Dawn of the Forgotten

Chapter 11: Deliberation

Cold fangs crept through every corner from house to alley. A wind that didn't feel like wind, but like a foul creature who seeks even the most innocent to be devoured: its grasp would never back down. No more light, no more respect and stability was left, for a darkness swept through each corner where life still dwelt within that miserable icy abyss. The storms continued to grow stronger, and with its frozen teeth piercing the flesh of so many things, one would think peace is its next priority. However, like Almar, peace might as well be a memory of the past no longer to be seen again...

"Keep ye hood on, ye nob! Ye look like floppin' fish." Steffen demanded.

"You don't understand how hard it is when winds are blowing it down every two seconds!" Sven remarked in disgust.

"Then walk backwards!"

Voices from shopkeepers were heard in the background, a crowd gathered together in the streets with an old man at the pinnacle.

"Bandits, thieves, sea raiders, traitors!"

A crowd cheered as they took their fill, a strong sweet scent filled in their breath, yet fowl. It was rum. The crowd laughed with joy.

"We return with drinks for all!"

The crowd continued its roaring, all in line to take their fill.

"Up with yur blades! Strike yur pen! We promise wealth to all who join the cause!" Whoever was speaking was losing their voice, having spoken so loudly in the cold that morning. "We will get vengeance against the blasted Lorlynians. With Almar by our side, we can rule every nation we see fit!"

Sven looked at the man shouting to the crowd.

"What's that about?" He asked.

"For a poet I expect it'd be clear to ye," Steffen turned to him, a disappointed look on his already tired face, signaling his head with a swing, "come along."

They went back to the house Steffen brought him to in the first place. He began to cook, putting coals in the fire pit and smashing flint and steel together to cause sparks.

Sven could smell the fresh scent of a warm and delicious meal from fifteen feet away: the pot had already begun to boil.

"Even in this hell island, you still manage to get a smile on my face by your cooking."

Steffen looked at him with a raised eyebrow, an irritated sigh.

"I took ye in because I see a purpose in ye. Me friend died for that purpose; and now from day one, bringing ye in, all you dae is complain!" He dropped the stirrer. "I may be a cook, but I an't lettin' you stay and gain nothin'!"

"Alright! Alright! You must be related to Theodren. You really do have a short temper, don't you?" Sven threw up his hands as though to question Steffen's rant, appearing like firmly placing one's hands on a wall.

"Been here for twenty two years, little man. It'll catch up to ye long before this war ends, before you end it." He began stirring again, taken a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"Wait, what are you on about now? You think this flesh ridden corpse is capable of the unmistakable vileness of these people?"

"Ye got here so far." Steffen mumbled under his breath.

"I heard that!" Sven angered in disgust.

"Yur quite capable, little man." Steffen turned back to the stew and stirred the pot yet again.

"Wait.... You're saying I of all people.... Have a chance to change the course of this entire realm?"

Steffen left the spoon in the pot and fully took his gaze on Sven.