which you've never felt rips through you. Not like the bite of a sword or a bruised limb. This cuts deeper, through to your very soul. An agonised croak escapes your dry, cracked lips as you relive the moment again, and again, your mind striving to conjure up a torture to match the physical pain that encompasses you as the rubble slowly but surely presses you to death. Watching the man who raised you—trained you—simply vanish beneath a deluge of uncaring masonry to save his only son.

And now it seems that his sacrifice was for naught anyway. Because even if you aren't crushed, there's no way for you to escape. No way to even adjust your position, so tightly are you pressed in. How exactly you aren't dead already is, in itself, either a miracle or a curse. You'd lean toward the latter if you weren't busy wallowing in grief; choking, wracking sobs ripping themselves from you as you face an abject and cruel reality.

Then you hear noises. The language they speak is unfamiliar to your ears; harsh, low and guttural, but something is unmistakably alive up there. Perhaps a tribe of wandering beastkin? You can only hope they aren't Taurans as you release another ghastly, creaking sigh and try to call out.

And fail.

You can hardly muster the strength or even take in enough air to speak. A spark of anger ignites within you that lends itself swiftly into billowing but impotent fury at yourself for being so weak that you can't even call for aid when it lies scant feet away. You wrench your body around and succeed only in causing yourself more pain. A further attempt yields no better result. You feel weary and tired, and despite a faint voice screaming for you to stay awake in the back of your mind, you can't. You are trapped. You are lost.

Just a little nap, you think. Just a few minutes rest…

…then you'll…

try…

You awaken in a heartbeat, lungs sucking in a long, drawn-out gulp of air. Bleary-eyed and groggy, you open your eyes to find yourself in the dark once more. Panic rises and you fear that you've awoken to the same hell from before—

But wait…

"No," you breathe as you realise that the hellish pressure is no more. "A dream," you murmur, chest hitching in a relieved half-sob. Just a really, really awful dream.

Taking a moment to revel in the ill comfort of your mattress, you—

—wait a moment.

This is not your bed.

A distant rustling swiftly alerts you to the fact that you are not alone. Further listening gives you awareness of the muffled cry of birdsong, and the shivering of the forest in the wind. None of these are sounds much prevalent at the Keep, meaning…

Alert and immediately on edge, you sit upright. You find yourself in a dwelling of some kind. Basic would be almost too kind a description: it's barely large enough for two, with walls made of bundles of reeds, sticks and held together with a mixture you've not seen before. You lie on a crude bed of straw, leaves and other relatively soft forest detritus. Clothing—a woman's, you think, patchwork and dirty with overuse—litters the floor in haphazard piles. A large but dented pot full of water sits in a corner. It doesn't smell and the water is clear, so it must be fresh. Likely, this means you're close to a river.

The rustling from outside draws your attention again. It's closer now, and you can hear what sounds like humming. The occupant, if you had to guess. With no idea how or why you've come to be here, or however many other people there are outside, your options are dishearteningly limited. A check underneath the clumsily-skinned fur blanket informs you that you are as naked as the day you were born, and neither your sword or dagger are anywhere within sight.

"Huntress preserve me," you mutter. "What would my father have to say about this?"

Choices -Voting closed - 11 voters

VOTES

Pretend you're still out cold. Observe and analyse.

5/8

You may be unarmed and unarmoured, but whoever brought you here probably wasn't expecting you to wake up so soon. Ambush whoever it is outside when they enter the hut.

3/3

This hut looks pretty flimsy. In fact, there's an opening you could probably squeeze out of with a little widening.

2/2

With no earthly idea where you are or where your arms and armour have been stashed, you decide to play it safe. First lessons your father taught you of the hunt: observe and analyse.

"Only a fool moves before he knows all the details," you recall his voice, low, soft and encouraging. You take that lesson to heart now, lying back down as you were before, one eye cracked open slightly enough to give you just enough of a view of the entrance to the dwelling without alerting whoever it is that you're watching them.

The humming draws closer and you have to remind yourself to regulate your breathing in order to simulate deep sleep. No sooner have you done so when the flap serving as the entrance is thrown open and in steps a young woman--roughly your own age, if you had to guess. She is... shapely, you'll admit, with curves many a young lady can only dream of. Garbed in a drab green bodice with puffy shoulders and a scandalously low cut with a set of frills and no dress to speak of. Pristine white cotton thigh high leggings garb her legs, and a pair of elegant but functional brown outdoor boots adorn her feet. Her hair is mahogany brown, and a hairpin in the shape of feathered wings is proudly displayed. Something about it touches the back of your mind. You are certain you've seen it before...

A bright smile adorns her face as she hums a merry little tune, a crudely made basket full of forest berries in hand. Setting the basket down next to the pot of water, she saunters over to your prone, waiting form, where the hum, immediately quietens and then silences altogether. Her smile too disappears, replaced by what you feel certain is worry. She kneels down next to you, and for a moment she does nothing except... well, stare. You think she's made you, but instead, she reaches gingerly out with a hand towards your face. What is she doing?

Closer, closer, her hand approaches your cheek, until, at the very last moment, where you'd swear you can feel the heat from her hand, she stops. Her fingers twitch, shake. Then she draws back. Her face falls.

"...stupid," she hisses, barely loud enough for you to make out. Is she referring to herself?

Something about her, though. The hairpin and, now you've gotten a closer look, those blue eyes of hers, too...

Choices -Voting closed - 10 voters

VOTES

Now might be a good time to announce your awakening. Play it safe, though. Pretend as though you've only just woken up.

7/10

Carry on observing. Make a decision to act based on whatever comes next

0

If she was planning on harming you, you imagine she'd have plenty of opportunity before now. Ask her who she is.

0

Well, she doesn't seem hostile. No reason to drop your guard though, she could well have friends outside who don't share her disposition. Deciding to err on the side of caution, you affect a soft groan to give her the impression that you're stirring. You hear a sharp, stifled gasp as she hears you and you catch her fretting in place, still on her knees, as she tries to settle on a course of action. It's actually kind of cute, and you've got to work to keep an amused grin off your face.

"What?" you moan, wincing at the sound of your own voice. You'd meant to carry on the act, but you actually do sound pretty awful. Your voice is dry and reedy, and now you think on that, you're pretty thirsty. Parched, even.

"Where am I?" you wonder aloud, genuinely enough.

The young woman, meanwhile, has frozen in place, doing a remarkable impression of a statue. That's not going to get you any answers, though.

"Who are you?"

That actually gets a response, if a strangulated noise emanating from her throat can be considered such. What is her deal? Why do you have the increasingly nagging feeling that you've seen this lady before? And why is she dressed so cleanly when all the clothes you can see inside this makeshift hut are patchwork at best?

Choices -Voting closed - 11 voters

VOTES

Give her time--could be she's not used to people. Or mute.

6/8

Try and press for a response beyond stunned gawping. Might need to get a little physical...

3/3

Putting aside your niggling thoughts, you turn your attention to the woman, who you assume has been your caretaker. She stares wide-eyed, mouth agape, the subtle rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she's even alive. Reluctantly, you decide against potentially spooking her by closing the distance. If there is anyone else around, you don't want to upset them, and her reaction could well be because she's just not used to dealing with people.

Suppressing a sigh, you sit yourself up, noting with curiosity the way her gaze darts to your bare chest before returning to your eyes. Her face reddens. Is she blushing? That's actually adorable. You give her a lop-sided grin and take in a slow, measured breath so as not to startle her. No sudden movements. Easy does it.

"Y-y-y-" she starts, grabbing your attention. You regard her with open curiosity, waiting patiently for her to find the words she wants.

Eventually, even she starts to show signs of frustration at her own inability to communicate, furrowing her brow and clearing her throat before swallowing audibly.

"You're awake," she says. It's a lame observation, but you'll take it over stuttering and inane gawping.

You nod, and she clears her throat again. "Good," she says. "That's, ahem, that's good."

Her voice is a whisper in the wind, and you feel pretty sure that, on a stormy day, you'd struggle to hear her outside. Her issues are all too apparent. She doesn't get to talk much.

"How..." she presses, after a brief instant spent chewing on her bottom lip, "How are you feeling?"

Choices -Voting closed - 9 voters

VOTES

I'd feel better if I knew where I was.

3/7

Thirsty. I don't suppose that pot over there's for drinking water?

1/2

I'm not sure how I feel about waking up in a strange place in a stranger's company without so much as a set of pants.

0

"I'd feel a lot better if I knew where I was," you tell her, matter-of-fact. "This definitely isn't the Keep."

Her face scrunches up when you mention the keep, which brings to mind the dream you had of being crushed alive...

Shaking your head, you clear the thought, focusing on what's in front of you.

"Right. Yes," she says after clearing her throat once again. "Sorry. Uh, you're in my home. We're still in the Darkwood though. A couple of miles southeast of Blackwatch Keep."

You can't help but blink.

"Near Draketear Lake?"

She nods.

"How..." you wonder. "Surely one of our patrols would have come across your village, so close to the Keep."

She shakes her head, "There--" she swallows again, "There's no village. It's just me. I move about a lot. I'm..." she looks away, her expression falling, like she's ashamed. "I'm not so fond of crowds of people."

Well, you could probably have guessed as much just by observing her.

"I see," you murmur, nodding gently, "Well, that'd certainly explain how you slipped under our notice. How did I come to be here? In your home?"

Her fingers, wrapped around her arms in a clear show of how nervous she is merely speaking to you, suddenly dig into the fabric of her sleeves. Her breath too, hitches and her face pales.

An unpleasant sinking feeling starts to build in your gut. What was, by your own thought process, a perfectly reasonable question, has gotten an abnormal response. Whatever the answer is, you are assuredly not going to like it...

Choices -Voting closed - 10 voters

VOTES

Press the question. You need to know if this is an elaborate kidnapping or... something else.

4/7

Mmmaybe change the topic? Ask her how she came to live alone in the Darkwood of all places. And maybe try to probe about that hairpin too.

3/3

A part of you is tempted to let it lie. To just switch the topic to one that makes her a little more comfortable.

But you can't do that. You need to know why she brought you here. Hell, your father; your brother Rangers, they're probably worried sick. You need to let them know that you're in one piece. You also need to make your way back north to the keep. If there's going to be a problem, well, you'd rather know about it now and be able to plan around that.

"Please tell me," you say. "You seem nice, and I don't think you mean me any harm, but I have a duty. A family."

She swallows again, nodding emphatically. Her face scrunches up and she starts to quake.

"I need to get back, so if you can just tell me where you've put my clothes and my equipment, I'll..."

"There's nothing left!" she blurts out, half-screaming. The suddenness of it causes you to stop short in surprise.

"You... I... sorry, what?"

That doesn't make any sense. What in the eight hells does she mean by that? Her breathing is heavy, slow, and a little laboured, like it physically pained her to tell you that.

"You--that is, the-the keep. I-it's..."

Something scratches at the back of your mind. You've no time to pay attention to it, though. You need to find out what in the name of the Pantheon she's talking about.

"Slow down," you say, growing impatient. It wasn't long ago you took the... oath...

Images flash before your eyes. Collapsing stone, distant screaming, a deep, guttural tongue, a weight like the whole world was pressing down on you from above.

The dream...

Or, perhaps more accurately...

You shake your head, your own breathing coming in short, ragged bursts as a terrible, terrible truth begins to emerge--one you'd give anything not to face right now.

"No," you choke out. "No, no. No, no, nononono, tell me it's not..."

Her forlorn expression is answer enough.

Grief is a stranger to you. Though illness took your mother from you and your father, it was at a tender enough age that you remember hardly anything about her. The sting was hardly felt, although you were told by many a Ranger whilst growing up that it took fully half a year for your father to return to even a semblance of his former self, such was his own personal loss.

You feel its bite keenly now. Your father--a legend in his own right--who taught you everything he knew along with the Masters of the Hunt and the Watch, along with your friends--men and women you'd grown up with, and the older Rangers of the Southlands... all lost, along with your home.

Or maybe not... if she dug you out, then perhaps others...

"We have to go back," you say, voice breaking under the weight of your hurt. "There must be others, like me. Buried but alive. We have to--"

As you move to rise, she pushes you back down. Shock courses through you. Good men might be dying even now and she means to stop you?

"The-there aren't any," she says, head hung. She looks squarely down at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. "I-I heard the keep fall. W-w-waited f-for the sunset, w-when the scavengers m-m-moved on. Wanted... n-needed to find you. I did. But..."

She raises her face to meet yours. With red, puffy eyes and an expression of such misery that it only wounds you further, she drops the final handbomb on your lap.

"But you were already dead..."

Choices -Voting closed - 15 voters

VOTES

Dead? No, I'm alive. I'm talking to you right now!

9/11

Get up. Leave. You've no time for sick jokes. Your brothers need your help.

2/5

...

3/3

Dead? What?

What in the world...

"No..." you mutter, "No, no. I'm not dead. I'm speaking to you right now."

She nods, "B-because I b-brought you back," once again she looks away, her voice trailing off and becoming progressively more quiet as she finishes her explanation.

But it's not an explanation at all. It's an impossibility. An outright fabrication. Unless...

As if sensing that mere words won't be enough, she drops whatever spell it was that was keeping her all clean and gussied up. Her clothing becomes as raggedy, patchwork and dirty as the piles decorating the floor of her hut. Her skin drains of its colour, like the blood has been flushed from her veins. Even her hair loses its luster, becoming a pale imitation of what was once a brown that shone in the sunlight. A small part of you remarks that, aside from the palette swap--and the wardrobe shift--she looks exactly the same as she did before. The rest of you is finding it difficult to care, too awestruck by her unmasking.

"You're a Necromancer..." you breathe, shaking fingers rising to your breast to make the sign of the Martyr. Too miserable to speak, she can only nod, dumb and mute in the face of your mounting horror.

A thought strikes you. The hairpin. You remember now! You gave it to a friend. Sana. A shy, quiet thing you used to drag around with you on silly little adventures around Blackwatch Keep. It was a birthday gift, and then scarcely a day later she and her parents vanished and, despite the best efforts of the nearby townsfolk as well as a patrol of experienced Rangers, the family was never seen again. You'd heard tell that witches had turned the poor family into newts and made off with their bounty to... to...

Fury boils within you at the thought of this demon having either had a part in your old friend's demise, or that she stumbled across her final resting place and picked up what she must have no doubt thought to be a shiny trinket. Fists clenched, teeth grinding in mounting rage, you prepare to pounce, to finally avenge an old wrong.

"I couldn't help it," she says, on the verge of breaking down. You only half-hear her, so incensed by... where do you even begin? "My powers just suddenly manifested. I knew the stories. I knew I couldn't stay. M-my p-parents tried to stop me b-but I-I..."

Your fury dissipates. What? Manifested? And what about her parents?

She continues to babble, growing less coherent as she carries on, and as she does, you see a pattern. It's faint, but there's something in there that you can only see...

Choices -Voting closed - 16 voters

VOTES

...Sana?

8/14

Let her carry on. If this is a trick, so help you gods...

3/3

"...Sana?"

You can scarcely believe it. Or maybe you can--you had a feeling as soon as you saw that hairpin. Maybe you always knew, and it just took a while for conscious thought to catch up. After all, it's been a long time since you last saw one another, and she certainly grew up in that time. Maybe a little too much.

Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, you can barely contain the tug at your heart as the babbling Necromancer stops at the utterance of the name. Her name.

"Y-you..." she stutters, staring at you for a whole other reason now. Then her chest hitches in a sob, and she launches herself at you, throwing her arms around your chest and clutching so tightly you think you hear your bones creak. She breaks down, wailing like a newborn. This, however, is no sorrow that she feels. You know this, because you feel exactly the same way.

You're just godsdamned glad to know your old friend is alive and well.

"I never knew," you sigh, returning her embrace with gusto. "Mother above, I never knew. If I had..."

The intensified wailing on her part tells you all you need to hear on that front. She's here, and so are you. Time be damned. It might be the only good thing to happen to you today, but Pantheon knows it's a life raft you needed.

Despite all the years that have passed, Sana, it seems, remains as much of a crybaby as she was when you were young children. Living in isolation has given her much time to experiment with her admittedly unnerving magic potency, but you don't doubt for a moment that she'd collapse into a quivering wreck if you took her to into a crowded room. It takes what feels like half a day for her to calm down enough to extricate herself from you, and your chest is practically soaked from all the tears she's shed.

"S-sorry," she mumbles, face ripening like a tomato as she takes in the sight of you once more. You sigh and give her a gentle squeeze of her shoulder. She places a hand of her own atop it, rubbing with her thumb. You aren't sure she's actually aware she's doing that.

"It's fine," you say. "I'll manage."

"You're so warm," she murmurs, dazed. "It's like I'm..." she stops, blinking, her blissful expression giving way to puzzlement.

"What?" you ask, unsure if you should be worried.

"You're warm," she repeats. She plants both her hands on your chest, feeling around. You feel a heat spread through you at the contact. It's not unpleasant, but if it keeps up, certain things will arise and in light of the current situation, the awkwardness would be preeeetty...

"Your heart," she breathes, stunned, "it's beating."

"That's... a bad thing?" you ask, confused.

"You died," she tells you. "You--" she shakes her head rapidly, "You were in a very bad way when I finally got you out. It took me--I had to--you--"

"Okay, slow down, Sana," you soothe, reaching out and gesturing with both hands. "This is all going a little too fast."

"When I brought your soul back, your body--I-I mean, it wouldn't rot. I made sure of that, but at the same time, there wasn't a heartbeat. Y-you should be as cold as I am, but--!"

"All right, going to stop you there. What exactly is the big--"

"I can raise cor--bodies," she corrects herself, "G-given enough t-time and p-preparation, I can bring souls b-back too. That's w-what I did w-with you. B-but this? You're alive! Your heart beats! You're warm! I-I can't do this! N-not something of this scale!"

"You're correct, child," a voice intones, speaking directly into your mind, "You did not."

A flash of light blinds the pair of you and there, floating in the air before you, is another woman. One of such extraordinary beauty that it's beyond human. Her long, shining white hair falling almost to her ankles, even tied with what look to be glimmering crystal flower pins attached to ribbons of black silk. A wide-brimmed white hat adorns her head, and a pair of eyes the deepest blue you've ever seen regard you with warmth--and sorrow. Her white dress clings to her like a second skin, yet aside from the low cut--lowever even than Sana's bodice, you think, for all that it manages to only barely contain the great treasures within--it covers much of the newcomer's form, with only the flesh of her upper bosom on display, a sapphire necklace hanging from a detached collar.

You gulp, wondering if the number of people in this actually pretty confined space is having an effect on the temperature. You remember a few of the other Rangers complaining about such a phenomenon at some of the banquets held in the Grand Hall of the keep.

"Be not afraid," the woman says. "My name is Arella. I am a Handmaiden of the Pantheon. An angel, if you will."

"An angel?" Sana asks, her face alight in wonderment, nervousness forgotten in her sheer awe of the being before them. "W-wow..."

Ah. No, there it is.

Choices -Voting closed - 12 voters

VOTES

What happened to me? What am I now?

6/9

Try not to stare like a bumpkin. Stare like a bumpkin.

6/8

Er... can we help you?

2/2

kneel for the angel like a respectful young man

1/2

Just work your mouth uselessly, you have no idea what the *fuck* is going on, and you have a feeling you're not, for a long while. Because what the *fuck*?!

2/2

An angel? What's next; a flock of Drakes?

0

What is your life?

Really. What is your life?

You've lost your home and your family. You've died. You've been resurrected. You've discovered the Necromancer who resurrected you is your long lost friend from distant childhood, and now an Angel with her breasts nigh-on spilling out of her dress is...

Fine.

You know what, you're just going to roll with it and see where this leads. The day cannot get any weirder than this.

"What happened to me?" you ask. "What exactly am I now, then? If Sana is saying I should be dead--or undead--but..." you frown. The day's events have piled up so swiftly after the other that it's starting to give you the mother of all migraines.

Arella gives you a patient smile.

"Sana is correct. But also incorrect. You are dead, yet not dead."

Helpful.

"Your soul is bound to your body by powerful magic of undeath. Yet I--a Handmaiden to the Mother, who governs life--have also bound my essence to you. You exist in between states. You cannot die, but at the same time, you don't truly live."

That makes... very little sense.

"So... which is it? My heart beats, my blood's clearly flowing. From what you've just said, I can't die. So... am I immortal?" the thought is a strange one. Death was a constant in a Ranger's life. The idea that you could just cheat it by way of this random cosmic coincidence is... unsettling to say the least.

"No. Not immortal," she shakes her head. "I am sorry," she continues, "this condition of yours is... new to me as well. I only know what I feel."

You exhale through the nose. Deciding to switch tack, you muse on an earlier comment the angel made. "So, you're bound to me. How? Why?"

"Because you are needed," Arella tells you. She wears a small, sad smile. "I hoped to find some survivors of your order, but by the time I arrived, it was far too late, and yours was the only soul I could find."

"Mine?" you ask, puzzled, "Why mine specifically? Why not anyone else's? Not that I'm complaining about being alive," you hasten to add.

Arella pauses. After a moment's hesitation, though, she sighs.

"Because there are no others."

...

"Pardon?"

"There were no others close enough. My powers were waning. What few of you remain were scattered too far and--"

"No, that's not something you can just gloss over," you interrupt, pointing a finger at the angel, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Again, she hesitates.

"P-please," Sana urges, "What's been going on? The keep... I-I've never seen destruction like it before. A-and the things that s-scoured the ruins after..."

Things? Come to think, she did mention something about scavengers... the Beastkin you heard when you were buried alive?

With one final sigh, the angel relents.

"The last six months that your friend was searching for and rebinding your soul--"

"Six months?!" you can't help but gape. You also feel a wary respect for Sana's proficiency as a wielder of... unorthodox magic. To go that long... you didn't know she'd cared that much.

"Ahem," Arella clears her throat, giving you a soft, pouty glare that you find more adorable than intimidating. Nonetheless, you raise your hands apologetically and gesture for her to continue. She does so.

"As I was saying: The last six months, and what I believe would have been the month beforehand, the Pantheon had been embroiled in a war unlike anything we or Humanity had ever faced before."

She waves a hand and, in the air before you, space warps and contorts to form an image.

It's... not a very attractive image.

The thing is... grotesque, and that's being generous. Mottled, leathery grey flesh stretched taut over a figure that was only vaguely humanoid in the sense that it possessed all the requisite limbs and extremities. Any similiarities ended there. It had thin, sharp ears in the manner of an elf; a short, stubby nose that reminds you a little of a pig's, and a maw of sharp, yellowing teeth like a feral dog. Quills like a porcupine jutted from its shoulder, and its face was disgustingly malformed. It looked like its flesh had melted off one side of its face. Baleful green eyes burned with malign intellect and it wore a suit of cannibalised armour--scraps of steel plate and padded leather.

"This..." Arella says, utterly failing to hide her revulsion, "Is one of the Spawn. Specifically a Spawnlord. Just over six months ago, they broke across the Great Wastes to the west, swarmed over the World's End Mountains... and devastated the lands of men."

"What?"

"I am sorry, children," Arella laments, "But aside from a few lone survivors, you are the last of humanity."

Choices -Voting closed - 9 voters

VOTES

...you said the Pantheon 'had' been fighting a war. Did they lose?

6/7

You have chosen to save me as well as you can. That surely must mean there is a glimmer of hope.

3/4

How many other survivors? Where can we find them?

4/4

I'd like to go back to sleep and never wake up now, thank you.

1/1

That's... Great Hells...

0

An uncomfortable realisation settles on you through the shock of all that's been revealed.

"You said the Pantheon 'had' been fighting a war," you say, carefully.

"Yes," Arella nods, noting your observation and no doubt bracing to give you more highly unpleasant news.

"Did they lose?"

She's quiet for a long time. For a while, you think she's not going to answer you, but then she speaks, and when she does, her heartache is palpable.

"The Pantheon are dead," she says. "All devoured by the Abomination--the very first of the Spawn. My sisters followed soon after. To my knowledge, I am the only one left."

The Gods are dead...

Great Hells, the Gods are dead.

"There..." you reach for something, anything to hold on to, "There must be something. You--you chose to save me for a reason. That tells me there's some glimmer of hope, a-a chance. Something! Right?"

"You are correct. It is slim, but a chance to throw back the tide of evil yet remains."

"Tell me!" you all but demand of her.

"Though humanity is doomed, life can yet turn back the Spawn. You must unite them in purpose. The Spawn are too many to face alone. For the time being, they revel in their victory over the Pantheon's favoured sons and daughters but soon, in their hatred, they will eventually turn to the Ogre tribes of the north, the underground cities in the south, and the Forests of the Beastkin to the east."

You shake your head, "Unite the Ogres? The Dwarfs and Gnomes? The dozens and dozens of nomadic Beastkin tribes that... that just wander the world? I-I can't. There's too many, and they're all too different! Besides, I'm not a leader, or a general. I'm a Ranger--and only barely at that! I only got my initiation tattoos a few--" you stop, correcting yourself, "six months ago!"

"Then be not a general," Arella states. "Become a symbol. The Rangers of the West defended the land from the Drake scourge for centuries. To know that even one warrior from that legendary order still draws breath among them will grant courage to more than just the lonely survivors of Albion."

That... sounds impressive, but you're still only one man. Sensing your doubts, Arella offers you a beatific smile and takes your hands in her own. Her grip is faint. Weak. She said her power was waning before she latched onto your soul. You wonder just how long she would have lasted if she'd not found you when she did.

"I can stay no longer. I must conserve what little reserves are left to me," she says, and you realise that you can hear the fatigue in her voice. She sounds exhausted. To top that off, she's lost... hells, she's lost her family.

Just like you.

"I will watch over you as often as I am able, and offer guidance when I can," Arella says, her form starting to fade like mist on the morning wind, "But hereon, this is a journey you must make on your own. Keep your friends close, children, and may you stand in fortitude against the angry night."

With those final, parting words, she vanishes, leaving you and Sana alone in her hut.

Choices -Voting closed - 9 voters

VOTES

+Give Sana a hug, that was some heavy shit

5/8

...where did you leave my arms and armour, Sana? I could use a good hunt to improve my mood.

3/6

Ask her if she's up for saving the world

1/2

I... think now would be a good time to rest up while we still can.

1/1

You spend a few quiet moments absorbing everything. Put lightly, it's heavy shit. Put more realistically: you have no earthly idea how you're going to go about doing this. The sound of breathing at your side reminds you that this must be equally as terrifying for Sana--more so, even, considering all the time she's spent as a hermit. You've no doubt that she never intended for any of this to happen. She was just... trying to save you.

A warmth spreads through your heart as you take in the pallid, but utterly sweet girl who continues to stare in stumped awe at the spot Arella used to occupy. Slowly, so as not to startle her, you extend your arms and take her into a soft hug. She breaks out of her trance as you embrace the Necromancer.

"Wh-wh-wha-?!" she squeaks.

"I'm sorry," you tell her. "I know this must be just as strange and terrifying for you, too."

"W-well, i-i-it's not all bad," she mumbles, returning the hug after a moment of indecision, "I-I... Igttoseeyuagin."

You draw back, one eyebrow arched.

"Hm?"

"N-nothing," she stammers.

You feel the warmth return and breathe a soft chuckle.

"Yeah. I missed you too, Sana."

She's not quite as warm as a regular person, but you're pretty damn sure her temperature spiked as soon as you finished speaking. You chuckle again, louder this time and give her one final squeeze before pulling away. She pouts in her old adorable way when she sees the grin on your face... then her gaze travels downward and...

Oh, yeah. You thought you could feel a breeze.

Sana is transfixed, frozen in place as she beholds your nethers. You give her a little shake to try and get her to stop, but she just... kind of continues to stare. It's actually a little embarrassing, if you're honest. After all, you've never really exposed yourself to a woman, let alone...

Horror courses through you as you realise that you were standing in the buff before a Handmaiden of the Gods the whole time. Did she notice? Did she care? She must have noticed--she's an angel for crying out loud! Oh, sweet Father above, how awkward must she have felt giving you all that info in that state.

Now burning with embarrassment, you turn away, noting with carefully concealed curiosity the way Sana tilts her head as if to carry on peeking. Interesting, but it can wait until later. Right now, you've got some steam to blow off, and one of the ways that's always brought your mood up has been a good old fashioned hunt.

Of course, the hunt you now have in mind might be a little different from what you're used to...

"Sana, uh, did you bring along my arms and armour?"

She nods, face tomato red and now locked on your backside.

"Where?" you ask, now actually feeling a bit uncomfortable.

She points with a finger to the makeshift entrance to the hut, "O-outside in the pack," she whispers. "S-Spooky's w-watching it."

Spooky?

"All right, uh, thanks, Sana."

And like that, you take your leave, feeling your childhood friend's gaze burning into your arse the whole way through. You step outside and into the light--

--and are immediately greeted by the sight of a scowling skull with glowing green eyes.

Starting in fright, you take in the sight of a walking skeleton, wisps of ancient, white hair somehow still attached to his (its?) head and a thick, scratched wooden shield clasped in one hand while a half-snapped blade was held in the other. The skeleton seemed to regard you for an instant with what you imagine could well be curiosity. The moment passes, however, and with an incline of its head, it turns away and stalks off to stand guard, jerking with its sword arm to a brown pack lying by a recently-doused campfire. Your heart leaps to see your weapons, a shortsword, Ranger hunting bow and quiver with a full complement of arrows strapped to the flanks of the pack, along with the silver dagger your father had gifted you on your sixteenth birthday.

"Thanks?" you offer. The skeleton... Spooky, you presume, makes no reaction, continuing its silent vigil. Giving the undead warrior one last quizzical look, you open the pack and reach inside, finding everything is there--if a little banged up, presumably from when you were pulped inside it when the keep was destroyed.

In short order, you're fitted and ready for war--or in this case, the hunt. Your leather armour--Gnome craftsmanship, and it must be said that the little folk certainly know their textiles--is deceptively light while offering almost as much protection as a couple layers of chainmail. Your cloak as well, has special properties, woven with special ingredients to erase your personal odour so that no beast (or Drake) can pick up your scent. A pang of sorrow stabs at your heart as you realise that the technique to make more such cloaks is almost certainly lost now.

Your boots are, miraculously, unscathed save for a bit of scuffing, which was hardly much of a concern for a Ranger anyway. Tough, durable, and offering fine protection for both your feet and ankles, you'd never want to leave home without them.

Sliding your sword in its scabbard onto its usual spot at your back, along with your bow and quiver, and with dagger firmly attached to your belt, you feel... whole once again. The Darkwood stretches out before you, the scent of bark and earth and moisture fills your lungs as you take a long breath. Distant crys and caws and bleats and hoots of the fauna tickles at your hearing, and when you open your eyes again, it is not with the eyes of a youth stripped of hearth and home. Not with the eyes of a boy ripped cruelly from his family. Not even with the eyes of a man whose nation even now smoulders around him, the embers not long cold from the hideous conquest dealt by the numberless terrors from beyond the Great Wastes.

It is with the eyes of a hunter.