Ezall's Story

The jagged hewn pillars of the canyon stood calmly before the rising sun, whose orange glow bathed the sore rocks in warmth. The rays slowly intermingled with the former night's weaving, but slowly dominated the sky.

A circle of large craggy mesas surrounded three smaller interconnected plateaus that stood out of the center of the rocky valley. The plateaus presented themselves nakedly before the winds, which swept the land.

On the widest of the three plateaus sat a figure whose shadow stretched as the sun’s rays pulled at it in the early morning. The winds coursed through and around him. The scarves that covered his neck and draped his head fluttered and flailed as the wind breezed through them. He sat there on that plateau, cross legged with his eyes closed. His two hands were laid out and resting on his knees, his palms opened and closed gently, but not fully.

He tried to grasp at the wind, as well as the little bits of sand that it carried along in its eternal dance. He sat with an erect posture as he breathed in and out evenly. Though his eyelids were closed, he could see the rays of the light shining behind them.

Ezall had not known how long he had such unique gifts, but he strangely felt that the wind and the sand spoke to him in a very different manner. At moments like this, time seemed to stand still, but he neither understood nor cared. The little grains of sand continued to flow with the wind as they did in the hourglass.

Instinctively, he took in a deep breath, which was followed by a gasp that forced the air out of his lungs. He was forced to open his eyes as his meditation was disrupted. The wind seemed to cry out to him, this time it sounded faint. He heard a faint scream, a fiendish scream. Unfortunately, that was all he received, although he would’ve merely dismissed it as nothing, he decided to check again.

He looked to his left hand, using his thumb, he began to count time down the knots on the pillars of his fingers. With his right hand, he grabbed some sand from the little bits scattered on the plateau. He clenched the sand within his fist, and after what seemed like eternity, he released it. Then the wind swept once more, and blew the sand slowly from his palm.

The wind suddenly grew fiercer. The morning's breeze no longer rolled with the woosh woosh that gently swirled in his ears as he listened intently during his meditations. Ezall could only wonder what harsh claw was grasping the world by its neck, threatening to cut open its jugular with a rusty knife. So harsh that it made the world scream, and the wind carried those shrieks of fear and anxiety for all to hear.

Ezall strolled down the path back to the town, the single dirt path that stretched to the plateaus being shadowed by the looming mesas. The wind brushed past him, suddenly a weird thought occurred to him. Every single second clicked away, at that very moment he was neither in the future nor the past, but the present. Yet at the same time, those steps he took several minutes again, were already history.

He simply dismissed it and continued along, shrugging the thought off. The thought returned to him once more, and he was forced to pause in his tracks. He turned to the little bits of sand scattered throughout the canyon. The rust colored land seemed to be an ocean of sand and rock.

Then, he noticed a rip in the sky, a fairly large sized hole in the distance. The rift was located among a fabric of darkened gray clouds that thundered with anger. The clouds had gathered into a bunch, which seemed a least bit odd. It was not until the appearance of malignant swirling black clouds screaming with the voice of ghouls did Ezall realize that something other than the natural course of weather was the cause of all this destruction.

Some miles away from a small town, Ezall could hear the screams of denizens in the distant. They cried out of fear, like the shrieks of woodland creatures being chased to its death by huntsmen. The scene was all too impossible to be true before his eyes, as he saw ravenous imps thrashing human corpses.

Other hellspawn creatures began ripping off chunks of human meat in huge morsels, and devouring them wholly. The flesh-eaters clawed off the heads of humans, sending geysers of blood spewing out warm red mist into the air.

Ezall turned to his left to find an imp staring at him, with a deadening hunger in its eyes. He remembered something about this in ancient lore that he used to read, unfortunately, that had been awhile ago. Not that it mattered, as the imp lunged at him with it's jaw wide open, fangs ready to snatch Ezall into the depths of hell.

Fortunately, he was quick enough to blind it with a small ball of sand. Then he pulled off the wooden stick that was strapped on his back, a stick with a pointed end which he carved himself using a knife, and with a wiping motion, he smashed apart the imp right on its neck.

The creature was out cold, but as for the others lurking ahead of Ezall, that was a different tale.

As Ezall wandered deeper into the isles of villages, the presence of demonic creatures arose. A furious wind lashed the land, no doubt from the storms caused by the giant rift in the sky. People were retreating away from the monstrous creatures, trying to save their lives. The demons increased steadily, Ezall noted that they became more and more coherent, compared to the first imps that attacked him.

These were more organized, and deadlier as a result. Suddenly he found himself in a town square, as many people scurried away from the creatures. He saw a brawny fellow fighting back against a skeletal soldier, who held a giant blade ready to lop off his head. This fellow seemed luckier than most who resisted, as he was quick in his response to the skeleton’s repeated slices of his blade.

Most others continued fleeing, apart from a few grappling with imps and lesser demons. Ezall decided to help those who resisted, and perhaps salvage this group of humans. He leapt into the air, and with his wooden spear, he thrust the shaft into the skull of an imp. The creature held onto the stick and was about to snap it in two had Ezall not given the creature swift kick of wind. Ezall paused when he saw the effect, he had no idea what had just transpired.

His eyes narrowed, then he stared at the imp, who Ezall had knocked back. He raised his palm at it, a flush of wind began swirling in between his fingers and around his hand. He was completely mystified, was he dreaming? What was happening to his hand?

“Say these words,” a voice beckoned to him from the deepest recesses of his mind

“Say ‘Enim Ventus’ and do it quickly, that creature is headed towards you,” Ezall realized it wasn’t his voice in his mind, but that of another. The voice was deep and protruding, but it was filled with a strength that could only be described as divine. It was coarse and rough, yet flowed like the wind. He turned to face the imp as it lunged at him.

“Enim Ventus!” his eyes glowed in a sparkling grey which made the imp cower in fear, especially with his booming voice as he said it. The wind swirling around his hand turned to ethereal spears and rushed forth into the imp’s throat. From the inside, the winds ripped apart the creature into quarters, dissolving it before his eyes.

The blast sent another imp reeling backwards into another demon, who turned towards Ezall. The downed imp recovered, and with his comrade, charged at Ezall. He took a step back, unprepared for their assault, but then the voice in his mind resumed again.

“Say it again.” Ezall felt compelled to say the words again, putting complete trust into the voice in his head, even though a part of him resisted this voice.

“Enim Ventus,” Ezall whispered, the whispering wind of his mouth turned into a swift gust that pushed the imps backwards. All of this only attracted more attention.

(Edited:)
Lucien ran into gamblers row "grab weapons quickly or run there's like twenty of them behind me". It looked bad the people that didn't run or freeze, manly had sticks, a few pistols, and knifes. Lucky for him the gambler street had the white wyverns gang as the loan sharks and they were good at magic, in a minute it was over the imps had all been killed and they had only lost one man because his pistol had exploded. As they celebrated they suddenly heard laughing and they looked at the roofs they saw imps all around. Lucian yelled " anyone who prefers magic in the middle anyone else surround them, head to market street we need to save the blacksmith, alchemist, and the witch that grow plants, quickly" suddenly a golden pillar appeared "go there it's more important you go there then the market " Agatheon said. "new plan, half and half, I'll take the pillar" of the sixty following the him only fifteen followed him, thirty five went toward the market, the other headed for the path out of town.

When they got there to the pillar they saw two people, he assumed that the boy had killed the imps while protecting his girlfriend, and had burned all his magic out, but there was no time because some imps had come out from the side street. they made short work of the group of imps he told the men following him, "I'll carry the boy, lets head through the town square that the fastest way to market street, girl follow us or not, but were leaving" and they ran. as he ran through the streets he thought about the money the city guard took from the gamblers to not shut it all down, they had seen more hiding guards then dead ones, but when they got there he regretted that because the captain and some of his men were fighting and was had body’s all around them and the other guy wasn't bad either, but by this time his fifteen was down to six "here come backup, who had thought the guard and the scum fighting together".

“Very good,” the voice in his head spoke calmly, despite the chaotic nature of the situation. Most of the creatures in the area were swiftly defeated by Ezall’s bare hands. He looked around to see if the voice was manifested in some person that was watching him.

“You show potential,” still Ezall did not see where the voice was coming from. He thought he was going mad from hearing the voice.

“Who are you?” Ezall froze as he asked the voice.

There seemed to be a long pause on the other end, Ezall thought the voices had stopped, and perhaps he had just been hallucinating. Upon reflection, he realized that he couldn’t have been hallucinating, as he saw the strewn corpses of those sickening hellspawn creatures that came from the swirling rift in the sky. The rift remained in the sky, and people continued to flee in fear. It all seemed like a dream, but it wasn’t. The voice returned in a different resolve, confirming the reality of the situation.

“Azreal,” the voice paused, perhaps waiting for a response. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Ezall could not recall where or when he heard the name.

“I,” he paused, “Am the God of Sands, Wind, and Time.” Ezall found it hard to believe, the fact that a God was speaking directly to him. He suddenly felt that it confirmed his theory of going mad. Yet, the being spoke with such a calm timbre, that it masked any thoughts of fear or chaos.

“No, you are not going mad. I would perhaps die before that happens, but as a God, I don’t die,” the God had read his thoughts.

It seemed impossible, or rather, improbable. Yet here he was, standing before a field of gruesome corpses, man and demon alike, while a voice that spoke with a deep resonance that sounded completely un-human continued to thrum in his head.

“Wha…what do you want from me?” Ezall asked the invisible voice.

“It seems like that is the first question mortals ask when a God speaks to them.”

“You have to understand my skepticism...”

“And I do. You are but one among a few other young humans that have divine powers vested in them.” Ezall smiled at the thought of divine powers.

“It will be some time before you truly unleash the fullest extent of my powers. You must walk my path, the Path of Azreal. In that time, I will test if you were truly worthy of my power to be begin with.”

“You said you were the God of Time, you have already seen the future.” Ezall retorted, although he tried to be as polite as possible so as to not overstep his imagined boundary.

For a moment, the voice stayed silent again, then it returned to him.

“Like I said, you show potential," the voice paused, "Head towards the pillar of light stabbing into the sky,” the voice spoke.

Ezall looked around, he saw nothing but the voracious storms of the swirling clouds and the remaining rift which seemed to grow bigger, all the while smaller rifts began to tear open in the sky.

“I don’t see any…” as he said this a giant beam of golden light pierced the dark clouds, streaking towards the heavens like a pillar erected by the Gods.

“That one,” the voice guided him. Ezall made his way towards the beam past the broken buildings, torn down street lamps, and cracked concrete roads.

“Like you said, I am the God of Time.”

Lucien saw Christine come into the town square, he had only met her once before when she had made his knife. He called her over to a group he had gathered consisting of him, the guard captain, he had also called the four suspicious characters, because they had something about them. He asked Christine “did the group of fighters we sent make it to your shop, can you still forge weapons, and do you know if the alchemist and the witch survived the fight?” after he finished his questions he moved on to next useful person, the bug kid, “boy, I would usually tell someone your age that they should be hiding with their mother, but you seem relatively useful so what can you do, can use those bugs to scout the city, carry messages, or spy, if you can’t do any of that than your useless to me.” He quickly looked over at the couple “boy, you have a noble for a girlfriend, must be because you turning things to gold will make her rich, and you girl why is a noble here, I would of thought that you would run at the first sign of trouble. Other than magic do you have anything else that will help us, when these things return?” He then turned to the nomad, looked at him for a minute, then turned to the captain “Captain, you’ve played me in chess before you know that I’m a good strategist, I’m going to plan the defense.” He turned to the others “unless someone else wants to plan the defense, and get us killed because they think they’re smarter than then Lucien Drogo, the masked gambler who has only lost three times in chess and has won over a hundred gold in his eight year gambling career.” Before anyone could answer he continued, giving a nasty look any anyone who had open their mouth to speak “No one, well I’m shutting up now, either answer my questions, give me a useful info, or go help anyone who needs it.”

Ezall had met up with a group of survivors, a peculiar group, in the midst of a ring of gold turned demons. The most distinctive character was the girl with brown hair that was half-naked in vermillion colored under garments. Ezall grinned without showing any teeth, but his eyes darted from person to person.

There was a boy, fairly younger than him, with greenish blue hair, and green eyes who seemed to be exhausted by over exertion. Standing beside him was a girl with striking blue hair and blue eyes that had a look of innocence and nobility. Beside her was a younger boy, with black hair, and black eyes, a certain pestilence swirled around him. It seemed as if the eye and hair color of those three matched, strangely. Then there were other survivors, and another man whose face was hidden behind a beaked mask. Oddities seemed to stick to this group like pock marks, but Ezall decided he wasn’t one to call them odd. Perhaps they were the other mortals Azreal spoke of.

The fact that the fellow named Lucien Drogo merely glanced at him without barking unsavory words with that sharp tongue of his meant that they were on fairly good terms. Not that it mattered to Ezall, nor any of this. A part of him wished to aid the beleaguered people, but he felt detached about this. Nowhere in his heart did he have what would be called compassion, or if he had it, it was buried for the time being.

However, Lucien seemed like the kind of person that could turn ugly with a flip of the switch. Ezall wondered if there was a possibility that they would have to continue working with this mad man.

“He…is Lord Agatheon’s chosen,” Azreal returned to him after remaining silent for some time, “I understand. However, Agatheon knows what he chose. This mortal embodies the traits which he has been seeking for one who should walk his Path.”

“No, unfortunately, I am not allowed to reveal the sands of time to any mortal; you're an exception, but not yet,” Ezall realized that Azreal was reading his thoughts and intercepting them with his own responses. At least he didn’t have to muse to himself out load before everyone and be seen as an insane person.

“For the time being, worry about staying alive,” and that was it. The voice vanished, Ezall did not know when Azreal would return again, if he planned on returning at all.

He touted his sharpened stick and trailed off in search of any other survivors, leaving behind the gathered group as they plotted their next moves.

The small village was a tatter, the mark of destruction was imprinted as clear as day on everything and everyone there. Ezall saw a small child, bruised, and battered. It was pulling on something, flesh. Flesh of a larger figure, a figure that had already left this world. It was the child’s mother, she had been among the first to be killed when the demonic creatures poured from the sky. She had tried to protect her children, in essence, putting her life on the line. The little girl had mud on her face, and several cuts and lacerations on her arms.

She was tugging at her mother to wake up.

It was hard for Ezall to swallow, elsewhere he saw an old man limping, with the support of a crutch. He limped very slowly, trudging along the ruined streets. The survivors, were far and few. Most had attempted to leave town, only to be swallowed by the scourge.

Ezall walked up to the girl who was beside her mother’s corpse and sheathed his sharpened stick. The girl’s eyes were wide, wondering who he was, and what he was going to do. She had fear in her bones, for a child to witness such destruction first hand would be scarring to the psychological balance that was developing within her mind.

He picked her up, and held her gently as he could. He had never held a child before, this was a first. Ezall thought the child would struggle and resist his attempts to aid her. She did not. He held her, and she clung onto him fiercely. Some invisible aura about him allowed the child to trust him entirely, so she did not resist. She merely closed her eyes to the world that she once knew.

Ezall approached the old man.

“It was...” the old man paused as he looked to Ezall.

“Horrific creatures coming out of the maelstrom in the sky,” the old man was trembling as he said this. He had a white beard and hair covered his head like duck fluff. A single tear streaked down the side of his face, as he surveyed the surrounding area. Ruins, nothing but ruins, no homes, no families. The place was a wasteland, it seemed ghostly, as the corpses laid on the ground motionlessly.

“Come with me,” Ezall beckoned to the old man. He was about ready to leave this forsaken place.

The three arrived at the domed structure where the other survivors that Ezall linked up with were staying. The group wasn’t too large, nor too small. Lucien was planning with the guard Captain, while the blue-haired girl was sitting beside the green-haired boy who looked much more composed after some rest. The black haired boy, was sprawled on the ground by a spider’s nest.

Other survivors were resting among on the floor, others on cots, others sat against the walls with melancholic expressions.

They still had a one or two hours till the hoard attacked, but Lucien had come up with a plan, so called back the others. “I think our best chance is to divide into 5 groups tonight and tomorrow we break into 2 groups, but I’ll get to that later. We have about a hundred and twenty able body fighters, about fifty of those are mages and twenty of those aren’t hand to hand fighters. We have three mages, one warrior and me a support. Best guess I believe you four are Eyes like me, I’m guessing the five that are here are Arborius,” looking at a teen that he had found at the pillar of light “Chitin,” looking at the kid who used bugs “I’m Agatheon, I’m guessing your Aquarion because the magic you used” looking at the girl “and truthfully I’m not sure about you.” looking at the vagabond “I’ll take thirty-two of the men, you all can take twenty two each, and the reason I get more then you is that I have little hand to hand combat ability, and no battle magic that doesn’t render me useless after one spell. All the fighting should be close to Main Square. Whoever survives the night we take with us to the closest city, but the majorly wounded, useless women, young children, and cowards need to start now, otherwise they will need to hide in the basements of taverns. Ut consilia esse fecundae, ut die benedicentur" and collapsed on one knee “I’ve done all I can I blessed this plan, now let me rest for tonight. One last thing, Arborius’s and Aquarion’s Eyes, neither of you refuted my couple comment earlier; I would bet that you become a couple before I die.

With that said, the Eye of Agatheon weaved his spell before the group, and fell to his knee, weakened by the surge of his efforts. The other Eyes looked at each other, dumbfounded. They were merely kids, not really used to commanding people. Then again, neither was Ezall, who unsheathed his stick, and marshaled his twenty. He selected mainly fighters, with a few mages.

"Alright then, let's head to the main square," Ezall said solemnly, urging the other Eyes. He, with a group of twenty, led the townspeople directly to the square, some were armed with meek weapons, such as sticks and metal bars. They compensated such weak and dull weaponry with athletic physical forms, the trait that allowed them to survive the first wave of demons. The second wave, however, was bound to be fiercer, and they would no doubt wreak havoc on these prepared people.

Ezall walked forth, undaunted. The others looked at each other, unsure whether or not their leader wanted to commit suicide. They had had their first taste of demons, and barely survived by the skin of their teeth. However, seeing him stand alone in the midst of the square, gave them a small ounce of courage. Here was a nomad, one who did not live in their community, risking his life, to save the lives of those he did not know. Ezall hoped that he could inspire some confidence in the people to fight for their lives. He looked at each of them, some had a scowl on their face, masking the horror which lay beneath. Others, assumed characters. One fellow, looked like that of a drunken brawler. His back was arched, his fists hanging downward, and his face was dry. He seemed to be at the very end of his rope. Ezall could count on him to fight for his own survival.

Kederath stared blankly at Lucien, who was starting to get on his nerves. I'm the Eye of Arborius, not Aquarion! he exclaimed in his mind but didn't say outloud because he had the feeling that Lucien was the kind of guy who wouldn't like to be defied. The kind of guy he dispised. Oh well, he'd just keep his mouth shut.

Christine hadn't minded Lucien's orders, but she followed Ezall,
"Well, if we're in need of weapons I am the town blacksmith after all."

I want to teach you something new, my young one.
Kederath heard those words ring clearly through his mind.
Us gods always have a way of connecting. He heard in his mind, but somehow... He wasn't sure how he knew it but both of those sentences also rang through the other Eye's mind. Arborius was talking to all of them. Even Christine, though she wasn't an Eye, had heard it somehow.
You see, we have a... Channel, you could say. We all talk in our minds on sort of the same "Frequency" so that we gods can talk to eachother from anywhere. Of course we can shut this off, too, but now we're giving you Eyes the power.
So, Arborius, anything else you have to say? He asked. But when he said it he could somehow feel her smiling.
You see, child, the realm of the gods exists in the same place as Airl. We just live a bit under it. Imagine the whole universe as a sea. Seas have different levels, correct? The deeper you go down, the more you'll get crushed. If you have a submarine then you can go alot deeper. Imagine us as submarines. With us you can see more reality. For now I'll only be teaching you to see into the water, so to speak.
Then the world changed. All of the mortals around him suddenly started glowing, but they were unaware. He was seeing their auras. He looked over at Ezall. He saw Ezall, but in his place he saw a ghostly image of Azreal. Azreal, in his human form, was about as tall as Ezall, but transparent as if made of energy. He wore desert clothes, not too different from Ezall's, but still a different style.
Kederath became sick.
Please make it stop... And it did.
You handeled that well, child. Honestly us gods weren't sure what it'd do to you Humans. Some were even against the idea. Regardless, you now have two more powers at your disposal! Telepathy, if you'd like to call it that, and a sort of second sight.

"Your watch?" Ezall approached the auburn haired girl, who was immediately absorbed into her work as the green haired boy stood over her shoulder.

Ezall finished appointing duties to his company, and was free to survey the town square as he strode towards the two of them. The townspeople were mostly unarmed, and they could use some armaments to at least put up a struggle with the later assault from the demons. He divided them into three separate groups to keep watch on the only entrances into the town square, they would alternate with another company, perhaps one belonging to Lucien, or the other Eyes. He knew it was pointless though, seeing as how these demons came from the sky. It would be pointless to erect barricades on the roads, they had to find better ground.

As he pondered this, he saw a stout being. He was dwarfish in his appearance. He was very muscular, and bearded. Long golden locks hung from underneath a metal helmet that he was wearing. He was towing a large wagon with an assortment of goods, most of which appeared to be weapons and shields. The man, approached the Captain of the guard, and they conversed for a time. They exchanged a few gestures, but Ezall wasn't able to discern what they were talking about. After a few minutes of conversing, the large man towed his cart to a nearby group of guards. He set to work grinding and carving something.

Toting the sharpened stick on his shoulder, Ezall looked towards the girl, Christine.

"Anyone, know who he is?" Ezall pointed with the stick at the dwarf.

Christine shook her head.
"Not a clue." But as she saw him, she smiled.
Vulcan. She said to herself.
"Anyway, I'll be off making some weapons. Ezall, do you have a particular type of weapon or design? I can make it from any material, but the Mythril will be most effective."

Kederath had wondered a few feet away from them. He squatted down to see a rabbit sitting next to him, aware of everyone but him. Or so it seemed. He pondered on this then, he felt a tugging in his gut. He willed the animal, much like he did to the plants, and it followed his command. It scurried away from him.
"Very useful Arborius. Now I'm the bunny-wisperer."

He returned his gaze to Christine.

"No, not any in particular," he said dryly.

Then he surveyed the rest of the town and the townspeople. Kederath had gone off to the edge of the woods and was perhaps fiddling with some animals. Ezall noticed a rabbit scamper off at his command. He'll eventually be able to command much greater forces of nature, thought Ezall.

Then he returned to surveying the rest of the townspeople. Eyeing the content of the survivors.

"Over half of these people will not survive the night," Ezall claimed, solemnly as he gazed past Christine, who had heard what he said. The sun had slowly began to sank as it was already a little past lunch time.

"The plan that Lucien has for us will go awry, we can't hold them at bay with barricades when they come from the sky. We need to leave this town immediately and seek higher ground," Ezall had a premonition. Though he could not see the future, he sensed that something was out of place.

Christine had her secrets, her secrets were far more abundant that mostother's... She just hoped Vulcan wouldn't tell his Eye her secrets. Anyway, she jogged off into her house, played three distinct keys on her piano, and a trap door opened in the floor. She stepped down the stairs into her forge and cracked her knuckles.
"Let's do this thang." SHe said, pronouncing 'thing' wrong on purpose.

Kederath looked up at the ree, more interested in it. He stared at it, it withered, then it came backto life and grew about twenty feet, growing thorns along it's branches and trunk, leaves turning Chaotic Purple... He could command plants much easyer. He liked the plants more. He turned it back to it's original state and went next to Ezall.
"Just because this isn't going to be good doesn't mean that half of the... Okay, so maybe half the population will die... But do you have to tell these villagers that... WIth the children, men and woman all together here?"

Leaving the weapon he was checking back in the cart, He let his eyes wander around,scanning what he saw around him. It was only something in the corner of his vision that caught his attention, but he noticed a tree, growing back to life after it seamlessly withered.
Other gods have taken eyes as well.
Well i gathered that much. Kennet retorted rather quickly. Though he was wrapping his head round new ideas rather well, he still would of preferred more information from Vulcan, but he trusted him when he said it will be explained later.
Bringing his attention back to round to the present seen, he had managed to hear the rather solemn predication from one man, and the one who was messing with the tree, question the need of it being said.
" Sometimes lad.... False hope is just as bad as no hope.... At least with them knowing they can make better preparations" he said towards the green-haired boy, allowing his voice to carry as he walked closer " Though agreed maybe the little ones did not need to hear it... but we cant undo that now"

Ezall gave a long and disappointed sigh before turning his gaze to a random group of cobblestones on the road.

"I won't tell them," Ezall finally spoke to them. Then he strode off to be alone with his thoughts, contemplating on the day.

Did it have to come this? Was there no other option? Was fleeing not possible? He dwelt on those questions as they rested on his mind.

"Perhaps there was another option, but Lucien has made it clear that they will make a stand here. There is no need to distrust Agatheon's chosen, for Agatheon is the God of battle strategy and protection."

"But people will still die though," Ezall retorted, unfazed by Azreal's attempts to convince him that the battle would have a better than grim outcome.

"Do not concern yourself with death too much, that belongs to the chosen of Cryptis."

Ezall wasn't satisfied with that answer, Azreal knew this, but Ezall accepted it. He dared not question a being far greater than he.

"Come now, I advise that you get a better weapon than that stick, if you want to last the night."

"I'll be fine," Ezall said as he glanced at the old wooden stick that he had carved himself.

"Suit yourself. Let's begin. 'Enim Ventus' and then feel the surge of wind through your veins, your heart, and your soul," with that Ezall's eyes began to shine a brilliant silver.

Hidden runes on his arms and face began to reveal themselves, as they lit up in a burning illumination, while the wind picked up an ever increasing speed. The trees swayed furiously as the ferocity of the wind climbed. People covered themselves from this sudden outburst of the wind's fury. Swirling air began to encircle Ezall, sending his scarves billowing in the vortex. The trees began to convulse wildly as the air roared through them.

In an instant, all of this vanished, the wind died, and the runes on his arms and face stopped glowing. The markings seeped away into his skin, and disappeared as if they had never been there. His eyes lost the brilliance of before.

"Good, you must continue to maintain your focus."

The sun softly sank away into the encumbering blackness of night. The rips in the fabric of the sky continued to swirl as they stared malevolently upon the small town sitting on the edge of Airl. The town's old structures had broken down, with roofs buckled in, and lamps strewn across the cobblestone streets. The windows were cracked or ruined. The perfect glass shattered on the ground as people clamored to gather what belongings they had. A single lamp remained standing in the night, its bulb blinked intently and out of rhythm. A cold and frosty wind coursed through the town, carrying the scent of hemlocks. It brushed aside the loose sleeves of the still standing townspeople, who eyed the shadows of night. A chilling whisper rode the wind's back and screamed in pure silence to the people.

They looked to the trees in the surrounding forest, which did not utter a single word. They remained purely silent, keeping to themselves, the old secrets of the Gods. Several leaves danced along the cobblestone roads, as the winds lashed at them. Some of the townspeople heard echoes from the forests and the streets leading out of town. They clung to their forged swords and spears, as the bells of a nearby shop rattled away before the wind. Some trembled and held their eyes shut, others tried to breath slowly. The fear, the fear forced the air in and out faster. Others had hunched their backs as they watched the endless night unfold. The touch of Cryptis walked along their spines like fingers tip toeing.

Ezall stood near the city's old fountain, which no longer gushed water. The water merely dripped slowly out of the single fount and rolled gently onto the old leaves of fall that had fallen and gathered within the fountain bed. He was propped up by his stick, as he eyed the roads and the woods cautiously. His eyebrows were drawn together, as his eyes darted from side to side. The wind continued to kick up his scarves, which yielded before the wind's heed and billowed slowly behind him.

He kept his eyes fixed on the forest, for the shadow was darkest there. The roads, though ruined and filled with wreckage, was a clear sight. One could see the night, with its violet pink hue draped below the darker black. Few stars shone, perhaps none at all. Not even the moon durst show its brilliant face. It was indeed a dark and gloomy night. Not a single light, except for the blinking lamp by the old shop.

Ezall shifted his gaze to the small firepit built by several survivors, they were huddled together around the pit. The flames waved their arms before them, showering them with warmth, heat, and light. The survivors looked pale, with dirt gashed on their faces. Their hair was unkempt and ruined, and they were clad in drab tunics with torn sleeves.

The people of this town were a poor sort. They lived meagerly, without the pleasures of life often found in other cities. They managed. They had neither spiraling majestic towers or arches. Their homes were cramped and small, and their food were not costly delicacies. They managed.

Ezall watched a man break his piece of white bun and share it with another woman. They chewed on the bread like it was their last morsel. Perhaps it was there last morsel, for they might not even see the dawn of the following day. Ezall lowered his gaze to the ground, before he returned to observing the old forests.