Exile

Twisted red-gray skies swirled overhead at unnatural speeds, blocking the light of day from those on Chaos Isle. It was a land of eternal darkness where hate and filth dominated, and the light of the pure was often overpowered by the shadows of the corrupt. Nothing grew there, nothing survived for long. Even the fiends and monsters now native to this horrid realm found their lives cut short by the brutality of the dead lands. Few would argue that there was a more inhospitable place in all the world.

It had been almost a year, though the passing of days into weeks, and weeks into months was a blurred mess of battles with horrible monstrosities and scurrying for shelter amidst the storms in Lucen’s memory. Time held no meaning for him any longer, though he once thought of life in the same way. When he came here, it was to die. The horrible atrocities he had committed in the past had caught up with him, had begun haunting him. Every time he laid down to rest he was faced with the pleading eyes of a fallen foe, or a crying child shaking the corpse of his father, unable to understand the finality of death.

When he came here, he had no intention of ever going back. He had lost his faith, lost sight of the Prophet. It wasn’t long after that he had stumbled upon another, who similarly to himself had lost his way. A Battlemage by the name of Ignis. Together, they found solace. Together they were able to separate themselves from the past and begin to heal, to rebuild their faith in the Prophet. And in time, they grew to see Chaos Isle as their home. The earth beneath them that had once pulled their spirits from their bodies with each step now harbored feelings of comfort and tranquility. They had found life in the most dead of all places.

They sat on opposite sides of a small fire, roasting the meat of a fiend they had slain earlier. Their camp sat at the edge of a precipice, overlooking a vast ravine to the east. It gave them some security, leaving only one direction to approach from. The land stretching west from them was flat for as far as they could see, and in the distance the slender form of someone approaching was silhouetted by the thick red-gray of the surrounding rock. Lucen stood and moved north instinctively as Ignis headed south. They had learned early on to present two distinct targets rather than one when being approached. Drawing his greatsword, the Templar spread his feet to optimize his balance, taking a defensive posture until they could see what they were faced with and decide the best way to kill it.

It wasn’t often that an individual would walk the decaying lands of the isle though. This oddity was all that kept he and Ignis from attacking without question. As the humanoid figure drew near, Lucen glanced around, keeping an eye out for rogues trying to sneak up on them. If this traveler was of ill will, he was surely a diversion. “Who goes there?” he asked sternly.

The figure stopped and held fast for a moment. Lucen couldn’t make out his features yet, but the traveler seemed to be packed for an extended excursion. “I am called Suen,” he responded. “I am no threat to you.” He raised both hands in the air, showing no weapons. “Might I sit by the fire with you for a moment and rest?”

Lucen looked over to Ignis who was still standing defensively. They held eye contact for a moment before the Templar shrugged his shoulders, a task not easy under the weight of full plate armor. Another glance in the direction of the stranger from the Battlemage was followed by Ignis putting his scepter on his hip and returning to his seat. Lucen followed suit, but sat with his sword on the ground before him, where he could easily reach it.

Suen took the gestures as an invitation and took a seat between them at the fire. Finally, they were able to get a good look at the man. Though he was not a man, but Half-Elf. The sterile offspring of an Elf and a Human, Half-Elves were often scorned and ostracized by members of each race. Lucen had lost the taste for racism long ago, but Ignis obviously held a personal distaste for their new companion. Turning to the Half-Elf, Lucen asked, “What brings you to such a place?”

Suen’s eyes were fixed on the roasting meat above the fire and he answered without diverting his attention. “I came to train. My line of work demands a tedious determination to excel in combat and I thought this to be the ideal place to hone my skills.” A brief pause hung in the air between them, quantifying the terrible reality of the island. “Unfortunately, I found myself less than a match for this place alone. And now I am unable to find my way home.”

Ignis scoffed lightly at the comment, his posture disinterested and even a little annoyed. Suen seemed as though he was used to this response and ignored it, his eyes still locked on the meat. “Would you like a piece?” Lucen asked, gesturing toward it. A sharp look from Ignis was quickly subdued by the Templar with a look of his own, and the objection was defeated before it was voiced. Suen had noticed the exchange and waited for a resolution before reaching toward the fire. “There are many places to hone your skills, why come to such a dead place? What kind of work demands this kind of training?”

Suen appeared confused by the inquiry. He glanced over his own clothing as though his profession should be evident in his attire, then took a hearty bite of the beef he had just pulled from the flame. It was obvious he hadn’t had a good meal in some time. “I am a Nightstalker. I hunt the undead… vampires.”

Ignis spoke up for the first time since they had sat down, the irritation gone from his posture. “Vampires? It has been generations since anyone has mentioned such loathsome creatures. How has this come to pass?”

Again, the Half-Elf seemed to be stricken with shock. “You have not heard? The gate to Caliga has been opened. The Vampires have returned.”

Lucen sat there silently, his face a mask of disbelief. “How? Who would have done such a thing?”

Suen shrugged, speaking through a mouthful of food, “I do not know. It is not my place to ask such questions. It is for me to do only what is required. To hunt them and kill them without reservation or hesitation.”

Ignis stood up and turned to the east, looking out over the ravine. “How many are we talking about? Dozens? Hundreds?”

Suen stopped chewing and looked up to the Battlemage. “You really don’t know, do you?” A hard look from Lucen answered the question and he continued, placing the beef on his pack. “Hundreds, possibly thousands. They are a plague upon the land, destroying everything we hold dear. This is a fight we may not be able to win, but it is a fight I will pursue for as long as I live.”

Lucen stood up next to Ignis, glancing out over the land they had made into a home over the previous months. “It is time for us to go back. The land of our ancestors is threatened by the forces of darkness. We must fight to protect it.” He placed a hand on the Battlemage’s shoulder and turned him so they were facing each other. “Our time here is done. This place is no longer the most prominent threat to our people.” Ignis only nodded and they both turned to Suen. “We have been away for many months. Will you take us back with you, to the place you hail from?”

Suen’s eyes dropped to the scorched ground. “I have no home. I am a nomad. All that I own I keep on my back.”

Placing a hand on the Half-Elf’s shoulder, Lucen asked, “Where might we go to best help in the fight against this new threat?”

Looking up at Lucen, Suen answered, “Whitehorn Keep… they are a city of light, of the faithful like yourselves. I have a friend or two in their midst. I’m sure they would help.”

A brief smile graced the lips of the Templar, something he had grown unaccustomed to feeling in his time on Chaos. Finish your dinner, Suen. We leave as soon as you are ready.” They were returning from exile to face this ancient threat awakened from the depths of history. They were going to face the demons of the past… and the present.

They were returning home.

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