The Hunt for Peace

Chapter 8

 Algernon Warsen has lived a life unlike most.

Born to a high-ranking thane, yet deemed a waste of good parts. Thrown into the stables which housed the soon-to-be-bloodied instead of horses, left to fight in the brawler pits of Vanguard against either his fellow golem or vicious beasts captured from the wilderness. It wasn't until he was thirteen did he manage to leave the pits for good in exchange for a life outside, in the cities, as some throwaway soldier for Cadwgawn's company, the Coastal Blades. The fighting never ceased, the world beyond the walls of the brawler pit was just as brutal, if not more.

Then, he fought alongside his fellow Warsen in the great battle of Old Shadow. Commodus Wheelsen's engine roared as it crushed those beneath him into paste. Days of never ending battle in a war that moved from rain to sun to snow. Forced to march alongside other prisoners of war, stomping on hoarfrost and sleet away from the battlefield, through the mountains of Sentinel's Stand, into caverns of heat, debris, and vicious beasts, and finally into the lands underneath the Den of Gale.

Then he was locked into a room with the surviving prisoners of war.

What followed was darkness, frenzied thoughts, and turmoil.

Then a door of light opened, as if it were a gate to the afterlife he shall never have. And with it the face of one man and his stupid ear-to-ear grin, that crazed look in his eye and that inane tone of voice.

Hugo Windsen. A man with far too many plans.

Algernon would go on to fulfill those plans over the next few years. He'd find himself back in Warsen territory only to be branded an outcast by Lord Aloysius and his council, yet never truly disconnected. Clandestine operations beyond his understanding, to bring freedom to those willing to rescind their allegiances. In all honesty he was never there for whatever sort of continental abnegation Hugo or the shadows of the Warsen council had in mind, all he ever wanted to do was the only thing he could still understand, and that was to fight.

Now here he was, without that which he sought after, and now also with but a smidgen of his original power. His eye had returned, but it remained in a damaged state. The thin, atrophied man dragged himself through the wilderness, trying to follow the life road, killing whatever scavenger or opportunist thought it to be a good idea to try and pick him apart. The winds continued to howl, like they always do. How long has he been doing this? Fight? No doubt for decades. He sometimes wondered how Lord Cadwgawn was doing. He's heard that he had another son named Macario, and that he had a penchant for the lance. The morning rain was light, part of Algernon wished it would be stronger, enough to flood, that way he could swim, and more importantly hide himself in both the fog and the sounds. He could hear rumbling in the distance, the sound of revving engines, a choir of shouts and laughter and the banging of metal objects together.

It was a sunshower, that was a portent for something he was sure. Considering recent events, he can agree. Algernon coughs, liquids both red and black flecking the earth. The gray clouds hovering over the land, with the sun shining not too far away. Rain and shine moved together in harmony, both of them somehow intensifying overtime. The sun's heat grew and grew in fury, as did the drizzle of the gray heavens turn into a small storm. A tempest quickly blows in, sending Algernon's crawling body flying alongside. He crashes hard back down onto the earth, enough to leave a miniature crater. A flash of lightning moves horizontally through the wall of clouds.

"Lightning during a sunshower?"

Algernon knew what this meant. He tries to prop himself up, to at least be sitting on his knees before the lightning strikes once more. As the thunder of the previous stroke roared through the clouds, another bolt of lightning fell straight down into the grassy earth. The blades of grass were set ablaze, the fire persisting despite the growing turbulence of the rain. The flames surrounded a single man who stood before him. A helmet covering the upper half of his head, with gilded wings on the sides. Icy blue eyes staring deep into Algernon's own amber ones. His long blond hair flowed in the wind while his armor was this platinum color.