Growth Quest
Detraeus has found himself in a strange situation: he and he alone holds the power to save an Orderite. Without his help this person shall die, there is no way they can survive what is about to happen/is happening. (Feel free to use one of these: they are being pulled into a lake/sea by a monster and are drowning. He comes across a badly wounded Orderite who is bleeding to death. Khehora are killing an Orderite because he stole one of their eggs. You may come up with another situation if you think up a better one!)
What is the situation and what does Detraeus do? Does he save the Orderite? Or leave them to die?
Cry for the Devil
“Just one,” Detraeus said, pushing over coin for the sheet of parchment and ink to the tradesman on the opposite side of the desk. It wasn’t as though he needed much.
Some hours later, in the the privacy of solitude and silence after having checked to see that he was absolutely alone, Detraeus left a single, handwritten note on the workboard of Martrae’a Khelvun that read:
‘You were right. Thank you. I am learning.’
If she remembered him, he owed her that much. If she had forgotten him, then it did no extra harm to try. Part of him desired to linger — to show her in person what he had worked on, what he had accomplished — and share his progression with her as well as hear what had transgressed in her life. But he lacked the courage, or social wherewithal for that. Fear and determination to distance himself as a survival trait dominated his mind, and it kept him away. The less connected he was, the better, and he had left for a reason. To come crawling back to her and cling to the memories of what they once shared together would be a weakness he could not yet afford. Instead, after leaving his message, he unfastened his hastar’s lead, mounted, and started back towards the shore.
The break had been a welcome one, but it didn’t change the fact that for now, Eowyn was ‘home’, as much as any place would be for some time. He had business to attend to there and he owed the Pit — and Casseth — his company, if nothing else. Not to mention, he owed Draco Verrano a head count. And he fully intended to deliver.
As though sent by his goddess to fulfill that prophecy in particular, it was not but a matter of hours later that along his path, Detraeus heard a muted groan seeping out from the surrounding woods. Nominally, he would not have even answered such a sound — deep enough to be clearly adult, and Magescian, not khehora or animal — it wasn’t his business and a waste of time, besides. Adult Magescians were their own responsibility, not his. In this particular instance, however, it was nearing dawn, a time when he preferred to sleep except when schedules called for otherwise, and he needed to camp regardless. Not to mention his curiosity, too, got the better of him.
So, after tethering his mount to a tree and arranging his things — double checking the state of his weapons, in particular — Detraeus started into the murky terrain of Soudul’s woods, giving in to his curiosity and following the trail of sound. What he found made his blood ripple with a deep chill through his veins. His muscles bunched with tension as he eyed it, gaze narrowed and fingers flexing as the recurring pain in his lower spine throbbed as though desiring to twitch in irritation.
An orderite, pale as a white dawn, but bloodied grievously with one outstretched wing bent in an unnatural fashion, as though broken, and deep gore marks running sidelong across its gut. An animal attack, likely, though it also sported cleaner, sharp cuts that looked to be Magescian made — the slices of a heavy dagger or small short-sword — all of it potentially survivable, if brought before a talented healer quickly enough, but surely the thing would die, left on its own. Also, more within Detraeus’ immediate interest, it was in no position to fight back. He tilted his head, eyeing it speculatively and wondering if it was even worth an arrow to finish it off now. Just as he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t — the thing could die on its own without his help, and suffer all the more for it besides — another soft groan stopped him in his tracks, boots already at a half turn to depart.
“Wait…don’t…is someone there? Please…”
Detraeus grimaced. He’d been hoping not to have to hear the thing bleat like a dying sheron. He held his ground, though, turning back to face it. Male voice. The sex hadn’t been immediately evident, since the bird was fairly narrow-bodied, slim, and covered in enough blood and armor so as to mask any obvious giveaways. The hair was cropped short, but its features were smooth and soft enough to easily have been a boyish young woman. ‘Pretty’ probably, in some circles, and youthful. Obviously inexperienced, since it had managed to get itself into this mess.
He fingered the feathers of an arrow, and then drew it from its quiver.
“No—wait! Please, I’m not a spy, I swear it in the name of your goddess and mine—”
Detraeus tensed. How
dare such a thing presume to swear in the name of—
“I know what you’re thinking—” it babbled on, words slurred together between winces and pained shudders.
Detraeus sneered, lip curling back. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.” He strung the arrow.
“Wait,
please! I have someone waiting for me, someone who can help me if you just get me there — I can tell you where, exactly — it’s not far from here at all. It’s—” The orderite winced, broken wing twitching inelegantly as it grit its teeth. “Ah, it’s just up the bend, maybe another half mile or so north on the path. There’s a tree that stands out — impossible to miss and I can point it out to you — you turn off the road there and head west not another quarter mile. The people there, they’ll see to me. Alissah, my half-sister, she’s a fantastic healer, and I’m not stupid enough to think I could survive without it now. We can pay you anything you like — gold, recognition, jewelry — and I’ll still be indebted to you for—”
“Stop,” Detraeus commanded, lowering his bow temporarily, though he kept the arrow nocked in place. Immediately, the thing shut up, clamping its lips together obediently, its pale bloodied hair laying matted to its sweating forehead. It
did look to be in an intense bit of pain. “Your name.”
“Cydric, sir. Cydric Dallorean. Warrior under—”
“Stop.” Detraeus thumbed the base of his strung arrow. “Tell your goddess, if you meet her in your ‘afterlife’, that Detraeus sent you, and that he intends to send her many more such gifts in short order.”
“I…wha—?” The orderite blinked, eyes widening as Detraeus raised his bow again, but it did not get the chance to so much as finish the sentence before an arrow to the skull silenced it forever.
Detraeus stepped forward wordlessly, retrieving his arrow with a thoughtful glance down the body. “Cydric,” he repeated aloud, testing the name on his tongue. The first of Seren’s monsters ever to fall directly under his bow. It left a strange feeling in his chest. Not the elation or satisfaction he expected. Not grief or regret either, obviously, but…emptiness. A hollowness that seemed devoid of any feelings, positive or negative.
He frowned, and stood, wiping the bloodied tip of his arrow on his boot. Perhaps it was that the boy had no chance to fight back.
Could he truly feel satisfied over a kill that merited no effort?
No.
He would do the same again. The boy deserved to die. He
was born of Seren, and all the children of his goddess’ enemy would fall. But maybe he would not get that true sense of accomplishment until he felled a bird in battle. That, he could live with, and work towards, and so, with that in mind, he started back towards his hastar, and made such a feat his new goal.
Word Count: 1,315
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