Meet the Colm Family

With great difficulty, the knight's eyes opened, still golden but no longer glowing.

The Guardsman breathed in deeply. His body felt frail. The room around him felt small and entirely made of wood with small candles illuminating the space. The sounds of conversation came from the other side of the room's door.

He tried to sit up but found the strength in his arms inadequate. He tried to raise the covers of his bed, intending to inspect his body.

He found skin and bone, a shadow of his former strength. His toned body, sculpted from years of hellish training in the Sun Guard, was gone like it never existed.

'How's this possible? How long was I asleep?!'

With a burst of strength, he threw himself out of bed, landing on the wooden floor.

He grimaced; his body was fragile, and he felt like his blood was on fire. Even the loose woolen robes he wore felt like rusty chainmail on his skin.

Someone burst through the door to his room, finding him writhing in agony.

"Rick! He's awake! Get a healer here right now!" Mord shouted to his companion.

"Already?! Help him! I'll get a healer!"

Mord rushed to the guardsman, unsure of what to do.

Luckily, the pain began to subside, and the emaciated knight sucked in ragged breaths.

"By Asmodeus, did you break a hip or something falling off the bed? What is wrong with you?!"

The knight tried to speak, but it felt like he had been screaming for days.

When he finally found the strength to ignore the pain, it was as if an Eldritch Lord was speaking, and a voice like the darkest night escaped the fallen warrior's throat.

"No... I tried to use magic. Help me up..." The warrior looked up at the man, and Mord looked back in shock; he hadn't expected Death himself to speak to him.

'Why does he sound like that?! This guy sounds like Morrow...'

Mord helped the man up, taking care not to hurt him.

"So... what's your name? And what's with the mask? All we know is that you're from the Vrean Sun Guard. I'm sorry to say, but your nation doesn't exist anymore."

The news filled the warrior's heart with rage and grief. He already knew that his homeland was destroyed, but to hear another say it, voicing his worst fears, plunged him into hopelessness.

As they stepped out of the room, ten guards looked towards the pair as they emerged. Many were curious, others fearful. The warrior didn't care. Mord nodded to one.

"Inform Lord Colm that he has awoken."

Soon two people dressed in plain robes rushed towards Mord and the warrior and immediately began inspecting him for injuries, directing him to a seat.

...

Deep within the keep in the center of the town, the Lord's Office resides. Three sides of the room are full of bookshelves, each with golden letters down its spine. Some look pristine, others like they'd turn to dust in the next few minutes, their pages falling out and the binding full of holes.

In the center is a sizable dark wood desk, plain and practical. Its wood originated from the local area and was carved by the finest carpenter in Redvale.

"Ow! Damn splinter!" A man in his fifties, with black hair and grey streaks through it sucked on his thumb. He wore extravagant grey robes with gold embroidery, signifying his status as Lord of Redvale.

There was only one carpenter in Redvale.

He made his way to the fourth wall, one entirely made of glass. He surveyed his humble domain with a nervous gaze, the last weeks had not been kind.

'First, the Kingdom of Vrea falls. Not our problem, though rerouting our trade networks was certainly a hassle. Then, one of their legendary Sun Guards shows up at our door. Not good, the people are scared, and so am I.' Lord Colm thought.

As he carefully extracted the splinter in his thumb with magic, he pondered over their situation once again.

At first, he had thought it a sign they would be invaded and had the entire city guard and reserve guard man the walls for a week.

Nothing had happened, but for a week, the people of Redvale were terrified, at least, more than usual.

When the city guard was stood down, relief swept through the people, but the terror soon returned, and they sought someone to blame. An unknown soldier was an easy scapegoat for them, but thankfully he'd had him guarded during the crisis.

Lord Colm sighed deeply. He was getting too old for this.

Suddenly, someone burst through the door, a young man with the same black hair as Colm.

"My Lord, the Vrean has awoken," He said, a slight smile on his calm face.

"Excited, are you? Don't get your hopes up, I've heard he looks like a starving child. Only time will tell if he truly is a Vrean. Let's go meet the man." Lord Colm replied with a frown and drooping eyelids. Time weighed heavily upon him.

"Oh, I'm sure he has many stories to tell, my Lord." The youth said quickly walking out of the room, his father in tow.

"Gwen! Tyria! The Vrean is awake! Come on!" The young man shouted, not stopping for a second.

...

Once the two healers had completed their work, they both cast a diagnostic spell on him, just in case. Seeing their rapid hand signs and the guttural tongue of magic, the emaciated sun knight felt like his heart was in a vise.

As they were casting the spell, he felt his head starting to ache. He could feel something pulling at his consciousness like he'd forgotten something important.

'I've forgotten everything, of course, I've forgotten something important!' He thought, clenching his fist.

The healers mistook his distress for a reoccurring pain, and redoubled their efforts, making his head feel like it was splitting.

He gritted his teeth, before remembering something the sentry had asked him.

"I need a mirror." He growled, the healers jumping in fright.

The sentry grabbed one off the wall, holding it in front of his face.

Or, where his face should have been. Instead, there was a smooth white mask, and two golden eyes surrounded by darkness looked back at him.

The headache vanished, and so did his consciousness as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

...

"Well?! What's wrong with him?!" Lord Colm roared.

The two healers cast the diagnostic spell on him once again just to be sure, their rapid hand signs forming after images in the air, and their guttural tongue grating on the ears of all present.

After receiving the same results, they turned to look at each other, their faces pale and a cold sweat on their backs.

"Ha-Have you ever seen a case like this?" The younger of the two, an average-looking teenager, said, his skin pale and sallow.

Lord Colm grabbed the young healer's shoulder, mana brimming around him as he began to lose his temper.

"What is the problem?!"

The elder of the two was a middle-aged woman with the same pale and sallow skin with a streak of grey through her blonde hair. She wrenched Lord Colm's hand off the young man's shoulder.

"Unhand him! We will tell you what we have found when we are sure of the results." Her own mana brimmed around her, though significantly weaker than the Lords.

Lord Colm's son put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear: "It's unwise to insult a healer, my Lord. You know this."

The Lord of Redvale took a few deep breaths, calming himself, while the healers conversed.

"My apologies, Healer Freya, please, continue your work." He spoke.

Only Lord Colm, his son, the two healers, the patient, and Mord and Rick remained in the guardhouse, all others had been ordered out.

The two sentries sat in the corner, staying out of the way.

"So, what do you think is happening? It seems that this thing - I mean - this guy has been nothing but trouble from the beginning." Mord said, sipping happily on a mug of dark red liquid.

Rick's insides twisted in a knot, as he tried not to breathe in too deeply.

"How can you drink locraf so casually? It's disgusting!"

Mord furrowed his brows. "Hey, just because you don't like it, doesn't mean it's bad. Besides, I'll have you know that the benefits of the blood of eldritch monsters are highly beneficial to one's constitution."

"I am aware of the benefits, you dimwit! And for your information, it's not me who is strange for hating locraf, it is you for enjoying it! Ask any of the guards, and they'll tell you the same!" Risk hissed, trying not to disturb Lord Colm.

Mord shrugged, taking another swig of his drink.

"Alright, we've determined that something is happening, my Lord," Healer Freya said, "Though we don't know why it is happening. Would you like me to tell you here or in your office?"

Lord Colm nodded, "Excellent, just tell me everything now."

"Yes, my Lord. Before he suddenly fell unconscious at the sight of his face, the patient was healthy, albeit malnourished and weak. Our spells didn't detect a single injury. Now, our spells tell us nothing at all, shit, it's as if the mana we are injecting into his body is being absorbed! Otherwise, we would have been able to tell you something." She gestured to his thin arms and bony fingers.

"He may just be too hungry, my Lord. I recommend we nourish him and allow him to rest. Maybe this strange condition will pass?"

Lord Colm pondered over the healer's words, his hands rubbing his clean-shaven chin for a moment.

"If that's what you believe best, Healer Freya," He looked over at the two sentries sitting in the corner, "help the healers get him back to his room, I want to know the instant that he wakes up, you hear me?"

Rick rocketed to attention, and shouted: "Yes, my Lord!!"

Mord lazily nodded, before saying the same as he got to work. Lord Colm glanced at him coldly before leaving, he had far more pressing matters to worry about.

As the two guards assisted Freya with getting the warrior back to his bed, Rick shot Mord an ill-concealed look of anger that seemed to promise pain.

Mord had the gall to look surprised and confused.

...

"My Lady, the warrior fell unconscious before your brother and father could reach him. It seems upon seeing his own face, diagnostic spells ceased to work properly on him."

A young woman sat at her desk, dressed in an extravagant robe similar to her father's, steepling her fingers as she tried to bore a hole through the wall with her gaze alone.

Lady Tyria Colm nodded, acknowledging the unseen figure in the well-lit room.

"Thank you, Gwen. His next course of action?" She looked out the ceiling-high window, angled towards the Outerlands. The land was barren and black, only the foreboding trees and ruins of once-great cities lay in wait.

"He will continue to nourish him and let him rest, my Lady. They believe his body is too frail to support him." The voice seemed to come from everywhere, making it impossible to locate even with the lights on.

Tyria furrowed her brows. "Give him extra doses of sustenance, I suspect my father is underfeeding him. He has been here for months, and still looks like a skeleton." Her hands gripped the edges of her desk, knuckles turning white with anger.

'That damn fool, soon we will need all the help we can get, this man could be our salvation!'

Tyria sighed deeply; a frown etched on her face. A great evil lurked on the horizon, one they were ill-prepared for even with the 'great mage', Y'dra Murdoc, by their side.

'I must talk to this man before my father does, or things will get difficult. I will not allow him to doom us all!'