Dark Age Year 871
Seventh day of the First month
They were being followed, at least that’s what Tharos thought. Soon after they left the area with the dead orcs, Tharos couldn’t help but feel that someone or something was watching them with great intensity. While he didn’t know who they were or what their intentions were, for this presence was out of range for his extraordinary senses. Regardless, he could feel their stares upon him and Cenric, burning into their forms with a laser-like focus. As the sun slowly set and the need to find shelter from the elements grew, Tharos couldn’t risk a confrontation in such conditions. If the person following them was seeking a fight, it would be best to avoid it under those circumstances. Turning his head towards Cenric.
(“Cenric. Don’t be alarmed, but we are being watched and followed.”) Cenric looked at him, his eyes flashed with a light of worry.“)
(“Is it more Orcs?”)
(“No, I don’t think so, if it was orcs, goblins or other such ilk. They would have attacked us by now.”)
(“What do you think it is then, Tharos?”)
(“It could be a number of things, Cenric. It could be the local wildlife, the many beasts that have assaulted us, much like the harsh weather. Or it could be the people who have made this wasteland before us their home, watching us from their dark caves like hungry lions.”)
(“If you put it that way, it sounds pretty bad. But it’s nothing you haven’t beaten before, right?”)
(“That is true, Cenric. However, overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer. I have known many people who have met an untimely end because they overestimated their own abilities and grew lazy and complacent in their success. The only cure for such stagnation is eternal vigilance against the unknown and oneself.”)
(“Okay, so what are we going to do next?”)
Tharos gazed out at the vast expanse before him. The world appeared tinted in a dark red hue through the dark-rimmed goggles that shielded his amber-coloured eyes from the light of afternoon sun as it was slowly setting beyond the horizon. However, in the distance, maybe a few miles away, there was a massive rock formation with several caves and a flat top. Tharos didn’t know if there was anything living in those caves, but the high ground it provided was a tactical benefit that he couldn’t ignore. Nightfall would soon be upon them, and finding shelter would become a top priority, regardless of any potential hostile encounters.
(“We will make camp over there and await our guest.”) Tharos said pointing out the rock formation in the distance.
(“ok, whatever you say Tharos.”) Cenric said with some hint of reluctance in his voice.
The two of them would then pick up the pace, heading in the direction of the rock formation. As they got closer to the rock formation, Tharos couldn’t sense the presence of anything within those caves, well, he couldn’t sense anything in his current effective range. But regardless he couldn’t afford to let his guard down, as many of those caves ran deeper than his senses could penetrate. These caves often house vicious beasts that stalk these barren lands with grim determination and purpose, or those with foul intent, who would happily sample forbidden meats and drink what shouldn’t be drunk. Tharos had slain more than enough of them on this journey so far to understand their true character and the laws of this land. About an hour passed before they reached the rock formation. Tharos left Cenric in front of the rock formation to keep an eye out while he did a once-around the rock formation and investigated the few caves that were carved into it. Most of them were shallow, with many ending in a dead end within a few hundred feet. One of the caves was much deeper, so deep that Tharos didn’t have enough time to fully explore it. However, based on what he could find, there were no visible signs of habitation.
“Although this isn’t the most ideal place for us to set up camp, it will have to do for now,” Tharos thought to himself as he watched the sun dip just past the horizon.
Directing Cenric to one of the nearby caves, the two of them began setting up camp while waiting for their pursuer to arrive. Lucky for them, they didn’t have to wait long after finishing setting up the camp, with a small fire going. Tharos sensed something in the distance. It was a presence that Tharos had never felt before. It was pure rage made manifest, burning brighter and hotter than anything Tharos had experienced, it was like standing right in front of the sun. The rage felt primal and animalistic, making Tharos unsure if he was sensing a person or a wild animal. If this were a person, he could not fathom what kind of person could summon up such rage. However, that wasn’t all. As they got closer, Tharos detected magical energy. It was similar to the traces of magical energy he sensed on the corpses of the orcs.
“Is it a mage or a magical creature? No, this is something different,” Tharos pondered to himself.
As he concentrated more on the magical energy, he sensed himself being drawn in, and when he regained his senses, he found himself not in the cave with Cenric. Instead, he stood in the midst of a Taiga, feeling the thick snow under his boots and the scent of pine trees teasing his nose. He had never ventured to the far northern regions of Aria during his travels in his youth. The forest he now found himself in matched many of the descriptions he had read or heard from other travelers he had encountered. He then saw what looked like flashes of wolves moving in a winter storm. He could hear the howling of the wolves and icy winds howling around him, with the chill breeze on his skin sending shivers up his spine. The vision was so vivid that he felt as if he were actually there, in this seemingly desolate winter wasteland. Then he saw flashes of what appeared to be a massive double-bladed great axe. However, this great axe was no ordinary weapon. It was metallic, almost silver blue in colour, with the shape of two wolf heads carved into the top of the axe head. The blades of the axe looked as if they were carved from solid ice, with an aura of frost emanating from the blade.
“A magic weapon, and a rather powerful one at that. That explains a lot. I knew I should have taken some magical items from the archives.”
Tharos thought to himself, cursing his own shortsightedness. Magical items could grant people great power, an advantage that no one would ever deny was useful. However, like all things in life, the most expensive thing ever was that which is free. Great power, such as what magic offers, was never free, despite what the common man might think, and magical items were no different. Many magical items, especially ones of great power, were often cursed, and those who possessed them would have to pay some unknown price, a price that many of them were unprepared to pay.
There was a story that Tharos remembered well from his youth, emphasizing and illustrating this very point, “The Man and the Mirror.” It recounted the tale of a young man who stumbled upon a beautiful mirror washed ashore and brought it back to his home. He quickly realized that the mirror had the power to show him any place or person he wished to see. Initially, he viewed it as a mere amusement and curiosity. However, little did he know at the time that the mirror had another function, one that was triggered by accident when the man was examining it in closer detail. He found that the mirror also showed those who looked upon it their deepest and darkest desires. The man quickly fell into the depths of depravity, indulging in every single hidden vice imaginable, even sampling forbidden fruits. This ultimately led to his destruction, affecting not only himself and his family but also the small village where he lived.
What was the lesson in this story? Was it a cautionary tale warning people of the darkness that lingers within the human heart? Tharos didn’t necessarily think so. Was it a tale warning people of the dangers of magic, possibly? Or was it a tale about the dangers of being curious? That was the common interpretation that perhaps had some truth to it. However, for Tharos, the message he had always taken from it was the danger of ignorance. Ignorance about the perils of magic and ignorance of oneself. Ignorance may be bliss for some people, but for others, ignorance is a state worse than death. The damage caused by those with wicked hearts and evil intent is rather significant, but those who are ignorant or foolish can cause even greater harm. Not out of malice, but because they believe they are doing the right thing. Which begs the question: which is worse, an evil person who does evil things fully aware of the consequences of their actions, or a good but ignorant person who does evil things not out of malice but because they want to do the right thing? It was a question Tharos didn’t have an answer for.
Tharos stood still in the blizzard, he felt a small amount of pressure on his shoulder, as if someone was pushing him. Then, he sensed someone trying to shake him. As he closed his eyes and opened them again, he found himself back in the cave, lying flat on the rocky floor with Cenric pushing and shaking him. Tharos turned to Cenric as he got up.
(“What’s the matter, Cenric?”)
(“I could ask you the very same question. You suddenly collapsed on the floor and have been staring at the wall for a while.”)
(“Sorry about that Cenric.”)
(“well, what happened Tharos?”) Cenric his face painted with a look of concern.
(“I sensed the person who was following us and got caught in a trance. It happens sometimes.”)
(“Okay, you had me worried there for a bit.“)
(“If I were you, I would save your worry for yourself. We are about to have company.“) As he finished speaking, he sensed that presence again, this time closer, maybe half a mile away from them.
(“Stay in here Cenric and don’t come up until I say so.”)
(“Ok,Tharos.“)
Tharos then headed outside the cave to meet this new foe head-on. Although he didn’t know what to expect, he had some hints based on the rage he felt from this person and the nature of weapon itself. He was clearly facing a savage warrior, as only someone of great strength and stature could wield such a weapon effectively. Tharos felt a powerful rage emanating from this presence, indicating that he was dealing with a formidable opponent. As he exited the cave and looked around, focusing on the direction from which the presence was coming, he saw him. Off in the distance, walking down one of the sand dunes with purpose, was a very tall and muscular individual. He was maybe six to seven inches taller than Tharos, with bigger and bulkier muscles. Tharos couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed.
Although it was hard to see this person in full detail with only the blue tinge of moonlight in the clear night sky and the campfire in his camp providing the only source of light, as the figure got closer, Tharos noticed that this person had striking blue eyes, wild and long blood-red hair, and rather wolfish facial features. On his person was a rough-looking leather jerkin reinforced with some scale mail, along with hide bracers around his arms and legs. Casually slung over his shoulder was a massive double-bladed great axe that was silvery-blue in colour, in the shape of two wolf heads that looked as if they were carved from solid ice, with an aura of frost emanating from the blades. He also had what looked like a well-used one-handed sword and throwing axes attached to the side of his belt.
Tharos stood there for the next few minutes, observing the figure with intense focus. His amber-coloured eyes glowed with their usual luminosity. As the figure approached and made eye contact with Tharos, as if acknowledging that he was aware of being watched and had been observing Tharos as well, he then stopped in front of Tharos, maintaining a distance of about thirty feet between them. Locking eyes with him, he smiled with a wide, wolfish grin. It was then that Tharos noticed a smell, a rather faint one. But it was a smell that Tharos knew all too well. It was the smell of orc blood.
“Well, that explains a lot. So, he must have been the one who slew those orcs,”
Tharos thought to himself. He couldn’t help but ponder the various motives this individual might have had for attacking him. The foremost reason that crossed his mind was that this person seemed to be eager for a confrontation, and the fight with the orcs had not quenched their thirst for battle. It appeared that they were now seeking a new opponent, and unfortunately for Tharos, he fit the bill.
No words were necessary as both warriors understood each other’s intentions; a palpable bloodlust hung in the air, and Tharos felt his heart racing, as if it might burst from his chest with excitement. Out of all the foes he had battled so far on this journey, this one was going to be the most formidable. He would have to use every trick in the book and all the strength his humble skills could muster against such an opponent to win. For this was an opponent that had few equals, as Tharos could tell by the look in his striking blue eyes, the confident demeanour, and the numerous scars and wounds that covered his body. He was a warrior who had fought in many battles and emerged as the victor.
A strong, cold breeze swept over the two combatants, causing their hair and loose clothing to flutter in the wind, along with scattered grains of sand. They began to circle each other, like competing predators circling over a fresh carcass. Both had their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them at the first sign of movement. They were poised and prepared to strike out against each other with great swiftness. They waited to see who would make the first move, both knowing that this would all be decided by the first strike alone. In this desolate wasteland, a battle between a hawk and a wolf was about to unfold. An encounter that only one of them would walk away from alive. For these were the only battles that would ever be fought on these blood-stained sands.
