Christopher Kellen - Elegy

Finally, the fel wolf's muscles relaxed and it fell lifelessly to the stone floor. It was then that the manna flames began in earnest, lapping at the corrupted flesh and fur and bone, blazing brightly and eagerly and turning into a veritable azure bonfire. D'Arden took a few steps back, allowing the manna flames to run their course and ensuring that he did not himself get caught up in the blaze. What power was thrown off in the consumption he drew back into himself to replenish his own reserves.

Finally, when the azure flames had died and the wolf was no more, D'Arden turned himself back to the stone staircase. There was nothing left here now in this ancient stone cellar beneath the city.

He found himself exhausted, his body and mind drained from the incredible assault that he had just undergone. Each stair that he climbed was burning agony in his limbs, and he felt several times heavier than he was. As he reached each landing he would stop for several seconds and take deep breaths, careful not to draw in too much breath that would overwhelm him but also finding himself gasping for the sweet cool air. He could sense that he was nearing the top of the staircase as the smell of rot began to grow in his nostrils once more.

Finally he reached the top of the stairs, back into the rotten and mildewed wooden building at the ground level. The only thing that drove him forward, knowing that he would have to pass once more through the disturbing chamber piled with the bodies of the dead, was the thought that he could once again return to the font here and purify it of its evil, and absorb the power into himself so that not only could he recharge, but he could set himself up here, rather than in the horribly corrupted trade center where he roomed currently, and begin planning a strategy that would help him in saving this city from the depths that it had plunged to.

It was his purpose, he reminded himself, even though as he passed through the ranks of the staring-eyed dead that he briefly considered joining them himself in death from exhaustion. This was the greatest undertaking of his existence, to determine why this place had gotten so far, and what was driving the corruption to reach further and further outward as though it intended to devour the entire world.

Finally, he stumbled back out through the wooden door that led to the street and slammed it behind him, rattling the panes in the shattered out windows of the building that he stood beneath. The sun seemed impossibly bright after the session he had spent deep beneath the earth. He squinted his eyes and still they were overwhelmed by the brightness, and he was forced to squeeze them closed as he drew in breath after breath of fresh air at last, though the cold burned his lips, his tongue and his chest as he gasped as though he were a fish pulled from its pond.

After some time, he found that he was able to open his eyes again without immediately being forced to close them again. The sun still seemed too bright, and the colors of the world seemed strange and distant to him, but he knew that those would return in time. Once he could see his feet and the cobblestones before him again, he began to make his way back through the streets of the low quarter, trying to recall his path from before without becoming too lost.

Despite his best efforts, he sound found that he was hopelessly lost in the mazelike streets of the city. He recognized no landmarks, and he had been too intent on his path previously to leave a trail of crumbs or markings for himself. He could not find a single person on the streets – they had apparently all come together in a single area to huddle together in these miserable times, for which he could not blame them, but it did make it difficult to ask for directions.

Simply collapsing would have, quite literally, gotten him nowhere, so rather than give up and sit on an abandoned step he continued to wander, half in a blinded haze, through the streets, simply hoping that he might come upon the font chapel or a single building that he recognized.

At last, his salvation came on the wind.

"Master Arbiter!" called out a familiar voice. The boy. Mikel.

"Here!" D'Arden croaked, and it seemed to him that his voice belonged to someone else entirely. "I'm here!"

Footsteps approaching. Sensing that there was finally another human being nearby, D'Arden collapsed onto one knee. That strike to take down the fel wolf had drained him more than he realized, and he felt his head spinning about him. The darkness was once again closing in on him, but this was not the oppressive darkness that had surrounded him in the cellar, but instead a comforting, warm blackness that offered him solace in its embrace.

"Master Arbiter!" the boy's voice said again. He was nearby now, rushing to D'Arden's side. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and fought to stay conscious. Another hand supported him, kept him from simply falling into the dust to lie there.

With that strength beside him to bolster him, D'Arden fought back the unconsciousness that threatened to engulf him. Slowly his vision returned, and he looked into the concerned eyes of the young soldier that had led him here, to the place of his first real victory in this impossible fight.

"Thank you," D'Arden gasped. "You found me."

"It's been hours," Mikel said. "I came back to the font chapel, just like you said, but you weren't there. What happened?"

"I found the source of the corruption here," D'Arden said. "It was all centered in a selfish wolf, that should have been using the power to expand his influence, but instead all he cared about was drawing inward and building his power, luring his victims to him and holing up within the earth. His mistakes are our triumph, Mikel. The wolf is gone, defeated by its own base instincts, and we can now purify the font here in the low quarter." He paused for a moment and looked around them. "Where are we?"

Mikel pointed along the road to an ancient stone gate that was crumbling and nearly fallen inward. "That's the Old City, down that road there. Nobody's lived there for decades. It's all abandoned now, ever since they built the new city here. You're by Calessa's south gate."

He had wandered far then, D'Arden supposed. He reached out, and the boy grasped his hand firmly, helping him get to his feet. Though he still felt dizzy, he no longer felt as though he might collapse at a moment's notice. The thought of victory drove him onward now.

"We must go back to the font chapel near your home," D'Arden said. "Lead me there, Mikel. We must get there immediately."

The boy nodded, not questioning the urgency in his tone for a moment. D'Arden could not follow a single one of the turns they made through the streets, but Mikel seemed to know every side alley and every street as though they belonged to him. Having grown up in this part of the city, he reflected, the boy probably had played in these streets as a child, which would of course explain why he knew them so well.

After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived before the door of the font chapel once more. D'Arden stared at it as though it were his sole salvation. This was his chance, his only chance, and it was a slim one. It had already been some time since he'd defeated the wolf down in the chamber beneath the earth. It was only a matter of time before the demon realized that his minion was gone and no longer siphoning power from this font, and sent in something to clean up the mess.

"Stand back, lad," D'Arden said, waving one hand at the boy. Mikel dutifully backed up several paces. "Now, don't come following me, no matter what you hear in there, do you understand?"

"I understand," Mikel said.

"Good," the Arbiter said. He brought the key out of his pocket and once more unlocked the heavy door that kept the radiant energy within. As quickly as possible, he opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.