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Pandoran

The blade of X'oric

By GreatercandlePublished 2 years ago 18 min read
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Lasting peace comes at the cost of a bloody reminder.

Reminiscence

Chalim was old, but his eyes were much older. Each wrinkle in his valleyed face held a story. experienced much at the end of the third age and the beginning of the fourth. He recently gave up his partisan spear, a loyal guard to the King for nearly eighty-eight years now. His ability with a weapon was no longer a measure of significance but then again, he hadn’t ever been much of a soldier as much as he was living history, he was one of the only remaining heroes left to tell the tale.

Glimmering ‘Alskerite’ studded spectacles gave him a perfect recollection of his life, the emotion attached, and the full context of a decision was woven into his ability to recall it but it was more and more draining on him the more obscure his information was to tell. His wife made him some tea as he settled into his chair by the fire. Chalim was no longer able to stand for more than a few moments at a time, it was said that his experience with the stone stole some life in return for its advantages. He couldn’t go out and discover new stories anymore, but he still had plenty to tell.

Goren was Chalim’s hometown, the boy who swore he would never see his ancient family’s home spent nearly every waking moment there now, living the life his father did. Goren was a hamlet overlooking the magnificent Pandoran City. The mythic glimmering spire of the shrine of Alsker the literal and figurative center of the Pandoran Empire. It shone brightly in the darkness and even more in the light of day. Pandoran city was the magnificent seat of power for an immense influence but more than that, it was a beacon to all that was good. Chalim heard the claim often, and why shouldn’t they smile in the lie? It was better to dwell on the bounty of the present than recall the nightmare that could have been.

On occasion, Chalim would be brought to the town square and he would tell stories late into the evening with hundreds of eager ears in the audience, but he couldn’t make the trip anymore, so a smaller but more dedicated crowd came to him. He loved the company, eager young Yeavin, and Pandoran faces packed together around his living room spilling out onto the floor. He would tell his tales of Iolanthe, the beautiful and bold, the High General of Pandoran. Of Gawain the valiant: the paladin of Alsker. He told of Horim the wise, Bretis’ the patient, Elora the kind, and Sorche the great.

Today was the funeral of Sorche, she ruled for forty years alongside King Cordin the March the first of his name, and Sorche Greymoore, the last of hers.

Chalim was invited to the procession of course, the last rights given by the only man who knew Sorche better than she knew herself would be the least a soldier could do, but his body was frail and he likely wouldn’t survive the journey. Chalim would have given up the ghost to give her the dignity she deserved. With regret he sent a note by messenger instead, offering the warmest eulogy his feeble hands would manage, “By mine own and elora’s love” he signed, remembering the wake of Lord Bretis. Elora, his dearest friend spoke so passionately that the walls cried in remembrance. Chalim could be found often remembering those words and feeling again for his lost friends.

The scribes of Pandoran tapped into his alskerite with his permission, feverishly recording the lifetime of experiences he enjoyed. They and Chalim knew that words could scarcely command the presence of the people they referred to but it was important for history to remember the devotion of the ones left behind as well. Chalim was nearly in his four hundred and thirty-eighth season, but an eternity would have been too short to remember the way the age ended.

Thia was sweeping the kitchen and the front step, cleaning up after the clumsy and filthy scribes that plagued her home day and night. The Pandoran heraldry corps were remembered for keeping the story of the people, but only their pages and runners had the manners to clean up after themselves and their ignorant masters. Thia had been with Chalim for more than sixty-five of his years in the corps. He would give up food and sleep to serve the crown, Elora and Bretis’ broke him out of that devotion all too quickly once he married Thia.

Off in the distance, she saw the keep of Greymoore Castle glimmering in the late afternoon air. Chalim was asleep, snoring in his chair by the fire, and Thia was watching the lights from the shrine of Alsker light up the sky one last time in daylight before X’orics beacon rose heavily over the skyline in the east.

Just as the last wisp of Alsker’s flame dropped below the dip of the Ryder’s mount two pulses of light exited the upper parapet of the senior guard, the air myrmidon of the first fleet, the King and Queen’s personal army.

Thia watched as they moved silently through the air towards the upper ridge of the Goren’s peak, a trip that on horseback would take two to three days but as the myrmid rose and cleared the distance in less than nine minutes.

She knew they were coming to speak with Chalim. This would probably kill him, but she sincerely couldn’t imagine a way he would rather go.

The Myrmid striker was a sleek featureless craft that moved as a stream of light surrounding the seed-like pod nearly two wagons in length. A Dragon’s Wing flew adjacent to and behind the striker, it was a much larger but equally as featureless armored personnel carrier.

The striker slowed to a crawl over the rise, the light coming off the craft seemed to move six meters exactly in front of the craft dropping to the grass that marked the front lawn of the house.

The ship hovered over the light that resonated off the grass as the Dragon’s Wing came in with a similar but much larger pulse of light that came to rest closer to the house dropping quickly to land without a sound the skin of the Dragon’s wing melted off the sides of the craft creating a defensible dais instantly deploying twelve heavily armed heavily Gem-Knights quickly securing the home without so much as a sound outside of the shuffling of feet moving through the grass.

After two minutes of absolute silence the knights relayed around the perimeter of the property, the skin of the striker melted as well producing a dais with two Paladins, impressively better-trained knights than the Gem-knights dressed in gold armor and faintly glistening wings. As they descended the dais King Cordin, and his sixteen-year-old daughter followed patiently behind.

King Cordin was tall; a full two-meters with brown hair and a short-cropped mustache and smooth warm length about his chin. Tawny sun-kissed skin identified him as an outdoorsman, and the cracks in his gloves proved he wasn’t afraid of hard work. He wore a red and green tunic and riding breeches of deep crimson, and a sword of blue alskerite, the most coveted weapon in the known world. It was the crown of leadership, the ‘blade of R’jym.’ A soft blue halo surrounded the king giving a sense of comfort and confidence to any within his eye-line, it also made him the default leader of the imperial army.

His daughter was one point five meters, significantly shorter than her father, she had bright pretty green eyes and deep auburn hair. Some said she was infused, the first Pandoran to be born with the gift. A pale blue doublet with an ankle-length skirt, hiding her feet as she moved with the confidence that did not need the blade, her anger could have shrunk the bravest paladin. She had a temper that would make her a powerful queen one day.

“Kyra, he's been quite ill of late, we really should come back when he is feeling better…” the King pleaded.

“You’re more than welcome to return with your parade Da.” she spoke plainly. “I need not your escort, nor their company to make use of the wisdom this world has to offer.” The upstart princess spat properly back at her father as she skirted past him and his diligent paladin.

“We have been through this Ashling, ye’ve no taste for the mire of men that habit the woods, I’ll not subject your comfort at the expense of my worry. Ye’ll have to endure their company at least whilst we are outside the bounds of the capitol.” Cordin replied, having little experience with appealing to his daughter.

“Aye…” She sighed. “We’ve been through this before, ah don’t need your ‘nightlights’ scaring all the interesting folk from interacting with me.” She countered.

“Please, these men would give their lives for you, should the need arise, they deserve some respect.” the King chided.

“Master Rhea has given me a lot to work with Father, trinkets won’t protect me if my life is really in danger.” She growled. “But, you’re right…” She admitted.

She touched the arm of the closest Paladin sweating underneath the heavy armor that protected him.

"I’ll protect you if we run into a bear love.” she smiled and winked as her hair glimmered in the deepening darkness of the evening.

“Alsker save me!" Cordin sighed. "How could he though? HE never had daughters!” he spoke to the wind looking skyward and back to his daughter that returned an indignant glare in return.

Thia descended the steps from her front door and bowed to the king and two of the knights took careful attention to any potential she might have had in being armed.

“Thia! “ Cordin called. “It’s been too long! You’ve been missed at the castle…” He happily carried on letting his daughter further intimidate his protection.

Thia was the housekeeper of Castle Greymoore, she ran every inch of the grounds, and plenty of the aristocracy that dared to show the castle disrespect. Her marriage to Chalim notwithstanding, she had earned her position as the chief of staff for Lady Sorche during the reign of Meine Greymoore. Now that she saw the boy she raised from knappers standing as King before her made her all the more honored to have led the life she did. She maintained her bow until Corbin embraced her tightly like welcoming a long-lost mother home again.

“You seem to have gotten sprier in your time away… the fresh air has done you good!” He smiled and backed away a step as he took in her smile catching his eye as she stood proudly before him again.

"It’s good you’ve come, your Majesty, he’s beside himself with regret for missing the funeral...” She smiled with some regret herself in her large brown eyes. He caressed her shoulder with a nod.

“How is he?” he asked. “I hadn’t found the time to check on him, is he getting worse?” The King asked genuinely concerned.

“Some days are better than others, of course,” she smiled and motioned towards the house. “He'd be happy you’re here, might be just what he needs to get the spring back in his step…” she smiled as if wishing made it so.

Kyra’s auburn hair was glowing in the near absent light, passively outlining her form as she walked to her father. She was a full-grown woman, and quite tired of being treated like a little girl. She reached the king and bowed gently to Thia.

“My father speaks very highly of you, a woman far more kin to the land than title or grace, I was sorry to hear of your husband’s condition.” She was uncommonly gentle with the former housekeeper. Rhea; her giftsmaster taught her to respect teachers and those that ran the world outside of a title.

Thia smiled and nodded to the princess. “Aye, thank you child,” she noted the magic flowing from the girl naturally. “I understand you are our next deepblade? I know Gawain would be proud.” she smiled having known Gawain for many years.

Kyra cleared her throat in front of the venerable and wise woman “I don’t know what my future looks like, but I am learning a great deal, and your husband has been a large part of that I understand.” She had a temper and she knew her tongue was sharper than spun steel, but the weight of the kingdom often rose and fell with the mood the old matron bore on the morning. Like it or not, the help ran the kingdom just as much if not more than the dignitaries and she would honor the decisions made by the elders who had earned her ear.

Thia smiled, though it was clear she was simply being polite to the precocious child. She moved from in front of the King and his daughter and embraced her warmly as Kyra's anxiety melted away smelling the cinnamon and basil in the clothing of her host treating her very much like her mother did.

The old woman kindly touched her forehead to the princess and stepped back in respect. “You are kind to speak so fondly of him, but come, let’s get out of the night air, I am sure you didn’t come here to revel in the weather.” She motioned towards the front door and led the two inside. The paladin’s moved in tow but Thia’s eyes made it clear she wanted no part of them in her home. The king smiled and waved off his guard as they moved to secure the ships resting passively millimeters above the surface of the grass.

Inside of the house was warmly decorated, and comfortable, with plenty of spaces to sit and an audience-centric living room cleared of bookshelves and furniture that would have taken up space. They stepped into the home through the kitchen where the King and his daughter smiled at one another smelling the spiced stew on the kitchen hearth. The crackle of a fire in the next room seemed to mix well with the even soft snoring of a man who had more than earned his day off.

Thia always made her home presentable to company; she had been granted her ‘Tourin’ a powerful artifact, as thanks for her many years of service. It was a short staff that had silver and gold speckles across a broad dark bulb resembling the fan of a broom at either end.

Most of the time the staff had a mind of its own but it was clear, not even it would disobey the matron. It first appeared to be glass but proved to be far more under closer inspection. it was an ‘alskerite bulb’ a bead of raw resinous crystal enchanted to remove the pain of housework, to clean dirty surfaces and upholstery, and passively absorb dust and debris from the air around it. It was especially useful in collecting motes and nondescript but critical components that may not be found in abundance elsewhere in the world. The staff was a boon to the wizened as it gathered the nutrient-rich dirt and dust that existed in nearly every centimeter of our homes into a single pre-ordained location to be used in things like fertilizer, pigments, medicine, and alchemy.

Thia had a wizard’s way with it. She had used one for more than sixty years and had learned how to expand, contract, concentrate and diffuse the magic it used. Some believed she could have cleaned the entire castle single-handed in an afternoon but she had to give others a chance to prove their worth.

She ruled the servants of the castle like the king rules his subjects, she was not subordinate to anyone during her tenure in the king and queen’s service.

Her home showed a similar understanding of her position in life. She cared deeply for her husband and knew his value to the court but in every aspect of the largesse his fame had offered she held some token, or indication that her service had been just as vital. Chalim was respected and fondly remembered in court over time. Thia was vital to the world at large for maintaining the court and ensuring it was inviting to heads of state, honorable to visiting judges, and respectful of the traditions visitors held deep in their hearts.

Thia led Cordin and Kyra into the main living room where Chalim had been dozing. He seemed already passed on save for the gentle rising and falling of his chest as his long beard and kempt hair splayed out over his shoulders and stomach slightly hiding his folded arms across his lap.

He always seemed to be staring into the fire as though some careful secret hid in the plasma that flickered off the wood and coals so tempered by the hearth. Chalim seemed genuinely at peace and less concerned by the future or the past, unlike his remembered self in court, always milling about and scrawling random stories across anything his hands could reach. The sage still had his books, but his skill in writing down whatever came to mind had failed him. He appeared to have accepted that finally, that it was okay to be merely human again.

Chalim shifted in his sleep, the sudden movement made Cordin startle, Kyra’s hair flared red in response to the movement but Chalim quickly resettled and resumed his snoring.

Thia smiled and touched the King’s shoulder: “You okay?” she smiled cautiously. “I haven’t seen you like this since Gawain…” Her voice trailed off noticing Cordin's steeled resolve as though something may come crashing through the walls.

“I’m fine…” Cordin responded as he straightened his tunic, “Gawain did what he had to, I’d have done the same.” The King admitted.

“Just don’t show that face to Chalim, he’s old, but he’ll know before you can deny it.” Thia chided.

Cordin nodded, Kyra relaxed as her hair returned to its deep auburn hue. “I’ll get you something to drink while we wait, your Majesty, he’ll be looking for dinner here before too much longer, there’s no rush is there?

“There’s no need for that.” a broken deep voice broke the interchange. Chalim opened his eyes and straightened, as though he was a much younger man in an old shell. “Cordin… You’re still slouching... Kyra isn’t going to know how tall her daddy is unless he stops wearing that fancy sword all the time.” Chalim huffed.

“It’s good to see you old man.” Cordin smiled not minding the rebuke, but he straightened up a bit more anyway. “I’ve missed you at court, you always had something I hadn’t thought of.” He nodded encouragingly. Kyra moved out from behind the shadow of her father and smiled meekly at her storyteller.

“Ah, there she is... beautiful as ever and bright like she’s ready te' fight a wild rhia on its own turf!" He boasted warmly seeing her. "I’ve missed you squirming in your sheets trying to stay awake little one.” He beamed with pride seeing the girl become woman in the wings of the living room. “Come here little one, I have at least one more story I owe you before you go off and find a man to fit those hands in his.” She smiled like a little girl again and moved to his feet.

Cordin took a seat as well in a chair near Thia as they watched the impact his words had on her expectant mind. Her eyes widened hearing a familiar voice and her body shivered as though some basic need was satisfied in a way she hadn’t known she needed before. She was ecstatic and her attention was rapt in every word he gave the princess.

Kyra didn’t know Chalim well, but his words carried in gems telling his stories over and over again, it still put her to sleep to this day. He needed to get information out of his old teacher concerning something very important his predecessor was aware of but did nothing about, but like his daughter, he loved the old man’s stories too, so he did not interrupt.

“Ah, so, what should I talk about.” He mused. “Maybe, when Gawain slew the avatar of X’oric?” He smiled looking into her eyes, as his own glowed pure white for a moment behind his ancient spectacles. “I know what you’ve come here to hear Majesty…” His voice echoed in the king’s ears though no one else could hear him. “As you wish, for her sake.” His voice seemed unearthly deep and rich. “You’re going to need it.” The words echoed and then resumed his broken but warm tone.

“I’ll tell you the tale of how I met the heroes of Pandoran…” He smiled though his eyes didn’t glow again, he knew the story by heart and it brought him peace to tell it again.

“I guess it all starts to make sense with the hungry blade, now that I think about it,” He mused. “Sorche loved Greymoore, even if she didn’t show it sometimes, and she loved every moment with him even if he reminded her of home often, too often.” The alskerite spectacles shimmered in the rich light as he smiled remembering it all. “That’s why the blade is so important I think, the gods had to pay attention now, too much was at stake and it all started with a dark night, during a wondrous party... " His old eyes seemed much younger for a moment as the glasses did their work." Yes… I’ll start there…”

Adventure
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