Dawn's Rise

Wyll felt a dull burning pain, a soreness in his nerves as every toss and turn was searing. The feeling was comparable to a hot iron poker being jabbed into his body before being twisted as it cauterized his limbs. As more feeling returned to Wyll, he found himself slowly awakening, eyes quickly searching for the bandit or some indicator of the battle's end, a cold sweat beginning to gather on his brow. His bones felt rattled and as if they were shivering inside him, Wyll brought his hands to his face as he assured that he was indeed awake and alive. The bed he laid on his own with the Purple Dragoons, his familiar nomadic home. His body trembled, an unfamiliar feeling as Wyll looked down to find a shaky, teary-eyed kid looking at him before tackling him. A deep pain filled Wyll, going from a dull throb to an irradiating, almost debilitating pain. Weakly the silver eyed boy cried out in discomfort as he pushed the boy back.

Wyll recognized the boy as the one he fought for previously, the Beastkin cub. Now that Wyll had light to see he took an agonizing second to look at the boy, curiously taking in his features. The boy's blonde hair spotted with black spots, the boy almost looking human if it weren't for the tail, ears and what he knew to be the hidden claws. Wyll looked down at the boy, his silver eyes meeting the Jade colored ones.

Instinctively Wyll was curious, not getting a lot of time to interact with others outside of the mercenary company. He had been taught some about the races, the Beastkin being an interesting topic however. Their forms always varied, some looking much more human like the boy clinging to him while others were more animalistic, covered in fur. There were theories about what caused the different and drastic speculations but the Beastkin themselves attributed the difference to the moon and the different phases it went through.

With some difficulty Wyll pried the boy off of him, removing the clingy kid from his side as he huffed. Most of the pain stemmed from his back where he hit the tree, his broken ribs, right shoulder and he felt as if his nerves were shot. He groaned a bit as he tried to recall his victory and the final blow but it seemed to be a blur, a blue flame flickering in his mind a bit and deafening clanging of metal beating metal. The recollection of the events only caused an intense headache.

Wyll shook his head before somewhat pushing the injured boy from his tent as he began to undress to better understand the damage. As he worked off the loose clothes he found himself bandaged up, the sickly discoloration from the bruising made him queasy as he shook his head. He felt foolish for taking on such an opponent, still so unsure how victory fell into his lap as he dressed himself.

Everyone held a hushed tone, hardly talking as Wyll stumbled out of his tent. Wyll took a deep breath through his nose and only found the scent of blood hitting his nose, causing him to choke as he shook his head. The mercenaries were packing their things, watching over their injured as Gaemo came out of the crowd, his face solemn as he approached Wyll. A nervousness filled Wyll, his father wearing a serious face as he instinctually clenched his jaw.

Wyll was wise to tense himself as Gaemo planted his fist in Wyll's chest, placing a hand on his back; everyone was shocked. Some medics began to curse as Gaemo put Wyll on his face and locked eyes with his son. Wyll's face was scrunched with pain and discomfort as he swore he felt more of his ribs break.

"You idiot! Going out into the woods alone in the wild, with no backup! Taking on bandits and killing the Green Demon without a Weapon! You were a foot and a half in the grave, bruised and battered, bloodied as if a wolf's fresh kill! Buzzards were circling your dumb ass when we found you! But... You kept a kiddo from being kidnapped and sold into slavery, you protected the innocent, putting their safety before your own. You killed a known criminal, and you're alive, thats what we consider a bonus. As congrats, the Dragoons and I have put it to a vote. The bounty on Gideon and the reclaim payment on his weapon, you will get a quarter of the lump sum!"

The crowd cheered, people smiling as Wyll got his bearings back. Some company members couldn't help but chuckle as Wyll struggled to recover from the blow and stood straight with some difficulties. Gently in a closed hand, Gaemo gave Wyll a small vial, winking as he handed it over.

"Consider this a present, makin your Papa Bear proud!"

Gaemo was on the verge of tears as he flashed a toothy grin to Wyll. In the vial was a red liquid, an expensive medicine that had been dubbed a healing elixer. The extended version of the medicine was something about promoting natural healing in the body. Still, the simple version was it healed most wounds but was expensive because only one company had the land rights to where the main herb grew. The label had a tophat, mustache, and monocle on it.

Quickly Wyll popped the crystal top and threw back the liquid, his mouth filling with the bitter, foul liquid as he gagged and struggled to keep it down. As the flavor faded, he felt the shaking subside some, the split skin on his hands mending and the bruises lessened but werent fully recovered, his ribs healing up some but most likely were still fractured. He felt rejuvenated and his energy back somewhat as everyone finished loading horses and carriages, the cub limping over to Wyll in crutches as the two saddled a horse.

Ali was thankful to the mysterious stranger for saving him as the two rode to Kaber, his home and the nearest city, for a few days' travel. Ali felt as if the gods were smiling down on him as his own prayers had been answered and a hero appeared. Wyll was aware of their destination, some anxiety creeping in on him. He was nearing a very important day, something he had been training for, the day he too became a Wielder like the men within the Purple Dragoons. Soon he'd be joining in on battles, fighting with his ilk like they always had.

Not too long ago, the Dragoons picked up two missionaries from the church. A man who stood about 5'6 and a woman who towered over most of the others as she stood 7'1. They had been observing the mercenaries and seemed to take a deep interest in Wyll and his abilities. Wyll always felt their prying eyes on him, not too sure how he felt about the church beyond the common practices. However it was thanks to their recommendation that the group was headed to Kaber as they had personally recommended Wyll for the Rite of Armament. Wyll pushed the thoughts out of his head as he flicked the reigns of his steed, the Purple Dragoons beginning the trek to Kaber.

Askalon leaned against the wall of his small hut as a hammer rang in his ears, causing him to flinch with every strike of metal. He despised that noise; it made his skin crawl and rubbed his nerves raw as the sound brought back foul memories of a long forgotten time. With shaky hands, he rolled his sleeves up as he glanced down at his forearms to find glyphs and sigils of gleaming silver on his skin as he cursed. Each lightly gleamed as Askalon cursed under his breath with distain, more painful and unwelcomed memories.

He thought he made his point last time when he said he was done with those brats! His skin began to burn as he hissed through a clenched jaw, his muscles tensing some as he grunted and huffed. He rolled his sleeves down as he grabbed his bag and cloak, shaking his head in annoyance as he watched an ethereal silver thread lead out into the world as he scoffed, what a pain he thought. Askalon rolled his shoulders as he began to stretch, hating to travel as he began his directionless journey, led by the thread of fate. His hands slicking back his silver hair as sapphire eyes watched the thread with intent, an unnatural curiosity filling him as he didn't get why this was happening. His steps were light and quick as he sped through the forest at an blazing speed, each step precise and not even causing the grass to be disturbed by his weight.

Askalon lost count of the days he had been traveling, the moon hanging overhead as he kept running to where the thread led him. Something was off about the night, a tightness in his chest he was unfamiliar with as the clanging began again, his skin feeling as if it was set ablaze as a sudden unfamiliar feeling swallowed him. His consciousness was swept from under him, engulfing him as his body rag-dolled, tumbling and slamming into a tree. Everything was quiet as everything seemed to be in greyscale as Askalon tasted blood, his head spinning as he woke up, gasping out as he felt his body.

Everything turned to normal; his sight was regular again though his midsection felt battered as he took a breath, shaking his head as he stretched and examined himself. His mouth tasted like a once-forgotten taste, blood. His nose curled, and his face churned as he tried his best not to get sick as he felt his insides do a weird little maneuver. He groaned out as he swayed a bit, taking a moment to regain his footing before he noticed it was no longer night, the sun up, and the birds chirped away.

Askalon held his sides as he slowly walked toward the silver lining, just beyond his reach as he huffed and groaned. Things began to grow fuzzy for Askalon; each step felt heavy and less coordinated as the ma felt tired for the first time in a while. He couldn't remember the last horrific time he saw a battlefield; his bones felt stiff as he hissed and groaned, stumbling onto a path that looked well traveled; in the distance, the city gates came into view.

He watched as the silver thread continued towards the city; the sound of the hammer grew louder as his head ached and throbbed. Blood overwhelmed his taste; his body felt pained. He wasn't sure why it was happening as he slowly walked down the road as carriages passed. Askalon wanted to figure out what this thread led to as he felt the sigils and glyphs burn brighter. He stifled cries of discomfort and pain as his fists balled up with discontent.

Ali got excited as the Purple Dragoons approached Kaber, the white city walls. Tears filled his eyes as he happily snuggled back into Wyll. Wyll felt a pit in his chest, something feeling off as they approached the city; he took a deep breath and sighed. Soon, he would have his Weapon; he could start his journey to be the next Hero-King like Malik! Excitement filled Wyll as his eyes grew big, a smile on his face as they drew closer to the city.