Original Evermore

[CassinoChips]

Discussion thread linked here. Comments always appreciated.

So this is a story I've been working on off and on for the past... oh... 5 years or so. I get busy pretending I have a life, so I don't write much at all, but over the years it's congealed and coalesced into something relatively coherent. And I have some down time coming, so maybe I'll pick it back up.

Anyway, I'm feeling a bit plucky, so I thought I'd post the first part of it. Give it a gander if you'd like. Any critique is welcome, it only makes it and me better. If people are interested (and quite possibly even if they aren't) I'll update it occasionally, maybe even add some of the ancillary stuff.

Blah. On to the point.

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The day was full of contrasts. It was the first day of autumn in the Kar’lel Prairie and it was the final day of the harvest. The sun was in full glory having risen above the Riscindor Mountains far to the east. However, dark clouds lingered over the prairie from the previous night’s rainstorm. With the exception of the most stubborn, all the leaves had fallen from the trees at the edge of the darkened wood, leaving them bare and ugly. But creeping along their trunks in full bloom were clumps of laterose, as beautiful a flower as there was in the land of Evermore.

By no means were contrasts limited to these works of nature. In the small farming village of Sor’lel there was a strange combination of dread and excitement. Excitement due to the fact there was to be a ceremony that day. A foreshadowing was to be held in the village plaza. But alongside the buzz of excitement walked a muffled distress. Because the villagers instinctively knew that this foreshadowing would be different because of the child involved. But none could imagine how different it would end up being.

*****​

Councilor’s Residence
30 Miles North of Sor’lel

“Morlen, you disfigured inbred, why isn’t my mount prepared?” commanded a gruff, heavy voice that was accustomed to giving orders and having those orders carried out.

"’Pol’gies, sir. ‘Orse cou’n’t choose a sa’le,” was the soft reply.

“Morlen,” came the response, dripping with impatience. “It does not matter what the horse chooses. Just pick a damn saddle and be on with it.”

Morlen, after a slight sigh and a bit of thought replied, “Aye sir.” As stableman to the councilor, Morlen was in charge of keeping the horses healthy and fit as well as preparing them for the councilor’s many obligations in the small villages scattered throughout the Kar’lel Prairie. His master oversaw the province and represented the sparsely populated farming communities at the twice-yearly Asteran council in the royal capital. Councilor Grisselle was a retired war general, and at one time one of the most cunning military minds the Asteran army had to offer. Among those who knew, he was often credited with single-handedly bringing an end to the Fifty Years’ War. Though that was a slight exaggeration, his creativity was instrumental in concluding that brutal conflict. But that was long ago, and with a change of regime in the Asteran government came a change in lifestyle for General Aktem Grisselle. The new government knew that the public would never stand for Grisselle’s outright dismissal. So they did him the “favor” of giving him a seat in the Council and governing one of the poorest provinces in Astera.

Being a military man, Grisselle was used things being done promptly. He often took out his frustrations on Morlen verbally and, in the past, physically. No one knew where Morlen came from because no one bothered to ask. He was of smallish stature, coming up only to the councilor’s shoulders, and as thin as a toothpick. It was apparent from his facial features that Morlen was of Elven descent; the long, thin nose and slightly pointed ears gave that away. But none were able to tell which of the seven tribes Morlen belonged to because of the physical abuse apparent on his face. It was a face weathered from time and the elements. He had lost many of the child-like features so evident in the elven face. He bore a long, wicked scar curving from the crow’s feet of his left eye, across his cheek and ending at the middle of his upper lip. This gave him a perpetual smirk that often got him into more than a bit of trouble. People often mistook him for mocking them or for withholding some sort of vital information.

But Morlen had never been mistaken for a scholar since he showed up at the councilor’s gatehouse seven years ago, just days after Grisselle had received his post. And since the councilor was still in need of hired help around the estate, he allowed Morlen to live and work on his property. Morlen had eventually proven himself skilled with the horses and Grisselle gave him the title of stableman. And outside of Morlen’s eccentric ways with the animals, Grisselle had had few, if any problems with his mounts. Over the years Grisselle learned to have a little patience with his stableman.

Morlen returned from the stable with the councilor’s show horse. A beautiful chestnut brown gelding standing fifteen and a half hands high. This was the horse the councilor used for the myriad ceremonies and rituals he was required to attend in all of his villages. Required not only by law, as were all councilors, but required by a personal sense of duty as well. It was something that not all councilors shared. Councilor Grisselle climbed into the saddle and trotted toward the main gate of the courtyard. As he approached, the massive oak gate was slowly lowered. At the same time, a dusk elf dressed in a flowing white robe drew up alongside the councilor mounted on a gray horse. “Korya, are you ready?” asked Grisselle to his riding companion.

“Aye my lord. I am prepared.”

“Then let us get this over with.”

*****​

The Home of Crudale the Blacksmith
Sor’lel

The preparations for the ceremony were simple. The boy wore a plain brown tunic. Around his neck hung a piece of leather string. A chunk of leather hung from this and showed a branding of hammer and anvil as befit the son of the town’s blacksmith. A foreshadowing always created a buzz in the household of those involved. However, in Crudale’s home, the buzz was a little more subdued than normal. Crudale’s father, and his father before him, and his father’s father, and all the male ancestors in Crudale’s lineage, had taken part in the foreshadowing. And in all their cases, the results were the same. His family had been metalworkers since before they came to the Kar’lel Prairie. The continuity of profession dovetailed neatly with the continuity of the men themselves, as the men in the family all looked strikingly similar. All were big and strapping, built as strong as men came, with hands thick and rough making them perfect for facing the heat and strain of working the forge. Each had dark brown hair and eyes as brown as mud. Except for the newest addition. Crudale’s first son after two daughters was a little different from his father. His facial features were as eerily similar to his ancestors as his father’s features were. And he had the same thick brown hair. But even at a young age, it was easy to see that this young boy would not grow up to be as burly as his father. He was slighter of stature. Thinner, and lacking the brute strength of his father, he possessed a different kind of physical strength. It was of a wiry type that allowed him to wield the blacksmith's hammer with, even at his young age, nearly as much force as his father while adding an amount of dexterity that his father could not match. But the most alarming difference was not his build. His family was known for its dark brown eyes. This one had eyes like the sky just as the sun was beginning to creep out of the east. Eyes of such a pale blue they almost looked gray, and at times it looked as if his eyes had no color at all.

Despite these differences, he was still his father’s son. Crudale began teaching his son the tools of the trade as soon as the boy could pick up a pair of tongs. He often sat on one of his father’s workbenches and observed everything his father did. He studied every blow of his father’s hammer. He counted how long his father kept the metal in the furnace. He noticed what types of metal Crudale used for each job. He absorbed every bit of information with his pale eyes.

As midday approached, the blacksmith’s son- now nearly a man in his own right at age thirteen- and his family made their way to the plaza in the center of the village.

*****​

The plaza was little more than a wooden dais sitting in a muddy clearing in the heart of the small town. This was the core of the community. It was where the market took place. The tiny village chapel was located at the north end of the plaza. And the dais saw all of the important ceremonies of the township. Weddings, funerals, and even town meetings -- if the weather cooperated -- all took place there. But today there was to be a foreshadowing.

It was a warm and somewhat humid autumn day. The rainstorm from the night before had left puddles strewn haphazardly about the central square. The villagers, numbering a few over one hundred, stood on the ridges around the puddles. On the dais, Korya had finished his preparations for the ceremony. Front and center on the south side of the dais, a small bonfire had been lit. Korya stood slightly behind and to the crowd’s right of the fire, a small table in front of him. On Korya’s left, in a special high-backed chair specially made for him by the village carpenter, sat Councilor Grisselle, whose role in this ceremony was strictly observational. He was required to attend by Asteran law. To the right of Korya, on the other side of the bonfire, gathered the families of the three children who had reached the age of the thirteen since the last foreshadowing ritual. Those three would have their future standings in life foretold. Never had a foreshadowing proven to be inaccurate in its predictions. Nor had the interpreter, the man in Korya’s position, ever misread the colors of the flames that shot out of the bonfire. The three children who were to have their future foretold were Crissa, the daughter of a farmer, Vaughn, the carpenter’s son, and Luca, the son of the blacksmith.

“Dear people of Sor’lel,” Korya began in a voice as smooth as silk, “I am here at the behest of His Highness Tezzio, who sends you his best wishes and hopes that you find yourselves well. Today is a wonderful day. It is a day in which we will discover what the future holds for these three beautiful young people. We will find out what talents the gods have bestowed upon them. We will find out how they will serve each other, how they will serve you, and how they will serve their country. Without further fanfare, let us begin the ceremony.” Korya crossed the dais behind the bonfire and approached the group of families. “Who will be first?” he asked with a smile on his face. Crissa, the farmer’s daughter, eagerly came to the front of the group. Her bright blue eyes showing not the slightest hint of fear or shyness, she stated, “I will.”

Laughing, Korya took her hand and led her to the fire. “Of course you will, young lady.” He stopped her a few feet in front of the fire, reached into a pocket of his robe and withdrew a small vial of oil. He poured a small amount onto his forefinger and traced a hexagon on Crissa’s forehead, then placed three dots of the oil inside the shape. The symbol represented the pantheon of gods that presided over Evermore. Replacing the vial, Korya reached into another pocket and withdrew a small leather pouch. Undoing the drawstring, he dipped his hand into the pouch and took out a handful of a glittering, grayish dust. An expectant hush came over the assembled villagers as Korya tossed the dust into the bonfire. Almost immediately after the dust hit the bonfire, a flame of the purest white shot up. So brilliant was the flame that it was nearly invisible to the naked eye. The white fire danced for several seconds before abruptly disappearing. Korya waited a few moments, then began his interpretation.

“Burning flames of purest white,
Penetrate the deepest night.
Bandages and balm and salve,
The healer’s touch this one will have.”

A few words of approval were spoken throughout the crowd. The village would be in need of a new healer at some point in the near future, as Brother Maynerd, the wizened white cleric, was advancing in years. Crissa would be the one to take his place once she was trained by the Brother himself. She went back to where her family stood and embraced her father, whose pride in her daughter’s future station was clearly apparent on his face.

Korya turned to the families and beckoned Vaughn forward. He was a well-built young man with broad shoulders accustomed to felling trees and hauling timber. He had the hazel eyes and sandy brown hair of his mother and two sisters. Most of the young girls of the village had some form of crush on him. Korya repeated the ritual, tracing the symbol on Vaughn’s forehead and taking another handful of dust from the pouch. This time, when the dust hit the fire, the flames shot up a dark red color. As soon as the red faded, a second color sprang up from the bonfire, this a rich purple.

Dual flashes were fairly common. In fact, they were the case more often than not. In this case, it meant that Vaughn would be leaving the plains in due time. Korya again interpreted the ritual.

“Red, the color of blood,
And purple of fealty,
Loyal, royal,
A soldier, he will be.”

A smattering of applause came from the gathered crowd, as a royal soldier was a highly respected position. But concern was etched on the faces of Vaughn’s parents. Even in this remote community, isolated on the plains as it was, word had reached of the mobilization of the troops and the increased amount of practice drills they had gone through. The threat of war weighed heavily on the people of Astera, exacerbated by the fact that they had no idea why the threat existed.

As Vaughn returned to his family, Luca, the blacksmith’s son came forward to take his turn in the foreshadowing ceremony. The boy’s eyes locked with Korya’s as the elf went through the preparations for Luca’s ceremony. As Korya reached his hand forward to place the oil on the young man’s forehead, he paused as if stunned. After several moments, Councilor Grisselle leaned forward in his seat. “Korya? Is everything all right?”

Shaking his head slightly, Korya came out of his stunned state. “Yes, Councilor. Everything is fine.” Continuing the ritual, Korya made the symbol of the gods on Luca’s forehead. The boy watched his every move. Korya tossed the dust into the bonfire. Immediately the orange flames expanded and grew, then turned a dark gray; it was the color of tempered steel - the color of a blacksmith. Crudale, Luca’s father, was not one to let his emotions show. True to his nature, he showed nothing of his feelings but for a slight nod of his head. For all the differences Luca showed, he was still his father’s son and would be a blacksmith.

Korya stepped to the front of the dais to give his explanation, Luca’s eyes never leaving him. Just as Korya opened his mouth to speak, a bright blue flame flashed up from the bonfire, startling everyone in attendance. Korya had seen late flashes before - though never quite this late - and began to explain this the crowd. But the bonfire kept flaring. Every imaginable color shot up, along with several different shades of individual colors; black, white, a blue the color of the sky, a light brown like the prairie grass that surrounded Sor’lel, a soft purple, a deep blood red, green like the leaves of the Nachten Wood to the north, and many other colors spewed forth from the fire. During the display, the crowd in the plaza, as well as the families, had all taken several steps back in wonder and not a little bit of fear. All except one. Korya turned to where Luca stood and found an unintimidated, almost challenging stare looking back at him from the boy’s eyes, as if he were daring the elf to interpret his flashes.

A hush fell over the crowd as they waited for Korya to explain to them what had just transpired. But Korya shared their confusion. Grisselle, who had risen to his feet during the succession of late flashes, took a step in the elf’s direction thinking he would give Korya a moment to compose himself. But before he could get there, Korya shook his head, calmly placed his leather pouch back in the inside pocket of his robes, and walked off the dais. He made his way behind the platform, unhitched his horse and rode out of the northern end of town, leaving a village in complete confusion behind him.

*****​

 

[CassinoChips]

((Next little chunk.))

Tezzio’s Private Quarters
Tezzio’lel
6 Days Later

“My Lord, I tell you, nothing good can come of this.”

Having ridden hard in his return from Sor‘lel, nearly killing his horse in the process, Korya now stood in the quarters of the King of Astera, his calm exterior belying the storm of thoughts passing through his mind.

“Explain to me, Korya, why this isolated incident in a backwater little village on the prairie deserves my attention.” Tezzio did little to hide the boredom in his voice. Korya had arrived at the Asteran capital late in the evening, well after the King had retired to his chambers. But as Tezzio’s highest-ranking advisor, Korya enjoyed almost unlimited access to his regent. Even if that access required him to meet Tezzio in the king’s lavishly appointed private quarters as a warm fire blazed in the hearth. Tezzio sat in a plush chair with deep purple velvet cushions.

“Because this has happened before. Not all that long ago in a human village on the outskirts of Soliness, my homeland, there was a man to whom the boy today bears a striking resemblance. It is the eyes, mainly. But this man was born during an eclipse. Some say he was favored by the gods, and the eclipse was them heralding the man’s entrance. This man led an uprising against our rule of the humans in Soliness. His band was a ragtag, motley group that fought from the shadows. He nearly single-handedly took several provinces out from under our noses and evaded us for ten years. The only reason we were able to capture him is because one of his own betrayed him. Were it not for that, the gods only know what would have happened, how far he could have gone.”
Tezzio sank back into his chair and scratched his cheek absently with one hand. “A nice bedtime story, Korya, thank you. I will sleep better having heard it.”

“My Lord, I beg your leave to handle this situation as I think it needs to be dealt with. It will be completely out of your hands.”

“Fine,” Tezzio waved a hand dismissively and stood, heading toward his bed. “Do what you will. I want this to be the last I hear of it.”

“I hope it will be, my Lord.”

 

[CassinoChips]

Councilor’s Residence
Two Months Later

The sounds of swordplay rose from the bailey yard. Metal clanged against metal. Grunts of effort and shouts of encouragement emanated from the throats of the two pitted in battle. “Good Luca, again! One, two, three, parry, swing!” Councilor Grisselle laughed softly as he blocked the young man’s overhead swing. “Very good. You strike under control now, not reckless and wild like a sailor returning to port.” Taking a defensive posture, Grisselle enticed Luca to approach him. Luca did cautiously, probing for an opening with the tip of his practice sword. Grisselle offered him a leg and Luca took the bait, aiming a downward swipe at the knee. Though he was near seventy years of age, Grisselle had not lost much of his agility, nor his combat instincts. Deftly sidestepping, he batted Luca’s sword, causing a stumble and allowing Grisselle to follow up with closed mailed fist to the back of Luca’s helmet. Stunned, Luca fell to the ground. He stayed down, physically exhausted from the two hours of exertion in full mail.

“Get up.”

Luca punched the hard-packed dirt of the yard in frustration.

“No one will have any pity for you. Get up.”

Luca tried to push himself up, but his arms were too tired to support the weight of the mail. His arms buckled, and he fell back to the earth, lifting a small cloud of dust.

“If I were your enemy, my sword would be through your neck right now.” Grisselle poked at the nape of Luca’s neck with the blunted tip of his training sword. “Right about here. Straight through your throat. Now get up.”

Luca dragged himself to his weary feet and once again faced Grisselle. The old warrior adopted a similar defensive posture and again tried to bait Luca into attacking his leg. Luca took the bait once more, apparently repeating the same mistake. This time though, Luca’s downward swipe was only half-hearted, and when Grisselle sidestepped Luca redirected his sword, bringing it back in an upswing directly to Grisselle’s armpit. Had the swords been edged, the Councilor would have had to pen his next correspondence with his left arm, because his right would be absent from his torso. With the blunted swords, however, Luca’s blow only served to knock the Councilor off balance. Luca took full advantage. Before Grisselle could recover, Luca landed a sword blow across his back. Then Luca kicked the back of Grisselle’s leg, driving the Councilor to his knees. Luca then pressed the point of his sword to the back of Grisselle’s neck, imitating Grisselle’s earlier gesture.

The Councilor laughed gruffly. “If I were your enemy, I believe I would be dead right now.” Luca lowered his sword and the Councilor stood and faced his young battle partner. “Good for me we’re on the same side.”

On the other side of the yard, a chime rang loudly. “Time for lunch, my boy. And a well-deserved one at that.” Griselle clapped his charge on the shoulder as they walked around the manor. Immediately after Luca’s Foreshadowing, Grisselle had approached the boy’s parents and offered to take Luca to his manor, where he would educate him in various forms of combat, as well as politics, rhetoric, mathematics, history, and anything else he felt the young man would need. Luca’s parents were hesitant to let go of their only son, but Grisselle impressed upon them the importance of a strong education and good training for a young man. That, combined with the knowledge that Luca was not to be a blacksmith according to his Foreshadowing, pushed them to let Luca grow under Grisselle’s tutelage. Luca began his training as soon as he arrived at the manor, and had been hard at work in the two months since. He had proved to be an apt pupil, and Grisselle was privately amazed at how quickly he absorbed, understood, and applied both the educative materials and the combat skills he was taught.

“Councilor,” began Luca, hesitantly. “I think I’d like to visit my parents.”

The Councilor gave a low, rough chuckle. “Fed up with me already, are you boy?”

“No. No sir. I just-” Luca broke off without completing his thought.

“I understand, Luca. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen them, and I’m sure they’re dying to know how you’ve been carrying on. I’ll arrange something before too long here.”

Luca nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

*****​

Luca sat at his desk, finishing an essay on the history of the Fifty Years’ War. Placing his pen down on the desktop, Luca leaned back in his chair and stretched. It was late, and he had been working on the document for nearly two hours. A plate of apples and cheese sat untouched on the small table next to his desk. Luca considered eating, but decided against it, rose out of the chair and turned toward his bed. He glimpsed a sudden movement of the corner of his eye, coming from behind one of the long curtains draped over the window in his room. He immediately crouched in a defensive posture and grabbed a small knife from the plate, but relaxed once the figure behind the curtain came into view.

“Morlen! You nearly sent my soul to the Nexus and back.”

The stableman’s expression was one of sympathy and apology, but his countenance also was noticeably strained by urgency and worry. “Luca, you must return to Sor’lel immediately. There is trouble.” The elf took Luca by the arm and guided him through the manor and out to the bailey yard where a horse stood, saddled and ready to ride.

“What is going on, Morlen? What trouble?” Luca questioned intently, still stunned by the suddenness with which the elf moved.

The stableman helped Luca get astride the horse’s back then unbuckled a scabbard that was looped over his shoulder. He handed the scabbard to Luca, and said, “Use this sword. When it is time, return here. Do you understand? You must return to the manor.” Luca nodded silently, confused. Without another word, Morlen led the horse to the gate and sent Luca on his way to Sor’lel.

((I promise, dear non-existant reader, that things will actually start happening shortly.))

 

[CassinoChips]

SOR'LEL BURNING

==========

Luca reigned in his mount at the bottom of the last rise outside of Sor’lel. An orange glow seemed to emanate from the hill itself, making the night sky as bright as day and frightening the horse. Luca turned the animal around and sent it back in the general direction of the Councilor’s estate with a slap to its flank. Doing his best to steel himself, he broke into a quick jog and crested the hill.

What met him was a scene out of his worst nightmares. Sor’lel was burning. The entire town looked as if it were the business end of the Underman’s torch reaching up from the depths of the earth. The thatched roofs of the simple cottages had erupted in flame like so much kindling. Every few moments, the snap of a timber beam falling to the ground was audible. The combination of shock with the intensity of the heat nearly knocked Luca down to his knees, and he silently dropped his chin to his chest in dismay.

Quickly raising his head, Luca once again looked into what was left of his hometown. He could make out dark silhouettes of figures running throughout the main square, racing from building to building, seemingly without purpose. Luca’s brow furrowed in confusion. If those silhouettes were villagers, why were they not leaving Sor‘lel, getting away from the flames? After a few moments, it dawned on Luca. These were the men who had attacked his village and set it aflame.

He ran down the hill toward the northern part of the town square, coming alongside the church. Stopping at the corner of the stone building, still in the shadows, he drew the sword Mor’len had handed to him. The elvish steel gave off a strange green glow. But Luca wasn’t paying attention to the sword.

Two of the attackers were standing next to the door of the church, debating over what to do next. They were positioned so that neither one could see Luca in the shadows of the church as he stole a quick glance around the corner. The larger of the two had his back to Luca and was effectively blocking the other raider from Luca’s sight. The other raider seemed to have reservations about going into the church. “It’s a church, Kroog. It’s holy land. We can’t kill people inside a church. We may as well deliver our souls to the Underman right now.”

The one called Kroog was inclined to agree. “But Korya said to eliminate everyone. Everyone, Smilt, no exceptions.”

“I heard the orders. But I didn’t expect them to flee into the church.” There was a pause. “What if we took the younger ones to Xanthas? We could tell Korya that we killed everyone. He wouldn’t miss a few kids.”

Luca could hear the malicious smile in Kroog’s voice as he answered. “And besides, he would never find out about them.”

“Exactly. You wait here and make sure they don’t escape. I’m going to go get some more guys so nothing funny happens.”

Luca waited until the other attacker to get out of earshot, then cautiously crept around the corner, hoping to sneak up on the remaining invader. Luck, however, was not on Luca’s side. The raider named Kroog had turned so that he was facing the large oaken door of the church. As Luca approached, a glint of firelight danced off the blade of Luca’s sword, catching Kroog’s attention. “Where did you come from, little boy?” he asked, a sardonic grin on his face. Luca did not respond, except to bring his sword to bear. “A fancy blade you have there. Mayhap I ought to teach you a trick or two?” Drawing his own sword, Kroog began circling Luca.

Luca heard Grisselle’s voice in the back of his mind. Patience, Luca. He will underestimate your abilities. Let him make the first move. It will be his first, and last, mistake. Luca gave a slight grin, and at that moment Kroog rushed in for an attack. He raised his sword high and attempted to use his weight to overpower Luca. Luca deftly raised his sword to meet Kroog’s, using just enough force to re-direct the attacking blade. In one swift move, Luca sidestepped and spun out from under Kroog. Now suddenly at a disadvantage, Kroog tried to recover, but it was too late. Luca ran his sword into the raider’s side, the fight ending as suddenly as it had begun.
Luca watched the man die, and was surprised by the lack of pity he felt for him. He stood over the body for several moments, until a shout from inside the church brought him back to the present moment.

“Luca!” It was the voice of Brother Maynard. He had opened the door just enough to peek his head out. “Thank the Overman you’re here. Come inside, quickly.”

“No. You must get everyone away from here as soon as possible, Brother. One of the raiders left to bring back more men. They will attack the church.”

Maynard’s wizened face showed every bit of the shock and dismay he felt. “Jovan protect us. It is only myself and some of the children. Everyone else is…” his voice trailed off.

The building next to the church collapsed in ruins, devoured by flames. Luca’s voice became strained in its urgency. “Brother! You have to get them out of the town. Now!”

Maynard gave him a determined nod. “I shall do my best, Luca. Jovan lend you his strength.”

Just as Maynard had retreated into the church and closed the door again, six invaders stormed across the town square, led by Smilt. Luca turned to face them and brandished his weapon. The six attackers responded in kind and spread out, attempting to outflank Luca. With the odds he was facing, Luca did not expect to live. He only hoped to give Maynard and the others enough time to escape.

The raiders to Luca’s extreme left and extreme right attacked simultaneously. Luca turned to his left and blocked that attacker’s sword blow while kicking out behind him with his right leg, catching the other attacker in the stomach and doubling him over. Luca managed to push the first attacker backwards, then turned and cracked the other on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, leaving him face down on the dirt, unconscious.

Two more raiders joined the fray, although more cautiously than their predecessors. Luca slowly backed against the door of the church, keeping his attackers where he could see them. He knew he was cornered. Five seasoned fighters against one young boy were not odds he liked. His only chance was to be unpredictable. He rushed the center of the three attackers and caught him by surprise. It was all the raider could do to block Luca’s original strike, which was low. Sensing his opponent’s weakness, Luca struck again, this time at chest level. The block came too late, and Luca’s blade took a large chunk out of the man’s left arm. He let out a shriek and retreated, his right hand covering his wound.

Now surrounded on all sides by the four remaining attackers, Luca did his best to keep them at bay by constantly circling. But the raiders were slowly closing in on him, and Luca‘s sword arm was fatiguing. He struck out at one raider. The man parried the blow and sent Luca stumbling backwards. It was enough to give the raider directly behind him enough room to take Luca down with a blow to the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.

Luca crumpled to the ground. The last thing he heard before the darkness set in was Smilt talking to his fellow invaders. “No! Keep him alive. We’ll take him and the ones in the church to Xanthas.”
*****************************************************

 

[CassinoChips]

Luca slowly began to regain his senses. Unfortunately, along with his senses came the pain shooting through his skull. Groggily, he made his way to a sitting position. He instantly regretted that decision as a wave of nausea swept over him and he vomited onto the wooden floor. The wooden floor that seemed to be bouncing and rumbling. Luca couldn’t be sure if the floor really was moving, or if it was simply the remnants of being knocked out. Frankly, he couldn’t be sure of much in his state. Luca slowly brought his eyes up and tried to take stock of his surroundings.

There was a small oil lamp swinging from the top of the wooden box in which he found himself. With him were nearly a dozen other children, ranging from approximately Luca’s age to a few years younger. He instantly recognized all of them. They were all from his village. To his right was Crissa, and next to her was Vaughn. The two of them had shared the foreshadowing ceremony with Luca. There was also Joseph and Jacob, the miller’s twin sons, Kayla, the mayor’s daughter, as well as Lily and Thorn, the innkeeper’s children, and Thomas, Steven, Kit, and Holly, all children of farmers living in and around Sor’lel. It was then that the memories of the night washed over him. A bunch of children packed into a equipment cart. Luca realized that they were human cargo on their way to be sold into slavery in the black markets of Xanthas. The pain and the situation caused Luca to let out a groan. Crissa handed him a damp rag. “For the blood on your face.”

“Luckily it’s not mine.” Slowly wiping the blood off his forehead, Luca asked, “How long have we been in this cart?”

“Not long,” Vaughn answered. “We can’t be more than a few miles outside of the village. I‘m not sure, but I think we‘re heading north.”

Nodding, Luca confirmed Vaughn’s guess. “Xanthas. I heard one of the raiders say that they were going to take us to Xanthas.”

Other than Crissa’s gasp of shock and horror, the occupants of the cart sat in stunned silence. The children knew what awaited them in Xanthas. They had all heard the stories of children their age being sold into the service of black wizards, ogres, lizardmen and all manner of other, less benevolent creatures.

After a few moments, Jacob, the miller’s son, broke the silence by asking the question that they all were thinking. “Why our village? There are other towns closer to Xanthas that would have been easier to attack.”

Luca shook his head as he responded. “I don’t think it was part of the original plan. They didn’t want to kill people inside the church, so they took you prisoner instead.”

“Then why attack us at all?” asked Joseph.

Luca shrugged and shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Again, silence took over the cart as each pondered why the raiders attacked their village, as well as what their futures held as servants to some villainous creature.
Vaughn slowly rose to his feet. “We need to get out of here.” The others all nodded their agreement. “Anyone have any bright ideas?”

Kit, the youngest of the group, spoke up. “We can’t fight them. There’s about a million of them out there.”

“Kit’s right. We’ll have to outsmart them and hope for some luck.” Luca tried to stand up, but about halfway there, a wave of nausea swept over him. “Whoa… Bad idea.” Bracing himself against the wooden slats at the back of the cart, he collected himself and managed to get all the way up. “All right, what do we know?”

Crissa was the first to answer. “Well, if taking us prisoner wasn’t part of their plan, it probably won’t be a huge blow to them if we escape.”

“That’s true. We could make it so we’re not worth the effort,” agreed Holly.

Kit gestured toward one end of the cart. “I’ve heard two men talking at the front of the cart. I think one is the driver and the other is a guard.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t notice any other carts or any raiders behind this one when they threw us in here,” added Kayla.

“Good, that means we should only have to deal with those two guards.”

“But Luca,” said Vaughn, “We have no weapons. Two of them would be enough.”

Luca reached down and slowly rolled up the leg of his pants, revealing a leather sheath. He unsnapped the top part and withdrew a dagger. “I have this. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. And besides, the less fighting we do, the less attention we‘ll draw, the better our chances of escaping.”

“It’s still nighttime, so that’ll help us too,” offered Joseph.

Vaughn spoke again. “It’ll be best if we can separate the two guards so they can’t communicate with each other or the rest of the raiders.”

Luca nodded as an idea formulated in his head. He took a few steps toward the center of the cart and crouched down. “Okay, here’s the plan.” The other children crept closer to Luca as he explained to them their escape.

 

[CassinoChips]

The two raiders sitting at the front of the cart driving the horses were celebrating their successful raid with some cheap ale looted from the bar on the ground floor of the Inn of the Laterose. They were settled in for the long trip to Xanthas. It would take them away from Tezzio’lel, where they were supposed to make contact with the man who had hired them, and therefore make their trip that much longer. But the sale of their living cargo would increase their profits tenfold. The little farming village left much to be desired in terms of loot.

There was, however, one nice find in the town. The driver of the cart had taken an exceptionally well-crafted sword from the boy he and a few others had taken down near the front of the church. After the boy fell, there was a scramble as one of the raiders happened to see the old priest and a few children running out of the back of the building. As the other raiders unsuccessfully tried to chase down the refugees, he stayed behind. That’s when he noticed the sword, still in the boy’s hand. The raider had removed the weapon from the boy’s limp fingers, and now sat on the cart, wondering how one so young had managed to get his hands on a sword that looked Elven in design.

“Probably stole it from some merchant passing through his village,” he muttered aloud.

His companion on the cart hiccupped, then turned to the driver. “What?”

“Nothing. Gimme some of that ale.”

“Tastes like horse dung, but it sure is strong.”

“Hey, whatever gets you the drunkest the fastest, right?” Both raiders guffawed, and the driver exchanged the reins for the ale, tilted his head back and drank deeply, ale dribbling down his beard and onto his tunic. As he handed the jug to the other raider and took the reins back, he heard something pounding against the carriage wall behind his back. “What the…?” He half turned to look at the wall. He continued to hear the pounding, only now there were shouts from the children locked inside.
“Hey!” He shouted at the wooden slats. “Keep it down back there, you stupid whelps!”

The ruckus continued. The driver handed the reins to his companion again and took out the sword he had picked up in the village. Leaping down from the cart, he turned toward the rear. “I’m gonna go find out what in the Nexus the shouting is all about.”
“You need that sword to keep a bunch of kids in line? What, are you scared of ‘em?”

The look he gave his fellow raider was one that feigned a hurt ego. “Of course not. And I’ll prove it. Here, you take it.” He tossed the sword back up on to the seat of the cart and made his way to the rear. He jumped up on to one of the pieces of wood that made up the floor of the cart that stuck out from the back wall and opened the small door into the hold. He was immediately assaulted by the shouts of a dozen frantic children.

Stepping inside the cart, he shouted right back. “Slow down! One at a time!”

The oldest of the girls, a pretty blonde, grabbed his hand and pulled the raider toward the front of the cart. “You’ve got to help him! He’s having some sort of fit!”

He pushed his way through the children and saw the boy from in front of the church. He was on the floor, in the midst of a seizure. The raider had seen this before. Soldiers with a head wound would seem to be fine, but then a few moments later would break into convulsions. He knew there wasn’t much they could do but make sure the kid didn’t injure himself. And he didn’t want to lower the value of his cargo.

“Hold his legs steady, I’ll hold his head.”

The girl obeyed, going to the boy’s legs and holding them as still as possible, while the raider knelt at the boy’s head, and did his best to stabilize it. Suddenly he realized because of how he was positioned, his back was to a bunch of his prisoners. He turned slightly and looked over his shoulder at the other children. “Don’t try anything fu-…” The raider’s voice trailed off as he felt a sharp pain in his right side. He turned back to look at the boy, who was now lying perfectly still, eyes open, staring at him. He looked down at his own midsection, where he found a small dagger buried hilt-deep. Too stunned to shout for help, the raider simply slumped over onto his back and died.

Luca sat up and reached over to the now dead raider, removing his dagger and wiping it on the raider’s tunic. “That was the easy part. Remember, once you get out of the cart head northwest, that’ll be to your right, towards the bluffs. Stay as quiet and as low as possible. Try to stay together.”

As each young person jumped down from the cart to the ground, they took off at a brisk jog in the direction Luca pointed, staying low to avoid detection. After assuring himself they were relatively out of sight, Luca once again drew his dagger and made his way along the side of the cart to the front, where the remaining raider sat. Turning his dagger so the blade was hidden from view, Luca clambered up the steps of the cart and sat next to the raider on the driver’s bench. The raider had been in the midst of taking a swig of ale, and thus had not looked in Luca’s direction, assuming it was the other raider returning from calming down the children. “You get ‘em settled down back there?”

“Not exactly.” Upon hearing the unexpected voice, the raider turned to see Luca sitting next to him. Stunned, the raider could hardly muster a word before Luca was on him, a hand over his mouth and the other drawing the blade of his dagger across the raider’s throat. As he muffled the noises the man tried to make while dying, Luca caught a glimmer of light out of the corner of his eye. Looking at the raider’s feet, he saw the sword Morlen had given him before the elvish stableman sent him to Sor’lel. Luca was struck with the sudden thought that Morlen was not as simple-minded as he pretended to be. Had Morlen somehow known what was happening in Sor’lel? Remembering the instructions Morlen had given him, Luca set his mind to ask the elf some questions upon his return to Grisselle’s manor.

Tying the reins firmly around the now dead raider’s hands, Luca propped the man up in a seated position, grabbed his sword, and leapt down to the ground. Rolling slightly as he hit the dirt, Luca kept low through the prairie grass and made his way back to where the other children were waiting. Crissa saw his weapon and a puzzled expression came across her face. “Where did you get that sword?”

“From the front of the cart. They must have stolen it from me after they knocked me unconscious.”

“You went to the front of the cart?” demanded Vaughn, stress straining his voice. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Or us caught.”

“Did I get myself killed? Are we caught?”

“No, but-”

“Then let’s go.” Luca’s abrupt tone cut off further conversation. It also belied his true feelings. In the back of his mind, he knew Vaughn was right; it was a reckless thing to do. But Luca also knew that the longer the rest of the raiders went without figuring out that their cargo was no longer riding along with them, the better their chances of escaping would be. So he took a chance. It paid off for him this time. Luca wondered how many more times he’d have to gamble with his own life. And how many more times he could win that gamble.

Luca, Vaughn, Crissa, and the rest had put enough distance between themselves and the raiders that they were never sure exactly when the raiders discovered their absence. The group made their way back to Grisselle’s manor without incident, though it took them most of the night. Dawn had broken when they approached the front gate. One of the farmhands recognized Luca almost immediately, and they were quickly ushered inside. Most of the children were sent off in the care of two maidservants to get cleaned up, fed, and rested. Luca, Crissa, and Vaughn were shepherded into the Councilor’s dining room, where he was taking breakfast. Luca realized he hadn’t eaten in almost half a day and looked longingly at the fruits and breads in front of the Councilor. He noticed similar looks on the faces of his two fellow travelers. But, maintaining discipline, Luca stood and relayed all of the night’s events to Grisselle.

As he listened to the story, Grisselle’s face showed no hint of surprise or emotion. He simply rested his head on one hand, two fingers at his temple and his thumb under his jaw. After Luca finished, he spoke. “It seems you three are destined to be joined at the hip.” He smiled slightly, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Was anyone in the village spared?”

Luca answered first. “I can’t say for sure. I only got to the plaza before I was…” The frustration was evident in his body language, as was the disappointment at being defeated so quickly.

Crissa quickly added her own thoughts. “I think some of the adults might have managed to get out into the prairie. It was pretty crazy for a while, and they could have gotten away.”

“Yeah,” said Vaughn, deflated, “but the only building left standing was the church. There’s nothing left for us to go back to.”

Grisselle waved a hand in a dismissive manner. “Buildings can be rebuilt, son. As long as there are people to rebuild them. Sor’lel will come back before too long. Luca.” The young man looked up. “I’m sure you did what you could. Don’t trouble yourself over it.” Luca nodded, the words doing little to console him. Grisselle then asked all three the question they expected. “Do you have any idea who would have done this? Slave raiders aren’t unheard of in the Kar’lel, but an organized attack against a village? They wouldn’t dare unless they had somebody protecting them.”

Luca responded. “I heard two of the raiders near the church mention Korya’s name.”
Grisselle’s white eyebrows rose in surprise at the mention of King Tezzio’s vizier. “Korya, you say? That is interesting. I wonder…” The Councilor trailed off into his own thoughts. “Well, that is no matter. What’s important is that you all are safe. Go and get some rest. I’ll have breakfast brought to your rooms.”

Luca showed Vaughn and Crissa the way to their rooms, then went to his own. Without changing out of his grimy riding clothes, he collapsed on his bed, exhaustion getting the better of him. He awoke shortly to the sound of a knocking at his door. Groaning at the interruption of his rest, he groggily made his way to the door and opened it. The faces of the children from the village, including Vaughn and Crissa, greeted him. He was about to turn them away when he - and his stomach - noticed the tray of bread and cheese Vaughn carried with him. He waved them in.

Taking the tray from Vaughn, Luca sat on the surface of his writing desk and placed the tray next to him. The group ate quietly for the most part, though there was a smattering of light conversation here and there, children chattering the way they will when a part of a group. Eventually the conversation turned to Sor’lel, and Crissa asked the question Luca was dreading. “What do we do now?”

 

[CassinoChips]

Shaking his head slowly, Luca offered the only words that came to his mind. “I have no idea.”

One of the younger children spoke. “I want to go home.”

Vaughn sighed. “Do we have a home to go back to? It looked to me like everything was burned to the ground.”

Crissa replied in a curt tone. “Vaughn, quit being so negative. It’s like the Councilor said, as long as there are people there, we can rebuild it.” Turning to Luca, she continued. “I think that’s what I’ll do. Go back to Sor’lel and start rebuilding.” Most of the other children gave some sort of approval of Crissa’s idea, be it a nod or spoken assent.

Luca wanted badly to simply agree with Crissa and go back to Sor’lel and pick up the pieces. He could ignore the last two months of his life, forget the training and education that Grisselle had provided him, and just go home. Maybe he’d do what he’d always been expected to do: become the town’s blacksmith. Though he hadn’t seen them during the attack, Luca was almost certain his parents had not escaped the raiders. That alone was enough to make him want to go back to Sor’lel. But Luca couldn’t help but feel that it was all connected somehow. Hearing Korya’s name mentioned during the attack made him think that it was connected to him specifically. The Foreshadowing ceremony was the only time Korya had been to Sor’lel, so far as Luca knew. Thus it was the only link between Korya, Sor’lel, and the raiders. Luca was torn, and the indecision weighed heavily on him. Crissa must have picked up on his internal struggle. She stood and began ushering the others out of Luca’s room.

Eventually only Crissa and Vaughn were left, and as she stood in the doorway, Crissa gave Luca a suggestion. “Take your time, Luca. You don’t have to make a decision right away, Sor’lel will be there whenever you’re ready.” She embraced Luca, then went down the hall to the room she shared with the other girls of the village.

“You’re not going back, are you?” Vaughn asked the question in a way that said he already knew the answer.

“No. At least, not like Crissa is. I’ll make sure they all get there safely. But then I’m coming back here.”

Vaughn leaned against the door frame. “She’ll never forgive you, you know.”

Luca sighed. “I know.” The two friends stood in contemplative silence for a few moments before Luca spoke again. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll probably go with you back to Sor’lel. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

“Neither do I, Vaughn.” The two young men clasped hands. Vaughn then made his way back to his room which he, as did Crissa with the girls, shared with the male children from the village. Luca shut the door behind Vaughn and turned to head back to his bed.

As the latch clicked into place against the door frame, Luca glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. Morlen stepped out from the shadows behind a large oaken wardrobe. “Morlen,” Luca exhaled sharply.

“I am sorry about that, Luca. Didn’t mean to startle.”

“It’s fine. Though one of these days you’ll have to teach me to be that stealthy.”

Morlen chuckled and spread his hands wide. “I cannot teach what only nature can give.”

Luca smiled as a thought struck him. “Why do you act so differently while around the Councilor? Almost as if you had suffered a head injury.”

“That, my young friend, is a complex question with an equally complex answer. Suffice it to say I feel it best to keep a low profile.”

“I see.” Luca’s brow furrowed. “Then I suppose a better question would be … why do you not act this way around me?”

The corner of Morlen’s mouth quirked up with the beginnings of a grin. “Because I know what you are. Or rather, what you will become.” Luca’s brow furrowed deeper, this time in confusion and consternation. Morlen continued. “Understand, Luca, that I did not always know. Who could have guessed one would appear in a backwater little village such as Sor’lel? But once I heard what happened during your Foreshadowing ceremony, there could be no other explanation.” The elf’s eyebrows raised as he spoke, seemingly to himself. “The timing is quite auspicious, all things considered.”

“One what?”

“Hmm?” Morlen’s gaze and attention redirected to Luca.

“You said ‘one would appear.’ One what?”

“Ah. A leader, such as yourself. They are rare, perhaps one every five or so generations. People are drawn to them inexplicably, like moths to an open flame. And, seemingly serendipitously, they find themselves at the center of significant events. They are destined to shape the future of their world.”

“I am no leader.”

“Aren’t you then?” Morlen’s eyes glinted almost playfully. “Why did all the children come to your room to decide what to do?” Luca could generate no answer. After letting the young man ponder for a moment, Morlen went on. “It’s nothing you can control, or choose to do, or get rid of. It is a part of you, much like your eye color, or your height. All you can do is simply decide how you want to use it.”

“And if I choose not to use it?”

“You may find it difficult to do so. As I said, people will be drawn to you.”

Luca crossed his arms. “So I have no choice in the matter. I’m stuck in this role.”

“In many ways, yes. In some ways, no.”

Luca waited a moment for the elf to further explain, but no explanation was forthcoming. Luca asked a question that had been on his mind for a while. “Why me?”

Morlen shrugged. “Who can understand the choices of the gods? It may be they had some plan in mind, it may be completely coincidence.” The elf clapped Luca on the shoulder. “I trust you’ll figure it out, in your own time. Now, I believe Grisselle is calling for you.” No sooner had Morlen said this than there was a knock at the door. Luca went to the door and opened it. One of Grisselle’s attendants was there, and told him that Grisselle was indeed asking for Luca to join him in the Councilor’s drawing room. Luca told the attendant he’d be there soon, closed the door and turned to find an empty room. Morlen had gone, leaving Luca with more questions than answers. Rubbing the now seemingly ever-present sleep out of his eyes, he made his way to where Grisselle would meet him.

 

[CassinoChips]

((Finally an update, after 3 months. Just a reminder, comments always welcome. Link to discussion thread at top of first post. Don't be shy. ))
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In Tezzio’lel some months later, the Grand Council had convened. Councilors from all of the nation’s provinces had gathered in the capital to voice concerns of their constituents, gladhand with the nobles and politicians, and win the favor of their monarch. The Grand Council occurred once every three years, and lasted for three days. It was a spectacle to behold. Each province’s representative would parade themselves down the main thoroughfare of the capital city, making their way to the Grand Hall inside the Palace walls. The closer to the date of the opening of the Council one arrived, and the larger the company of attendants one traveled with, the more fashionable and important one would seem.

Grisselle arrived three days early, riding an unadorned black charger. With him rode a single manservant, astride a solidly built gray stallion.

When the Council finally began, it was customary for the more important provinces (those nearest the capital, and those with significantly sized cities) to address the monarch first, while the lesser provinces would be heard on the following days. This was not an explicit rule of the Council, but it was a tradition that had held for many centuries. At this Council, Grisselle spoke first. When he stood and began speaking, a stunned, disapproving silence filled the room. The other members of the Council were as surprised about the breach of protocol as they were about who was the one doing the breaching.

Grisselle went through the typical platitudes and formalities, thanking Tezzio for his hospitality, paying respectful lip service to his fellow Councilors. Procedure taken care of, he quickly changed his tone. Though he did not accuse Korya of planning the raid on Sor’lel outright, none could mistake the implications of his words. And because Korya was Tezzio’s vizier, Grisselle was, by extension, accusing Tezzio of being implicitly guilty of the murder of his own people by having knowledge of his vizier’s actions and still allowing the raid to take place.

At the end of his speech, there was a tense moment of silence. The Grand Hall then exploded into a cacophony of shouts and accusations, of Councilors calling for Grisselle’s head for his disrespect and accusing him of treason against their monarch. Other Councilors who had longed for the chance to take down Tezzio called for an inquiry into the monarch’s actions.

His work finished, Grisselle left the Grand Hall. In the chaos, none saw him leave. Except for Korya, who, throughout he entire episode, had remained in his seat on the central platform, at the right hand of Tezzio, never taking his eyes away from the Councilor of the Kar’lel province. After Grisselle was out of sight, Korya called for a page. He whispered instructions into the teenage boy’s ear, then sent him on his way.

Later that night, Grisselle penned a letter. He closed it with wax and pushed his ring into the soft red wax to give it his official seal. He gave the letter to his manservant and gave him the necessary instructions. The manservant left on his errand immediately, as per his Councilor’s orders, and headed back toward the Kar’lel prairie.

The manservant was the last person to see Grisselle alive.

 

[CassinoChips]

((1 update every 3 months is going to make this a very long project. ))

TO THE CAPITAL

3 Years Later
Sor’lel

A slow, arduous process, the rebuilding of Sor’lel had begun. Three years into the project, the remaining villagers had made little progress. Never a very populous town, the raid had diminished Sor’lel’s population to around one hundred hardy souls. Since then, a few had defected, seeking to make a new start in Bryony, Tezzio’lel, or one of the other larger towns or cities, dropping the number to under one hundred. The losses to the village had been detrimental, in terms of both structures and people. The only major building left standing was the church; a few homes here and there also escaped the raiders’ touch, but those numbered less than ten. Of those people who were left in the village, over half were under the age of fourteen. The handful of adults who remained included herders who were tending their animals that night, and were away from the village, as well as those lucky few who managed to escape during the attack and hide in the tall grasses of the plains.

The work to be done was shared among all the Sor’lelians, be they adult or child, male or female. Luca was caught off-guard and found himself in a position of leadership, and it surprised him when the adults actually took his advice and implemented it. Luca’s first suggestion was to re-establish the farming lands by plowing the land the raiders had burned. While many of the village were on that task, Luca assembled the more skilled laborers in the village and began constructing homes. They would be modest wattle and daub creations, all in close proximity to the church, for safety and protection. Some of the older children were set to the task of gathering the scattered remnants of the village’s herds of sheep and goats that had scattered during the attack. Occasionally a shout of dismay would emanate from the plains as one of the children stumbled upon the dead body of a villager who failed to escape the raiders as they fled through the prairie grasses. The graveyard behind the church was full of freshly turned mounds of earth, as more and more corpses were discovered.

The village methodically began to raise itself up from the ashes of the attack. The people began to reestablish their old trends and habits. A year after the attack, the first baby of New Sor’lel was born. Occasionally, a passing merchant traveled through the town, and he spread the news of Sor’lel’s resurgence throughout the region; a few tradesmen -butchers, tanners, carpenters - moved to New Sor’lel to bring their crafts to a village without competition. New Sor’lel was on its way back to self-sustainability.

In the meantime, Luca split his time between the village and Grisselle’s old manor. The house was still occupied by Grisselle’s old staff, including Morlen, who was now unofficially acting as head of the household. He had continued training Luca where Grisselle had left off, and had proved to be just as effective a tutor. Vaughn, the warrior-to-be who was the same age as Luca, also began training with Morlen. As the weeks and months dragged on, and Vaughn became stronger as he grew taller and broader, Luca could see that his friend chafed at the training and the constriction that Morlen and the plains placed on him. One day, three years after the raid on Sor’lel, as Luca and Vaughn once again left Grisselle’s manor for New Sor’lel, Vaughn told Luca that this would be his last time at the manor. He would gather his things, fulfill his Foreshadowing, and set off for Tezzio’lel to enlist in the King’s Army.