Christopher Kellen - Elegy

The sun continued to rise over the horizon.

He carried her body through the labyrinthine rubble that made up Old Calessa. She was light in his arms, less weight than he would have imagined, even without her soldier’s armor. He would not leave her corpse there to be ravaged by the demons, though he left most of her possessions behind. She was dressed now only in a thin white shift, as he’d left behind most of the padded under-armor as well, deeming it unnecessary for a simple burial.

At last he passed under the gate that led him back into the low quarter, having kept careful tabs on his direction this time so that it would be possible for him to find his way back again. He had little desire to carry her all the way out to the recently purified graveyard outside of town, as it was nearly a mile back to the trade gate and then another hour’s walk from there. He decided that he would simply offer her to the purified manna font in the low quarter, and allow her body to be dissolved and returned to the land, just as had happened to Mikel.

He walked the streets of the low quarter in the early morning’s light with a grim face and a solemn demeanor. D’Arden had little love for death, though he encountered it on a frighteningly regular basis. His least favorite death of all was that of the innocent, of the talented, and of those with the greatest potential, for it felt as though it was those who were truly wasted. It was one thing for the farmer who’d toiled all of his long life to finally return to the stream of life, but it was quite another for a violent and unexpected end to come to a young life.

At last, he approached the door of the font chapel.

Something was wrong.

He felt it spreading outward from behind the door, a sickening, twisted feeling that struck him to the core. Someone, or something, had undone all of his work. The corruption radiating from behind the door was even stronger than before. He’d lost his foothold, he’d lost the boy, and now he’d lost a swordswoman with incredible potential that he’d expected would grow into something great.

Everything was lost.

What was he to do? He could not comprehend who or what could have corrupted this purified font so quickly, in just one night. Something horrible must have come past here and attempted to induce corruption into the font purposefully, otherwise it would have resisted simply something passing by.

He had an enemy here, and one that was smarter and more dangerous than he’d imagined. The guard captain, Mor, had mentioned that there had been an Arbiter here who’d succumbed to the corruption several years previous. D’Arden doubted that even the demon himself couldn’t have poisoned a font so quickly. The corruption that was carried by true demons was insidious and deadly, but it was slow to work and only the most powerful of demons could wield it so directly.

The mysterious Arbiter, whoever he had been, was a far more likely culprit for this sudden corruption. What had Mor said? “When he was finished clearing out the old fort, he descended into the catacombs beneath it, and never came out.”

He needed to discover if there was anything left of the Arbiter who had visited Calessa those years ago. A corrupted Arbiter was dangerous, but if there was indeed one who had turned so fully and given so completely into the siren song of the corruption, and had wallowed in it for so very long, the danger would be astronomically high. He almost envied the girl who lay peacefully in his arms, for she would never have to see what horrors might lie below that old, abandoned fort.

The girl needed a burial, or at least for her body to be dissolved by manna energy, so that her energy could return to the land from whence it came. He had expended much of his during the night, and what little had remained in the heartblade had purified the corruption from her. He had not enough within him to purify her body completely so that it might rejoin the manna stream.

D’Arden felt as though he may as well simply throw himself into the corrupted manna font and die, dissolved and destroyed by that which he fought. He had no desire to carry the girl’s body through the trade quarter during the day, where it would be seen by all, and he had no way to give her the proper respect here, which he truly felt as though she deserved.

He set down Elisa’s body on the cobblestones – gently, of course – and clicked the heartblade free of its specialized scabbard at his belt. He drew it forth and examined it, looking for any sign that it had regained some of its power. The light deep within the rounded crystal thrummed faintly, but there was so little that it would not even guide him into his trance state, much less fully dissolve a human body.

The Arbiter strained his mind, searching through it for some historical footnote that might give him some indication. His heart still yearned to save Elisa from the fate that had befallen her, and so he hoped that he might find something in his memory that might still help her. Unfortunately, he found no such idea anywhere in his mind, to his deep regret.

There was nothing to be done for it, he decided at last. He would have to take her body to the graveyard outside of town, and utilize the manna font there to send her properly on her way.

Resolute at last, he picked her body back up into his arms and began to walk.

He was forced to stare straight ahead as he passed back through the trade quarter, carrying the limp and ashen form of the young girl who'd died only a few hours before. It was still the early morning, and D'Arden hadn't slept the entire night previous. His arms ached from carrying her the last mile through the streets of Calessa, and now the stares of the townsfolk burned into him as though flames shot from their eyes.

He was carrying the body of one of their own – that much was obvious by the shock of blond hair that tumbled from her head. Her green eyes were closed, but he knew that behind those soft eyelids and dark lashes, those eyes stared blankly outward, dead to the world.

D'Arden passed through the gate without a word to the guards who stood there, those who obviously recognized Elisa as one of their own and stood in silent mourning and acknowledgement. They were soldiers, not citizens – they realized that the price of freedom was vigilance, and that vigilance sometimes required sacrifice. They bowed their heads as he passed, and the gate was opened for him as silently as possible. It closed again behind him as he cleared it.

The Arbiter began the long trek to the graveyard where he'd encountered the risen corpses of Calessa's dead. It was there that stood a manna font, one mostly untouched by the corruption now that he had purified the area, and where he might offer the girl's body properly to the land that it might return to the flow as normal, and not become twisted or reanimated again by the evil that permeated the city.

By the time he reached the cemetery at last, his eyes burned in the morning sun, and the muscles in his arms were on fire. Each step was a staggering lurch as his strength began to give way, all of his special augmentation having been burned away in the combat of the previous night. He was now little more than a man, a man with a task, a man with a mission. Sweat dripped from his forehead in rivulets only to freeze moments later in the frigid air. Each forward movement was a blinding agony, and once the graveyard finally came into view over a small rise, he gave a soft cry of relief and joy. The journey was nearly done, and he would need some time to rest before he would be strong enough to hunt down those responsible for the corruption in Calessa, for he now had a clear idea of where the next part of his investigation would take him. His desperate mind had cursed him soundly for undertaking this extra leg of the journey out of respect for a dead girl that he had met only hours before, and cursed him for wasting time when the corruption still spread, but a deeper, more instinctual part of his mind drove him onward, driven by the hunger, the need for something right and true to happen in this awful place.