D | Janick Yehasuri

I stood atop the scrawny chest of my father’s, and beckoned my team forth as we traversed through the Black Egress.


[TORN PAGES]

We arrived in Joszlin, a town only but a few miles from the coast of where we disembarked. Its people were weary and without light. They looked at us with little interest as they carried on with their duties.

The sky was sullen with no lively star in sight, with its hue orangered and its clouds ashen gray. It was odd seeing Gealga while not being on it. I could still see Eder at a distance, though. So that was still a familiarity to which I had become accustomed. Familiar as it may be, I was still very far from home.
We walked from one end of town to the other with our heads hung low. I saw a number of merchants and a couple blacksmiths. Both were Man, and not a Gigandet smithy in sight. Strange. I didn’t necessarily tower over the people here, but doubtfully my height will go unnoticed.
Spoiled sacks of flour and wheat littered the sidewalk as we walked past. It was clear these people were hungry and desperate. Were it in my power, I’d stop everything I was doing to feed and clothe the needy but my endeavors superseded the attention of these commoners.

We cut the corner of a bakery after recollecting our gear from the cobblestone and made our way down an isolated alley at the edge of the town. Crumbs and stale discarded loaves of bread littered our walk to the end of the alley. While traveling with little resources, it isn't unheard of to feed upon the scraps and waste of others. We were hungry, not picky.

My men dropped their bags against a wall down a back alley nearing the bottom of the town. I paced the streets with my eyes low looking for an inn or some sort of lodging so we weren't pelted by the harsh winds this planet offered. No one paid me any mind, nor did they seem to offer any assistance. And laid my sheathed sword against the concrete wall at the end. I drew my cloak forward to wrap around my cold chainmail, and sat myself on the dirtied ground.

"Did you notice any non-humans, Ser Janick? I reckon they ain't nobody but men in these parts..." piped the only human comrade that walked in our company. He went by the name of Osmond and he was a hell of a swordsman. He hailed from Limestone, a town in east Highgard. He knew not his way around Siel arts, but made up for that in his expertise with a blade.
It had then dawned on me that Yldirians were not common here, or at least not from what I had seen. Luckily for us, we were cloaked and hooded should we draw any attention from any unsavory onlookers.
There were six of us. Osmond, the human who knew his way around a blade. He traveled to Northmoor to the Yldirians a couple years ago. He wasn’t trusted at first, of course, but we quickly grew fond of him. His skills and competence did him great favors in terms of our insolated bunch warming up to an outsider such as he.

Mosey, a half Yldirian and half human who possessed the rare abnormality of heterochromia. She was apt with a bow, but took more a liking to medicines and explosive concoctions. She was a loyal follower of mine, and very critical of the current hierarchy of Nithgoth. Mosey was fond of flora and biology, as well as animal life. She was quiet and kept to herself, but one look upon that face of hers yielded the notion that her cogs in her brain were constantly turning.

There was Agnes, an Yldirian warrior that excelled in both Siel arts and weaponry. Not only was she skilled with a claymore, she was skilled with her bare hands. Very rarely did I come across such a skilled warrior such as she. Nary but maybe five other instances had I the honor to spar with someone so powerful.

Rory, a very proficient mage who also dabbled in hunting and acrobatics. There was no obstacle too high or steep for him. If it existed, he could traverse it. Not only was he an outstanding rogue, he had the silver tongue of a siren. There was not a situation out of which he could talk his way. Had he not pledged his allegiance to me, I would not trust the boy.
Darkson, an Unholy Knight who followed the teachings of Eibos for many years and asked to accompany us for self-fulling purposes in exchange for protection, considering his mastery in Siel arts and his way around a claymore. We were uncertain from the very beginning why he decided to join us, but his intentions later became quite clear.

And lastly, myself. A forgotten Yldirian that once was heir to the highest throne of all of Gealga. Once a somebody, now a nobody, voyaging in a forgotten and unknown alien world with no direction whatsoever.

I looked to Mosey. She smiled at me, and hung her head as she placed her bag in front of herself and sat down. Mosey was the most optimistic of us all, and it was always refreshing to have her insight on whatever was going on. She was a great friend of mine, and I cherished her so.

She removed a journal from her bag and I sat and watched her scribble notes inside it. She then started to actually concentrate on what she was writing. She started to remove each weed and flower from her small satchel and began drawing them. By doing this, she was recording and studying the flora of the area from our boat to this town.

“Reckon the next town is a bit aways. If we departed tomorrow, we could reach this… Hanja by two nightfalls.” Osmond said.

“Then I reckon we ought to leave just before sunrise.” I put emphasis on the word “reckon” to teasingly mock him. He grinned, and laid down on his back to rest. Agnes sat at the end of us, closest to the street as to stand watch for any brigands or thieves. Ironically, Rory had already begun snoring. While weightless, silent, and undetectable on his feet, he was loud and easy to track in his sleep.

“We will sleep for six hours. Rest is well-needed, but we will take out just before the sun rises.” I finished.

[TORN PAGES]

While walking up the hill and gazing upon the twilit orange sky, I noticed something in the distance. It looked like a person but it fumbled in its steps like a drunken tramp. Its skin glistened in the sun like porcelain. It stopped in its tracks and looked at me. My troop unknowingly pushed onward, but I watched it as it watched me while I walked with my people. At this point, it hadn’t just stopped in its tracks; it was completely frozen. It resembled a still-life oil on canvas painting with the reddish cloudy sky draped behind it. I was unnerved, and it twisted my stomach with what was almost disgust. Its features inhuman, and it’s aura cold.

I kept walking.