Destiney of the Sword God

Chapter 16 - Complications Arise

The air inside the Adventurer's Guild Hall was thick with laughter and merrymaking as Rowan surveyed the revelry from a shadowed corner. Streamers of colored paper and ribbons of fragrant herbs adorned rafters overhead, perfuming the lively atmosphere alongside mead-laced breaths. 

Despite smiles all around as tales were recounted and exploits relived before flashing eyes and refilled flagons, an undercurrent of tension yet lurked beneath the bonhomie. At the hall's heart, his comrades remained locked forever in a spiral of one-upmanship and barely bridled animosity regardless of mirth's outward trappings.

Elia conversed animatedly with a circle of enraptured listeners by the crackling hearth, radiance catching copper highlights in her loosened locks flowing free. Her mellifluous tones and quick smiles betrayed no discord hidden just below the cheerful surface, charisma holding court as Butter warmly as any monarch.

Across the crowded hall Cadmon likewise held sway, loud boasts earning raucous approval from flagon-waving veterans. Yet his eyes slid too often towards Elia's halo of admirers, narrowed calculation glittering there when her merry laugh carried unchecked over their own rowdy tales.

Rowan bristled inwardly each time that piercing gaze swung her way, hackles rising in tandem with foamy mugs held high. He could scarce fault Elia's social graces drawing mothlike any within fluttering radius of her warmth. And yet...and yet part of him wished her radiance confined solely to their glade, hidden from such covetous, grasping eyes all too ready to snuff its light. As the evening drew on, so too did Cadmon's consumption of ale outpaced inhibitions thinning with each flagon. Laughter transformed slowly from merry to menacing as loose tongues wagged ever more freely, insults flung casual yet landing truer than barbed arrows in the ensuing brawling.

Rowan remained stoic as ever, nursing a single flagon far outstripped by antics devolving around him. Still his eyes tracked warily to where Cadmon now leaned heavily upon the bar, words slurring yet weighted with fresh malice sloughing off his tongue with each belch and snide remark tossed jesting to his growing audience.

Elia sensed the rising tides as well from her spot, smoothing over conversation with practiced grace to excuse herself unobtrusively. Yet weaving through the packed hall proved difficult, and by the time she neared Rowan's quiet corner, Cadmon had a fixed gaze and speech upon him in a challenge unmistakable.

"Still hiding back here, blade ling?" he jeered loudly, spittle flecking beard dampened by spilled drink. "No tales to regale the flock with from your woodland idylls? Or have they all fled at your repertoire's lameness?"

Laughter rippled obligingly from sycophants hoping favor in pickled eyes. Rowan remained stoic, returning gaze steely yet aloof - no satisfaction would be lent this night for barbs thrown in ale's excuse. Still his fingers curled tighter about the flagon's neck, storm gathering behind flinty eyes though roaring seas remained caged. The gathered crowd fell into a hush as Cadmon lurched unsteadily forward, jabbing an accusing finger hard against Rowan's breastplate. Mocking laughter peeled from twisted lips, yet eyes glinted with something darker than mirth borne of spirits.

"Or have your deeds shriveled too into nothing beneath Your Ladyship's skirts? I had heard tales of bravery - now all that remains is a milksop, shirking glory for coddling in cottages!"

Violence crackled in the narrowing space between days of barely leashed animosity cresting at last on ale and provocation's twin tides. Rowan shifted minutely, hard-won discipline lone bar against storm's release. But Cadmon pressed on heedless, spittle flecking further with each slanderous word.

"No wonder she allows youths and veterans alike into her graces - what reward finds she truly between your scrawny thighs?"

With a ragged sound torn from depths of restraint, Rowan's final shards gave way. Fist lashed out to crack against braying jaw in a thunderous impact silencing all but blood rush pounding in ears as Cadmon staggered backward.

From there escalation came swift - reeling vengeance met barely checked retaliation in a chaos of flailing limbs and painful impacts echoing from knotted muscle and sharpened instinct. Roars of approval rose to rival crashing blows as wagers were made, men crowding close around the whirling fray with gleeful abandon. Elia gasped in horror as the brawling knot spun and pulsed before her, fists and booted feet flying heedless of damage wrought. Her cries for cessation went unchecked, drowned out by uproarious merriment cresting around blood sport disguised as honor's right.

Pushing through the baying mob proved fruitless, shoving hands hampering balance and grasp upon the flailing core corroding reason within. She caught glimpses between frantic motion - crimson blossoming anew with each impact landing home, spite and loathing twisting features nearly unrecognizable from comrades-in-arms.

A flash of silver heralded bared steel, light glinting upon unveiled blades lending fresh urgency piercing even ribald revelers' cheers. Terror clutched cold at Elia's core, sense demanding action where pleas remained utterly in vain.

With a ragged prayer upon lips bloodless and trembling, her gift surged forth in desperation - projectiles whirled from hiding places to intercept weapons endangering more than honor alone. Metal shards went spinning from clenched fists, clattering away from any fate but that intended by madness stronger even than reason's reins.

Still the brawl raged on heedless, mortal quarrels given free rein. Elia redoubled efforts to part a sea of onlookers grown rapt before savagery spurting scarlet upon splintered floorboards, anguish twisting inside out with each blow slipped past defense crumbling under onslaught's brutality. Just as steel glinted between combatants for blood's final seal, a clamor rent the air sharp as any war horn's call to arms. The throng swirling in brutal revelry jerked as one, gazes pulled inexorably toward the hall's oaken doors heaving open on breaking hinges.

There amid billowing clouds of dust stood alone figure, silhouetted starkly against flickering hearth light behind. As motes settled, an ashen face came into grim relief - a scout Elia recognized by name yet changed utterly from when last seen laughing over flagons just bells past.

Gone were mirth and ease, scoured clean beneath exterior rubbed raw by some harrowing trial scarcely believable. His countenance spoke what needed no voice - here was a soul dragged screaming from oblivion's edge, staying death solely to bear warning onto others.

Into the dire silence left by parted revelry's roar, his plea rang raw yet clarion-clear: "Come swiftly - all able hands are needed at the village outskirts! Creatures of living night stalk there, snatching souls into shadow where none return."

Gasps arose, censure's imperative broken utterly beneath fresh horror's clarion call. Rowan and Cadmon alike staggered apart, wounds forgotten before crisis rending the hunter's veteran aspect so. Elia moved to the scout's side, offering waterskin and gentle touch where sterner healers might crack his shell yet holding answers demanded by all. The scout rasped deep draughts of water, color seeping back beneath Elia's ministrations though terror lingered stark in wild eyes flickering amongst those crowding near. At her bidding stumbled forth a tale dark as any nightmare's imaginings.

"We were posted as safeguard through the witching hours," he began. "All slumbered sound yet uneasy prickled skins - then from shadow stalked forms seeming birthed of gloom given flesh. They slipped through yards swift as any specter, setting upon lone victims dragged screaming into engulfing murk where none dare follow."

"I and others pursued where duty demanded yet to no avail - those soulless monsters melted like phantoms into night's very weave, stolen prey swallowed utterly from mortal ken. We searched through breaking dawn yet found no trace - as if living dark itself consumed all joy, life, memory until naught remained but featureless wraiths roaming fields stripped bare of song or soul."

The scout shuddered violently, visions leaching life from stricken visage once more. Elia gathered him close, radiance soft yet strong where words remained far beyond mortal ken. Into dreadful stillness fled any revel wavering upon horror's threshold. As the fearful tale emptied the last of its toll, a hush fell thick as dread itself over the crowd. Rowan met Elia's gaze, finding resolve echoed back where terror might have taken hold - these specters would find their lights joined against all darkness, regardless of quarrels cast aside into night's eclipsing shadow.

Cadmon stepped forward gruffly, lingering resentment melting beneath duty's clarion call to defend those defenseless. "While moonlight lasts, our blades remain united," he declared, offering arm in pledge taut with Wells yet to be bridged. Rowan clasped it firmly, finding purchase in fellowship newly reforged howsoever volatile in day's harsher light.

Elia smiled softly upon her steadfast companions, radiance undaunted though dusk deepened outside storm-racked walls. Swiftly she bent healing arts from conflict's wounded, readying body and soul alike for terrors descending where none dared tread at night's shrouding hand.

Within moments provisions were shouldered, blades honed keen beneath flickering sconces guttering towards final flame. As one the three set forth into engulfing dark, resolute strides carrying them from revel cloaked now in shadow's wake toward horrors stealing the heart from all held most sacred. There awaited a battle beyond any staged upon fields strewn with glory - there night herself must be battled for each fluttering spark of hope. The night engulfed the trio as they strode from the stone gates, stars dimmed beneath a shroud wreathing the moon in veils of mist. Not a sound encroached upon their armor's muted song, nor breath stirred fields lying fallow and stark in gloom's languid embrace.

Only resolve hardened packing provisions and strapped muscles against the dark road ahead. Elia's light, though gentle, remained a beacon guiding their purpose where fear sought purchase. Cadmon scouted their front, sense sharp as any hound of the wilds – yet another wolf prowled their brother these hours, spawned of an old animus now mastered.

Rowan matched their swift yet steady pace, instincts honed through trials past singing shrilly of unseen eyes upon napes prickling raw. His hand remained loose yet ready upon hilt bearing him safe through field and fell these long years. No specter stealing into shadow's veil would rend another soul from loved ones wailing beneath pale dawn, of this was he sworn.

Thus as one they trod the road to terrors uncharted, each finding solace in brothers sheltered by virtue past all venoms. When dark descended utter and Night gathered her skirts to dance, their lights would stand fast and drive back all phantoms descending where none dared walk – this was their oath sworn resplendent 'neath moon veiled in wreaths of sorrow. On into engulfing shadow strode three become one.