Mage (ON HOLD)

Prologue

A small, hunched figure, bundled in a rough, brown cloak, hurried through the cobbled streets. Deep puddles gathered in the cracked and worn stones, seeping down to the cold and semi-frozen ground below. Overhead, in the sky, crackling bolts of lightning split the air asunder and peals of thunder rumbled in the distance. Clouds the colour of old bruises clustered in the dark skies and a heavy, freezing rain poured down from the dark clouds, turning earth into mud, fire into ashes, and air into a thick, damp fog. All of the inhabitants of the small, northern city named Mokry were safe in their houses, huddled around guttering fires, forcing their animals to stand outside unhappily in the downpour. All of the stray animals were huddled under bushes and eaves, curled up to keep warm. The streets and alleyways of Mokry were deserted.

Except for one lone soul, walking briskly through the rain, and one child, little more than an infant, abandoned in the malodorous, slime-filled gutter by the side of the road.

The person in the cloak continued on their unrelenting way, only pausing to skirt around a particularly deep puddle. The infant in the gutter let out a thin, reedy wail, trying to catch this newcomer’s attention. The person hurried on their way, not hearing the baby’s cries. It was only when the infant gave up and grew silent that the figure turned around. Treading slowly and carefully back, a hood pulled over their face, the person walked to the baby and knelt down.

“Hello there. Who are you?” The figure murmured in a deep, heavily accented voice. It shook the cloak’s hood back from the figure’s face, revealing bright, shimmering green eyes dancing above sharply marked cheekbones and a neat, upturned nose. Lush black hair spilled from beside her face, and she pushed it back with slender fingers. The baby stared up into her eyes, and cooed softly. The woman’s eyes softened, and she reached down to touch the baby with her hand. The baby giggled and reached out with it's own pudgy arm, ignoring the rain. Slowly, almost delicately, it grasped the woman's hand with it's short but strong fingers.

The moment her skin touched the baby’s flesh, a small light flashed where their skin touched and the clean, sharp odor of ozone filled the air, overpowering the miasma of rot and animal dung in the air. The woman jerked her hand back as if burned, hissing softly between her teeth. The baby stared back at her with cheery blue eyes. For the first time, the woman noticed the rough, muddy cloth bundled and lying beside the infant. With shaking hands, the woman picked up the small bundle and opened it up, undoing the knot on the top and spreading the fabric out. Four sharp, pointed, gems lay on the cloth; an emerald, a sapphire, a piece of amber, and a ruby.

The woman stood up. “I believe that you may be much more than you seem, little one.” She murmured. Pulling on black gloves, the person scooped up the baby and set off at a brisk trot towards a tall, imposing stone building dominating the skyline above the town. As the woman took the baby away from its resting place, the sky groaned and a bolt of lightning cleaved the horizon in half, as if the gods themselves were in protest. The skies darkened, and any stray rays of sunlight filtering through the clouds disappeared. Any person watching the sky would believe that all the light had forever disappeared from the sky.

                                                                                   ...

We have a myth in our land.

We have a myth that in the ancient past, just after our land of Araxia was formed of shadows and chaos, just after life was created, light was given, and peace was obtained, there was a boy. A boy who was born in the 35th year of our realm. He was born as any baby was born, lived the first years of his life like any other, but in his soul, there was a seed. A seed of darkness. A seed of jealousy and hate, of spite and fear. And he began to kill.

It started with birds and mice, small animals. He would catch them with a trap, and while they were struggling in the snare, he would come upon them and snap their necks, or slice open their bellies. Sometimes he would bury them, sometimes he wouldn't, but with every death that he caused, the seed of darkness in his heart grew and grew, sprouting into a tree with branches reaching into every fiber of his being. And one day, in his fourteenth summer, he found that animals were not enough. Not enough to feed the fire in his blackened, shriveled heart. With eyes the colour of death and skin the shade of snow, or maybe broken ice or sun-bleached bones, he began to hunt humans. And he discovered that he had a certain talent for necromancy, the darkest of all the arts. He began to raise those that he had sent to death, forming an army. With his undying forces, he rampaged across Araxia. He burned, pillaged, murdered, and stole. It seemed that nothing could stop him.

And then, nine immensely powerful beings, so strong that one could call them gods, came. He fought against them with all of his might, but they wove a spell, a tale really, that seemed to tell the story of light, dark, and eternity. They wove the story of life. They wove the story of life to counteract the dark tale of death that the man had written in the blood of countless innocent souls.

And they banished him never to return.

Of course, I never believed that tale myself. My name is Taya.

I have done things in this land that would make you cringe, that would fill your nightmares with visions of pure horror. But I have saved many lives as well, protected the people of my realm from tyranny and darkness. This is my story. Judge me if you will.