Tricks of a God- Part 1

Jp with Rosmary

There was no inn to be found when the three had exited the Hall of Doors in the southern frontier of Verden, and the companions were forced to camp out beneath the open starry sky. Slumber and exhaustion overtook the group, the quiet stillness of the night and the mild breezes soughing through the fresh springtime grass conducive to a much needed rest. However for one of them it would not be so restful. As Orla slept on her side, one arm curled up under her face, a white glowing mist slithered towards her bedroll.

"Sorry old friend, but if Aeran is to be saved from the Chaos you would bring upon it with your man Ponce, and the threat posed by the Nameless grows stronger every day, you must forgive me if I feel I must resort to a little trickery," the King in White said, chuckling as he entered the sleeping fae elf's mind.

He found Orla dreaming she was once again in the deep green Skeldergate Forest in olden times, flitting betwixt the tall, hoary trees and lush foliage without hardly a care in the world. He watched her for a time, and then made his move. Across the dense greenery of the idyllic Milthilnir Deepwood, an otherworldly figure soon appeared before her, taking on what she recognised as her deity's purest of forms.

“Orlaith Carling, I require you to fulfill a task of vast importance,” the false Being spoke, capturing her attention completely.

“Oh Great Being of Chaos, I am your devoted servant. What task would you have me perform?” Orla asked earnestly, the reverential words falling from her lips with an ease that came from a lifetime of worship and intense, but subtle indoctrination.

The King in White planned to protect this realm as long he continued to exist, and if that meant bending the rules and impersonating the Being, so be it. This was a war for Aeran, and far too much was at stake, including his very own grandson, the-soon-to-be king of Dalen. He admired Orla's devotion, but even more her goodness and kindness, and knew she would be a superb tool in the struggle ahead. She was always so underestimated by everyone, and looked down on by many. But not by the King in White. He could see the greatness in her.

He looked at her now solemnly and spoke again in the Being's voice: "I bid you to return to Dalen and search out the ruins of your old garden. There you shall find something for you to use as a key to repairing that broken land.”

Orla lifted her blonde eyebrows as she took in these surprising instructions. Her garden had been on a rooftop in Opra Dale, a city that had been virtually destroyed by the Timber Crag army more than a century ago. According to Horo, the sight was naught but rubble still, and hordes of ghastly demons haunted the ravaged streets, and infested them.

She pushed aside her fear and said, “I will leave at once, but how will I know this thing when I see it?”

The supposed Being smiled. "What you seek shall be given to light as soon as you encounter it. What you seek is a shattered piece to a whole being, and once you find it, you will recognize it and know what you must do. Before I leave you to your mission, I must warn you. Incarius and his followers have been tainted by another being from outside of this world, much like myself. However this one desires only to enslave all to its will. You can not be tainted by it's corruption due to our connection, however this might not be the case for some of your friends. So you must be careful..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draken sailed down from the sky and landed in the ruins of Opra Dale. He had wanted to get some fresh air, as he wasn't sure what to do. He had been offered the Dalish Crown by Soldor and the others at the Bastion, but should he accept it? Could he trust the nobles or would they eventually betray him? He looked at the rewards given to him, "A sign of greatness, pretty words, and now they want me to lead them?"

He twirled the medal in his hand that the Marquess had given him. He put the medal back on before smashing his fist against the rubble. "Why is this so difficult a decision? I wanted this, didn't I? For years I wanted it." He smashed another rock in rage, "Why am I so conflicted? I should be happy!" He fell to his knees and wept, "I have nothing. I can't lead them, I can't rebuild Dalen, I can't even save people. A century of torment, my life ruined by some supposed great purpose! But I know I'm only a monster."
He collapsed and wept, his wings folded behind him.

Through the glaze of tears he noticed a glow in the thick vegetation, the plants far thicker than they ought to be this early in the season. Wiping his face, he turned to face it.

"Hello? Someone there?" He lifted his hand and created a small flame in his hand, by the time he reached the wild garden, the glow had disappeared. He looked through the trees and flowers, recognising it as the garden where he had so long ago been saved. How naive and young he had been back then.

He angrily pulled out his sword, "I know someone is there! Make this easy on yourself and come out!" His golden eyes reflected the light, making them seem as if they were glowing. He felt vulnerable, he stayed here because he thought he didn't have to worry about people coming here, besides the demons and devils that resided in the remnant.

A few minutes earlier, Orla stepped out of the magical portal created for her, finding herself suddenly standing in what was left of the old Dalish capital. A century ago it had been a thriving city, brimming with humanity and the seat of a powerful kingdom. Palaces had gleamed like towering crystals in the sun, hundreds of wagons laden with goods passed through the streets at all hours of the day and night, and the large variety of shops seemed to know no end, and which she had never tired of exploring. Now where that great bustling metropolis had stood there were just piles of shattered masonry and the crumbling skeletons of charred buildings. The streets were pockmarked, cratered, and deserted because the former residents were all dead.

Long dead, Orla reminded herself. She tried not to think about it overmuch and instead concentrated on finding her way to the tenement block where the building that had contained her flat had once stood. Keeping her mystical psionic senses fully alert for danger, she nervously forged into the sea of ruins, through the maze of plazas and burned out structures, down the warren of winding streets and alleyways, her slipper-shod feet treading cobbles overgrown with weeds, fissured and cracked from decades of disrepair.

Finally she caught the sweet fruity scent of freesia in the air and saw, in the starlight, a gamut of colourful flowers sprouting amid the rubble ahead. Her enchanted garden had gone wild and she soon saw to her amazement that its vines, shrubs, and small trees had totally run amok, entirely encompassing the jumble of city ruins all the way to where Horo's Curios shop used to be. Smiling, she mentally reached out, feeling the magic-infused plants that even after all this very long time grew with a preternatural vigour. A lighthearted part of her thought Queen Thalia would be awfully cross with her for having let it get so out of hand.

Contentedly, Orla continued along as she empathically communed with what she had given life to, feeling increasingly less fearful and out of sync with her surroundings even as she sought what she was looking for: a shattered piece of a whole being that was the key to restoring Dalen again. As much as she tried, she could not conceive of what that even could be. She supposed it must have to be a mighty magical artefact of some kind or other...

“Hello, is there someone there?” a voice suddenly called out. “Show yourself! I know you are there. Make this easy on yourself.”

Orla was very startled, not having sensed anyone nearby in her distraction as she engaged with the magical life force of the plethora of vegetation. But she was even more surprised when she realised that the voice belonged to Draken. She could hardly believe that after not seeing him for a whole century she would end up encountering him twice in the same day. She negotiated the blooming hibiscus and lilac bushes and stepped forward to greet him, trying to think of an explanation she could provide for why she was out here in the middle of the night.

“Hello, Draken!” Orla said, giving him a bright smile as she reached him. “Fancy meeting you again, and here! How did the battle go? Did you and Lord Soldor prevail against the Kragan?” When she saw his face clear enough she stopped short, noticing his golden eyes looked haunted and that he had been crying. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, no, what's wrong? What has happened?”

Draken blew out the fire in his hand, "It went well, we were victorious. However, for my actions and my heritage, I was offered the Crown of Dalen." His voice quivered, "I didn't think people would be here, I needed to be away from people. Much has happened to me and I need to think." He stopped by a batch of blue lilies, he began to shake at seeing them. Pain of losing someone flashed over him, remembering the deaths of Marla and Villie, the two elves that saved his life, just as Orla once did. Draken began to shake more. "They want me to rebuild Dalen and lead them, I'm no leader. Just a murderer, a coward who hides using many different faces. I can't protect those I cherish, how can I protect a kingdom?"

He picked the flower and twirled it in his hand, "The one time fate tries to give me something good, I'm afraid to embrace it, that is what is wrong Orla. Something finally went right, and it scares me." A couple of tears dropped from his face, and for the first time in a while, Draken looked more human than ever.

Draken was to be given the kingship of Dalen? Orla's mouth fell open in shock at hearing this. Who could have ever imagined such a thing! But it was clear Draken had very mixed feelings about the incredible offer. If it was not all too apparent by his outward demeanor, her empathic sense would have told her his thoughts and emotions had been thrown into absolute turmoil, the offer of the crown making him look more closely at his life than he probably had in many years.

Orla stepped forward and laid her small hand on his arm. “It does you credit to fear that you're not capable of being the man that the people of Dalen need. Fear is a natural instinct and a useful one, but you can't let it control you, Draken, nor can you let your fear of failure stop you from trying to do all the great good you might accomplish with the throne of Dalen. All any of us can do is learn from the past and try to do better the next time. You've always had so much innate potential; Shade recognised that before most anyone else, and ‘tis partly why he cared so much about you. I know being king will not be easy, but due to the life you have lived, and who you are inside and where you come from, you might just be the key to restoring this land...”

Orla trailed off as her own words registered. Was Draken who Fernoia had actually been referring to that she would find in her old garden? A shattered piece to a whole being? Draken was certainly shattered, full of an inordinate amount of doubts and self-criticism. And did his eyes not give a golden light as soon as she saw him? Surely, he was it— the one Fernoia meant her to find. If so, 'twas clearly her divine task to steer him on the right path, and prevent him from passing up this momentous opportunity he was being given. She looked up at him now, anxious to see if her words of advice were having any effect.

Draken thought about her words, he had heard so many before, some more complex or even meaningful, however Orla's words weighed more heavily on him. Shade did tell him he would always be there, Draken had only assumed he died, just like everyone else in the village. He didn't take into account that he meant he would always be watching him from afar. Sometimes you have to let the chick fall in order for it to fly to become an eagle. He thought back, a century ago he would have been a horrible leader. But Orla was right. Now because of the hardships he endured, the lessons he had been taught, he was able to see his own weaknesses, much like a good leader.

Draken cracked a smile, "It's always this garden where my life changes. It's always you that gives me new life, Orla. You saved me in this garden once, and led me down a path of pain, turning my cocky and naive self into a man who looks at his own weaknesses and fears to rule. Now here you are again, sending me on a path to be a king, who looks at his weaknesses and uses them to his advantage. What is it with this place? With you, that causes me to be reborn, one way or another?" He chuckled as he looked at his body, "I think I need a serious makeover." His arms have been twisted by black magic, his fingers had been turned to claws, his horns were rough and rugged from the years of conflict and mistreatment. His hair had grown past his back because he hadn't cut it in years, not to mention all the dirt and blood from the battle. "How did I let myself get to this point?" He chuckled again. "Shade always said it takes a lady for you to realize how bad you look after years of being alone, how right he was about that."

Orla smiled with pleasure and relief at his glowing response to her council and at his great expression of gratitude, but lowered her lashes modestly for a moment, knowing she could not take full credit for it all. She was only carrying out the divine will of Fernoia for whom she was but a mere instrument. She laughed at the lighthearted change in subject and her silver-veined blue eyes twinkled as she looked Draken over. The adamantine armour that Reise had supplied him with was mottled with dried gore, and he was in terrible need of a bath and thorough grooming to make him presentable enough for a royal court.

“If you're to be a king now you must look the part,” she agreed mirthfully. “But washed, your hair barbered, your horns manicured, and some new and elegant raiment on your back, you should clean up very well indeed. I've met other royals before, and few cut so impressive a figure as you.” She bleakly glanced about the ruins that surrounded them. “Unfortunately, there hasn't been any tailor shops or bathhouses open round here in quite a long time. Mayhap your new friend Lord Soldor can be of service? He strikes me as someone who enjoys pampering himself with finery.” She didn't add Soldor also struck her as someone who could potentially be a corrupting influence on Draken; his father the Count had not been a pleasant man at all, and she rather doubted the apple fell too far from the tree. She gave Draken another sweep of her eyes. “If you would like, I could come and assist you with your makeover endeavors?”

Draken gave her a smile, the same charming smile he gave a century ago. "I would appreciate that very much, I've never had the best fashion sense."