The Turncloak’s gaze flitted between the Axe-Wielder and the Bell-Wearer; it was fuzzed and blurry, but he could discern their shapes and their sounds with relative ease. His body, however, was weak. He let his shoulders slump, and the facade of a battle stance fell. He could only keep it up for so long. he began to rest on his old Halberd, and he rammed the stern of his tall shield into the dirt to act as additional support for his titanic frame.
These people… they spoke with some clarity, no semblance of sanity within their tones. They were not empty – they could not have been, unless this was delirium unlike any he had yet experienced. They did not seem to want conflict any more than he did, so he stepped backwards to stand by the side of the Life-Giver, the four of them forming a sparse, rudimentary circle for their conversation to flow freely.
The Bell-Wearer and the Axe-Wielder made valid points, and genuinely seemed to be concerned with his well-being, a trait that even the most intelligent Empty could not even hope to dream of. He was safe.
For now.
For a moment, his chivalrous side emerged, and he with the slightest of gestures, bowed his head to the Woman with the Axe.
“Your concern is heartening, stranger," He began.
“I do not know what manner of world this is, but the mountain beckons,” he said, half pointing to the looming summit on the twilight horizon.
Next, he addressed the Bell-Wearer, the creature who he had heard following for many days on end.
“I know not what manner of man you are, but your words ring more reasonable than you would have us believe you are capable of. For now, we must avoid bloodshed. We can discuss our predicament in due time, but such a concentration of sane souls is surely like a beacon to whatever lurks above the valley walls,” He turned on his heel, facing back toward the mountain and the star that seemed to be set solid within the starless sky He took his chance to whisper a few, quiet words to the Assassin.
”Ask yourself, are you truly a killer? Do you see a flash of gold in your mind? Inset with jewels and adorned with mithril?” He waited not for the agreement of the group of newfound souls, beckoning them to follow his momentary lead without question. A shaded, misty forest lay somewhat in the distance, it’s presence confirmed by a ghostly smoke that seemed to rise from it’s rotted canopy without reason nor explanation. It was a dark place indeed, one full of nightmares of the worst kind, where one could find themselves at the mercy of the flora and of the fauna at times most inopportune. He had been there before, yet how many times? He did not know for sure. He knew that he reserved a certain unease of the forest, and crossing the harrowed line into its confines, but nevertheless it lay upon the path to the mountain; it was an obstacle that had to be traversed, no matter the cost. The valley walls were steep and dangerous, so much so that it would be impossible for one to scale them. Backtracking along the valley would have meant certain death for all those who had assembled here – the journey was too great and supplies were too scarce. It left naught but one choice to them: to continue onwards, into the haze.
He had trudged forward, not listening to whatever conversation had birthed between the three souls he had found in the valley. It had been a day, maybe two since then. The emergence of a great rib, tens of metres long, jutting from the valleyside walls was enough to warrant a place to stop for a time, for each to regain their strengths. The Turncloak knew the endurance of his own body, but not of theirs.
They lit no fire that night. To do so would have spelt death. They did not know each other well enough to huddle for warmth, but the humid warmth of the valley had once again subsided to make way for a bitter cold; relentless and fearsome, truly challenging the fortitude of those caught within.
There was little conversation. There was little of anything. Anxious stares pervaded the apparent night. Perhaps now he was due to explain what knowledge he had gained from his time.
He cleared his throat with a small cough. it had grown dry through the past day’s walking, but not to the extent of before where he had so nearly perished.
“I have walked the land for… A long time. I had counted six-hundred turns of the light before I stopped. That was long, long ago. I do not know where I come from, or why I am here, and I guess none of you do either.” He stopped to look across the haggard faces who now paid him a little mind.
“When I first awakened, I made it to the mountain. I do not remember what I found but there was life and luxury, but something within killed me. When I awoke again, I could not approach the mountain no matter how hard I tried. I was missing something, but I cannot remember what; something physical, maybe a memory made real? Every time I died, I drifted further and further from that place, as though it were punishing me for losing my mind.” He turned his head to gaze upon that place that seemed so hallowed to him.
“Whatever lies beyond is where me must head. We cannot do it alone, but I fear we may be missing something important of ourselves… but what that is, I do not know,” He let his head drift back down and he spent a moment staring at the dusty sand with crawls of putrid mould permeating the mass. Pale light glinted from his helm, which, for some reason, seemed not entirely complete.
