STORIES
My name is Victoria Castor, I am a scribe and author of some small renown, and some large wealth. My wealth has afforded me a great deal of latitude in my pursuits, and a favorite of mine has been my expedition to track down the so called ‘Heroes’ of this land, and to ascertain the absolute truth of the events thirty five years ago, the ending of the Thraxian War, which may or may not have occurred.
To say that I felt somewhat out of place here would be an understatement of epic proportions. Clad, I must admit, in rather plain cloth garments, with my hair tied back in a distinctly frumpy manner, I was a perfect contrast to the colorful and unrestrained appearance and demeanor of those haunting this establishment. From the description of his deeds across our fair land, however, one would be forgiven for imagining that my quarry would be more out of place than I. Not so, as I will now recount.
Many of these heroes are not difficult to meet with, Prime-Minister Priotus was most forthcoming, but superlatively unhelpful, preferring to skirt round the topic with tales of his adventuring youth, which while impressive, is well documented, and hardly worth the considerable contribution to his household guards required to enter his presence. Likewise King Menes of the Basilisk Isles was a man of unparalleled hospitality and kindness but scant coherence and direction in conversation. Age has been kind to his body, but not to his mind, and it was with supreme difficulty that he remained on track to finish a sentence, much less relate a tale.
Of more help, though in a somewhat mysterious way was Ambassador Caleb, the mysterious Shadow of Silence, and perhaps the most revered and feared of all the ‘Heroes’. Of late, this most secretive of individuals has emerged from his vantage in the shadows to take on a pivotal role as his country’s ambassador to ours. Much speculation has been made as to the reasons for this, but I found him to be as quiet as ever on the subject. After a ‘conversation’ in which he must have spoken a single word for every thirty I did, he made it clear to me that the people of that age were secretive about its truths and lies because it carried a great deal of pain for them, but that perhaps there were others, knowledgeable in the events, but less entangled in them who might be more helpful.
So after three years of touring the world, searching for someone to enlighten me, I had my first real lead. The clinching point of it was delivered to me by hand as usual at half past seven on Sunday morning in the form of the Merchant’s guild newssheet. The dominating feature, and not for the first time, was an article detailing the further exploits of our nation’s greatest modern day Hero Mathias Keogh, known as Matt by his legions of adoring worshippers. (To call them fans hardly describes the hysteria which strikes any given crowd upon his arrival in the vicinity. Surely no priest I have ever encountered has enjoyed such rapture from his flock.) His significance in this new light did not elude me. By reputation and rumor he is supposedly the child of Legendary (and possibly Mythical) Heroine Cassandra Keogh, and the Infamous (and possibly even more mythical) wandering swordsman, Drake.
A brief research exercise told me this would be a harder person to deal with than I thought, and I could find little background on his family and the truth of his heritage. Unwilling to approach such a man unprepared I called in an old and much savored favor. When one has occasion to be owed a favor by the ArchMagister of the Blastrock Magi Tower, one does not spend it lightly. After some years, a cause in which to use it had finally occurred. I sent a customarily polite letter ahead of myself and went seeking the knowledge of the Tower’s library.
On a previous occasion I had found its history section lacking notably in areas regarding the true history of our land, but it had not occurred to me at the time to search for information on the personal lives of some of the less well known players in that legendary scene. Cassandra Keogh was well documented in the tomes I searched. Apparently she was not a popular figure with the Magi, despite being perhaps the most powerful of their number, surpassing in Arcane skill even the great Asmodai Albrecht. A woman of Cawdor Nobility, she was typically dark and rebellious, but lacked the usual desirable quality of her peers, mindless predictability. Therefore she was feared.
Records stated that she was indeed a real person and not some figment of folklore, the younger daughter of Doctor Vladimir Keogh of Cawdor, a man of some standing in the Cawdor Elite, and of even greater wealth. Vladimir and his entire family were reportedly slaughtered by the homicidal maniac known as ‘The Red Crusader’, a real murderer who folklore glorifies as the Dark Lord Mordane. Yet Cassandra survived, and emerged some years later under the tutelage of Matthew Hemlock, Magi and Necromancer of Titan City Mages Guild. Was there some truth then in her alleged secret marriage to the ,mythical warrior Drake? If so this was a discovery of unparalleled significance, to confirm the existence of Drake would be to imply proof of the existence of his father, and that, that would be worth the favor I had just spent.
Hastily departing for Cawdor, I sought to learn everything I could about Mathias Keogh, it seemed if he could be made to speak on the matter, he would be the key to unlocking the mystery of our broken past. Sadly I found actual information on him to be a rare commodity. Tales of his deeds were common like grains of sand on a beach, but no one could say where he came from, or even who he really was. So it was, that I came frustrated and perplexed to ‘The Dark’, an establishment of some mystery of its own. Nominally an inn according to its advertisements, it was a more elite establishment than the Imperillian First legion (A fine body of soldiers I feel obliged to point out) and as rumor would have it the favored haunt of Mathias Keogh.
So I found myself inside, after a substantial entrance fee (apparently I failed to meet the dress code, despite being in the same Attire in which I had once attended an interview with the King and Queen themselves and not felt ashamed.) and feeling like a fish out of water, as I have already mentioned. The atmosphere of the place was dark and brooding, it was a smoky room and one could scarcely see the other side of the room. Yet he was not difficult to locate. Looking at him from afar, I had no difficulty believing he was the product of the mythical titans of old. He lounged amidst a bunch of men who, due to their disposition and appearance were cursed to be forever described as lackeys, cronies, or henchmen. His garb was little more extravagant than my own, a simple white shirt half unbuttoned, a pair of tight fitting cloth pants, and riding boots, yet he seemed infinitely more imposing and impressive than his lackeys who were garbed in the finest Cawdor had to offer.
His stature was not so immense as many fighting men, but the solidity of it was awe inspiring. It was as if when his mother conceived him, she swore a pact not to waste an ounce of her child with any imperfection however slight. He was powerfully muscular, yet at the same time slight and elegant. There was not the slightest trace of any scar or injury upon him, including his face, a favorite target during the duels he so loved, and by all the Gods what a face it was. I must confess an extreme distaste for the androgynous look favoured by Cawdor men, and at the same time a preference against the overly rough look fashionable elsewhere. Mathias blended both looks effortlessly into perfection, unmistakably masculine but at once sensitive and soft. The defining point of his face were a pair of beautiful green eyes, which seemed to glow ever so softly from within, and definitely penetrated through whatever they gazed upon, most relevantly my soul as they casually locked with my own eyes across the room. This magnificent visage was framed by a mane of long red hair, straight, but filled with body and energy, completing his fusion of beauty and power.
I must have stood gaping like a fool for some time before realizing he was watching me. I shuffled uncomfortably under his scrutiny. A predatory half smile was upon him, and a deep consideration also. Clearly he was not a shallow adventurer like many ‘Heroes’, his examination spoke of a depth of knowledge and a depth of purpose far greater than simply slaying monsters and bedding women. A sudden weakness came upon me, like the stage fright of my first school play, he seemed to titanic a personality to approach and there was something foreboding about the way with which he contented himself to watch me silently. I am not, however, some foolish and skittish young girl (sadly I have not been so for a substantial amount of time), so I steeled myself and as brazenly as I could manage, strode over to the table around which Mathias and hangers on were strewn.
Conversation ceased immediately, all eyes were upon me, many accompanied by idly open mouths. I could sense some kind of momentum brewing a sort of terrible potential like the movement of tectonic plates. I realized that each lackey was waiting for one of them to come up with some kind of smart alec remark with which to belittle me. Rather than wait such a long time for what would more than likely be an extremely mundane insult I decided to take the initiative.
‘You there!’ I gestured to lackey number 1 on my right, he visibly jumped at the aggressive schoolmarm tone, a voice I had learned during my days as a war journalist.
‘Yes?’ He replied trying to get as much bluster back as possible.
‘What is your name?’ I demanded.
He laughed falsely, desperately looking around the table for support. Bravely he stood up and bowed arrogantly
‘I am Lord Carinas Largo of Cawdor my dear lady, and….’
‘Ah yes, your father manufactures toilet brushes does he not? Now tell me young Lord Largo, do you really suspect that I have traveled three times round the world and courted the wrath of Legend and wizard alike to converse with the son of a toilet brush peddler?’
It was unfair to Lord Largo the elder who is an upstanding man and a pillar of the community, but not unfair to his son, who is a parasite. Regardless it had its desired effect, young Lord Largo stood gaping and searching even more desperately for aid from his fellows, who were split between hysterical laughter and near outrage. Mathias looked on with silent mirth, no help was forthcoming. I pushed the offensive.
‘I shall spare you further agony and tell you I did not, now kindly step aside.’
Largo looked cautiously over his shoulder at Mathias, who after a moment made a very slight dismissive wave with his hand. Without question or hesitation, Lackeys 1 through 5 vacated the premises as if a fire had started. Lackey number 6 foolishly dawdled and was treat to wrathful glare from the resident Hero, he dawdled no further. Mathias now fully turned his attention to me, and beckoned me to sit. Wordlessly he poured two glasses of wine of a ludicrously expensive stock and offered one to me.
‘A drink.’ It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice was as bewitching a paradox as everything else about him.
‘No thank you.’ I replied, he smiled and pushed the glass across the table to me anyway.
‘You seem an intelligent enough woman Ms Castor.’ He paused to allow the surprise mention of my name to have its effect, then continued ‘So I will assume you already know what I am about to say, and that it is merely a conversation piece, not instruction.’ He affected the air of a schoolteacher reciting a lesson ‘When one raises the tone of their speech towards the end, it indicates that they are asking a question. When one remains level of tone and pace throughout, it indicates that one is making a statement of fact. Drink, there is no other option.’
‘Indeed not? I could simply leave.’ I replied defiantly, I disliked being corrected or put in my place.
His response was to simply gesture with an open hand towards the door, daring me to do so. I glared impotently, and reluctantly took the drink. His manner instantly softened
‘Now then Ms Castor, or… May I call you Victoria?’
‘Well, if there is no choice for me here, you may call me what you like I suppose.’
He smiled in an oddly satisfied manner, then stood up slightly and bowed just as slightly
‘Forgive Milady, I grow tired of the constant badgering and requests of the female species, I find a gruff approach suits my needs to discourage such people. Allow me to apologize and begin anew more courteously.’ His bow became more rigid and formal ‘I am Lord Mathias Keogh, and my father was not a peddler of cleaning utensils, perhaps I am more worthy of your obvious effort than Lord Largo?’
I found this approach infinitely more acceptable, though I found the idea of an adventurer growing bored of the constant attentions of young women somewhat farfetched.
‘Your apology is gladly Accepted Lord Keogh, or… May I call you Mathias?’
He chuckled
‘Touché.’ He sat once again and quaffed his own drink in a single gulp before flamboyantly casting the priceless crystal glass aside to shatter on the floor. ‘Milady, you are the first person of any real interest I have encountered in fourteen days, you may call me what you wish so long as you do not abandon me to isolation amongst this nest of rabble.’ His tone was full of mirth, but also deadly serious ‘Now please tell me, what has tempted a woman of learning out of her study, and through the “wrath of legends and wizards”?’
‘The Truth.’ Was my simple reply. It was obviously well chosen, as he regarded me with interest and consideration.
‘Specifically?’ He enquired, grabbing an entirely new and equally doomed crystal glass.
‘I am a historian, Mathias, it is my passion to record the present and to analyze the past, and yet I find that the past is not quite what it should be.’
He seemed to understand the direction of my request, by his measured reaction I was obviously far more interesting than he had at first anticipated. He poured and drank another glass of wine before replying.
‘I have never yet allowed my own objections to stay a woman in the grip of true passion Victoria. Shall we then retreat to a more suitable location in which you may have your way with me?’
‘Metaphorically speaking, yes that sounds fine.’ I stood up
‘Yes, that as well.’ He poured and quaffed a final glass before casting it aside. Where to his dismay it landed harmlessly on a thick lionskin rug and did not shatter. Slowly and deliberately he turned and glared at the vessel. There was the briefest sign of exertion, visible only in his eyes, and the glass shattered into a thousand pieces as if struck by a hammer. A nearly childlike grin of satisfaction crossed his face momentarily, then he spirited me swiftly out of the door.
---
I was glad to collect my cloak from the entry way to this dismal establishment, as it was now dark and a chilly breeze blew through the nearly deserted streets of Cawdor’s residential area. Sounds of the bustle and merriment of the tremendously popular entertainment district hung eerily in the air, and were the only sounds save for the tapping of Mathias’ boots on the cold cobbles beneath us. He slung his own jacket over his shoulder, and for the first time despite many attempts, a Cawdor noble managed to shock me. There were many replicas of this type of jacket and the accompanying badges and marks of honor which adorned it, but I had only ever once seen the genuine artifact. I gaped at it. After a short while he noticed and swung it round so I could see.
‘Thraxian paraphernalia is all the rage these days, and I simply couldn’t make do with a copy when an original was so close to hand.’ He explained.
I noticed the name badge, a small rectangle of metal, etched with mechanical precision with the name ‘Drake’. My heart raced
‘Then its true?’
Mathias rolled his eyes
‘Its true? What a ludicrous statement, “it” can never be true, there are no such things as general truths. Only the specific truths and the general lies and false notions which arise from them. You have wasted three years of your life if you were simply searching for “it”.’ Again he surprised me with knowledge of me beyond what was generally known, but he was not finished ‘No, you came with very specific questions in mind, which I will answer in due time, so that you can ascertain what has been lied about, and what is truth.’
We continued on in silence, until we reached a lonely looking manor building, oddly packed in tightly with the rest of the buildings, rather than separated by an estate like the rest. Not a light was on, and it looked barely lived in, nonetheless Mathias had the key, and proceeded to open the door.
‘Is this your manor?’ I asked
‘No.’ He answered matter-of-factly ‘This manor belonged to Lord Halt, a leading man in the Traders up until last Tuesday. He and his family were rather brutally murdered. You may have heard some moron was copycatting The Red Crusader?’
I nodded, I had indeed heard about the gruesome affair, and here I was stepping onto the crime scene. I shuddered a little
‘What happened?’
Mathias smiled at me, for the first time I got the impression that it was a sincere expression and not a calculated façade.
‘I shall be kind and assume you do not wish me to relay blow by blow the minutiae of this poor family’s demise, and instead tell you how I came to hold the keys for it. You see, I am something of a student of history myself, I am well versed in the details of the so called Red Crusader’s reign of terror, thus I was easily able to outwit the unimaginative dolt who was replicating that particular piece of history. He killed Halt et al at around nine o clock on Tuesday, and by nine in the morning I had him swinging from the hangman’s noose in market square. Upon his person I found the spare keys for this particular residence, no one seems to want them back. I’ll be damned if I’m paying for an inn when there’s a free bed to be had.’
Disapproving, but with little say in the matter I was ushered inside. The house had an odd chill about it, and a very uneasy feeling came over me.
‘Its cold.’ It came out more fragile and pathetic than I had intended.
‘Then I shall construct for you my dear lady, a fire.’ He replied in a comical manner. In what was obviously a practiced comic routine of his, he played at gathering up wood from a log pile next to the hearth, and affected a blundering inability to do so. In spite of the tragically overused material I found myself laughing at his antics, which eased my apprehension about the place. After several “failed” attempts to assemble a fire, he affected the posture of a man who had just had a bright idea, and with a click of his fingers a small, but incredibly warming fire burst into life in the fireplace.
It was soothing, and for some reason I was still laughing at the antics which hadn’t been all that funny in the first place. He smiled broadly in faux pride at his achievement. It was such a genuine expression, an utter contrast to the façade he had shown earlier. I felt an almost tangible reduction in the awe inspiring presence about him. He was suddenly just a man, and a likeable one at that.
‘So then.’ He spoke dramatically. ’It has been some time since I last, held an interview with a woman of learning such as yourself. Tell me, which passion comes first, the literal or the metaphorical?’
I tutted at him disapprovingly in a faux expression of my own. As a woman of twice his years I had not come all this way for his so called ‘literal passion’, I was solely interested in the truth of the age of war, my ‘metaphorical passion’. It is strange then, that this was not my answer.
----
It was morning before my questions would get their chance. I was awoken gently by a soft warmth on my neck. As I drifted into awareness I realized it was the gentle touch of Mathias’ lips on my skin I was feeling, and turned over to respond in kind. In my dull state of awareness it was a short while before I noticed he was fully clothed, and that his clothes had the cold of outdoors on them, propping myself up I raised a puzzled eyebrow at him.
‘You’re an early riser.’ I commented, with a slight affectation of admonishment in my voice.
He bowed apologetically, then pulled in close again for another kiss
‘Having tasted the full length and breadth of that particular passion, I am most eager to sample your remaining depths. Unlike last night, however, I find myself ill equipped to satisfy you in this field. Therefore I have resorted in this particular endeavor to a tactic I seldom require in last night’s type of passion, I have called for backup.’
I was intrigued, but had to wait until he was quite finished with my mouth before I could use it to speak.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Come see.’ He replied excitedly, with that same endearing childishness I had seen sparingly last night. I heard him go down the stairs to the main hall. He must have taken the steps two or three at a time, because there were only a few of footfalls on what I remembered to be a massive flight of stairs. Though admittedly, my attentions were as far from the stairs as was physically possible last night.
Unsure of what awaited me, I made sure I was fully dressed and prepared, though I had to travel to the main hall itself to collect all the necessary items to do so. I heard Mathias chatting excitedly to someone in the kitchens, so I made my way through there. My time preparing was insufficient, I still found myself gasping at the man and woman with Mathias.
The woman was possibly the most beautiful creature I had ever seen up to this point. A family resemblance between her and Mathias was as obvious as it ever was in any two Humans. Where Mathias was life and energy though, this woman was cold and dead. Her eyes bore only the very lightest tint of color to indicate that they had once been as Green as Mathias’, the lifeless pupils slid with terrible purpose to look at her as she entered the room. The rest of the woman was no less disconcerting. Her skin had the appearance of thin porcelain, and was white like snow, save for an extremely pale touch of red in places. Her hair was long and red like Mathias’, but it was straight, and without substance. It seemed so light that it blew gently in a breeze I could not feel. This was no living creature before me, the woman was a dead thing, and the sight of her terrified me as much as her beauty captivated me.
As frightful as she was, I would have gazed at her for a century before looking again at the man she had apparently brought with her. He was not hideous, far from it, he had a sort of practical rugged handsomeness that was very appealing, and he certainly seemed more in my age bracket than the man I had been with last night. Like mine his hair had nearly completely greyed, though mine was somewhat premature. He was obviously a creature of war, his physique was immensely powerful and marked with all the scars of a life of combat. A massive scar ran through his right eye, though the eye itself looked undamaged, an assortment of other scars were the defining features of his face. Most terribly though were his eyes, by all the gods I looked on those eyes for a mere second and swore to myself I would never do so again. Where the woman’s eyes were dead, these were worse still, these eyes had never lived. The creature who stood practically motionless across the room from me was no more a man than the swords he carried, he was an instrument of war, a mere machine for killing, and to see that in a living creature terrified and saddened me in a manner I do not care to recall in any great detail.
Seeing my discomfort, Mathias practically bounced over to me and took me by the shoulders. Gently and reassuringly he guided me to a seat next to the kitchen table and sat me down. The man’s gaze remained fixed on me, and the woman moved to sit down, or at least she must have, because in the blink of an eye she was sat opposite me. She regarded me without expression for a moment, noting my extreme unease. She glanced briefly at the man, there was apparently some kind of communication between them, or at least an understanding, because he moved off and without a word, but with definite purpose, left the room. The woman leaned close over the table, I was suddenly aware once again of that icy chill I had felt when I first entered this house. She spoke to me, her voice was like a whisper distorted by fog and night air, distant and detached but audible and clear
‘Shhhhh.’ I am sure she meant it as a claming gesture, but I was put in mind of some of the predatory snakes I had encountered in my travels. ‘You mustn’t worry little one.’ She went on, oblivious to the adverse effects of her attempts to calm me; my hands shook despite my best efforts to remain calm. ‘If either of us meant you harm, I would be drinking your life’s blood from a chalice carved for me from your skull by now. Drake would not have waited for you to wake up.’
Despite the implied threat, I suddenly found my fear banished, my inquisitive nature once again returned to the forefront.
‘Drake?!’ I stared at her incredulously, there must have been a palpable change in my manner and appearance, she seemed taken aback, and a little disappointed that I was no longer afraid ‘then you are……’
Mathias’ seemed delighted to see me regain my composure, and leapt into action in his role as the designated introducer.
‘Lady Victoria Castor of Falkin, may I introduce to you my mother, Lady Cassandra Keogh of Cawdor. That thing that just left was of course my father, Drake.’
‘I don’t understand….’ I gawked ‘ you’ve remained so hidden all these years, why show yourself to me now?’
‘Well.’ She clicked her fingers and whatever magical façade she had been employing dropped, leaving behind it a normal looking if slightly pale woman. The transformation was almost as shocking as the façade had been ‘Its not in small part due to the considerable influence of my son, whom you seem to have impressed. More importantly though, things are happening in this land. Great things, important things, and also terrible things. It is a critical point in the lifetime of this world, and many lessons which have been forgotten and buried under layers of pain will be needed now. Someone must have them, so we have chosen you.’
This was all too much for me, and I sat in silent contemplation for a short while, taking it all in, then I sprang to life with obviously shocking suddenness.
‘DAMN AND BLAST!’ I cried aloud, causing Cassandra to jolt backwards with fright, while Mathias’ practically leapt out of his skin and sent plates clattering to their doom on the floor.
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ Mathias’ practically whimpered.
‘I am!’ I was still shouting for some reason ‘But I left my bloody pens and paper at that stupid inn of yours!’
Without warning, a firm hand on my shoulder applied irresistible force and pushed me back into my seat. Drake emerged and dropped a massive stack of high quality paper and a bundle of the finest writing pens in front of me. I looked up at him, waiting to see if he too would magically become less terrifying. If such a thing is possible, I am still waiting to see it. He regarded me without expression and stated my instructions simply
‘Listen. Write.’
Then he took the seat next to Cass as she began….
