King's War, through the rugged terrains of the Southlands. Bearing witness to unspeakable horrors-such trauma the girl hasn't spoken a word for months. She even began to show signs of malnourishment, crying herself to sleep night-after-night in excruciating hunger. And that is the true explanation for why she wandered away from camp-the ever so independent Zoe. But our resources are?limited. They have been for some time now. Look around you, many of us have fallen victim to illness ourselves. How can we, realistically, afford to organize a search party of the magnitude you suggest through such unknown territory?"
"Indeed, I can't help but to question how many men before us have fallen victim to Elm City in this same manner. Like us, they likely traversed this land thinking it to be some sort of holy ground-a haven even-and all were lost. This is most certainly a land cursed of a pious evil."
"Then I must assert, here and now, that there is no hope for Zoe's recovery, nor of sustaining this camp-not even for a week. She is as good as gone, and the only remaining option for procuring our own survival is to abandon these ruins and turn back home. For if we dare traverse the Riverstein we will only be met with a certain death-and may just as well be sculling across the bloody river Styx."
Cara, unable to bite her tongue after such outrage, threw aside Jason's embrace, jumped from her seat, and swiftly approached the dais. Jason tried to calm her, but to no avail.
"Zachary, the conniving bastard! Coward! Deserter! Failure of a warrior that you are! Even we, mere peasants, possess more courage than you! You talk of feral beasts guarding the gates of Hell! But where were these legends before Zoe's disappearance? You spoke of them not! Why no warning then? Now you dare assert that there is no hope for her recovery! That the only option for procuring our own survival is to turn back, in the wake of my child's abduction! And what if there is no hope! You think any parent worth a damn can give up without knowing for sure?"
And to that Zachary retorted with a sharp scowl, pointing her out.
"Stupid woman! Whore of the devil's womb! Hold your tongue in my presence! For it is not courage you possess, but ignorance! You dare accuse me of cowardice! I-who've partaken in countless battles! My eyes have been afflicted with terrible accounts of warfare! Enough to give any other man an excuse for such! And yet I stood firm! I will say it again-bastard I may be-that if there is any truth to the legends of the feral beasts who lurk in the mangled forest, or behind the whispers of the shade who haunts this city-and it appears there is indeed truth them both-then Zoe is as GOOD as she is GONE! And unless you wish to follow her even to the depths of the underworld itself we must turn back now!"
Tempers flared, and if she had had the means Cara would have struck him down then and there. She might have attempted it, regardless, if Jason had not now lost his own temper, disrespected so, and jumped the dais before Zachary could add further insult. He leapt forth with a spontaneous burst of courage, "You shut your God damned filthy mouth, doomsayer!"
Zachary stepped forth, but Jason shoved him with one hand while snuffing him in the mouth with the other.
He staggered. Catching him off guard, the blow loosened his front teeth, caused the lip to swell and bleed. He stumbled and cracked his head against the back wall. Unconsciousness threatened to seize him for a brief moment, but he recovered, burning in a fit of his own rage-murderous rage fit of a Nyphlise warrior. He went for the dagger tucked away in the pocket of his boot; for not even in the church could he be caught without arms. But before he could wield it, the tribal chief-whose name has been lost in history-took notice, and attempted to restrain Zachary's arm-though he struggled in his old age to control even one hand of the younger and physically superior man. Many of their fellow refugees flew up to assist-up towards the dais-but even the combined force would have failed, if not for Cara, who, conscious of the likelihood of her husbands imminent death, renounced her own previous violent musings, jumped between the two, and attempted to charm their violent spirits.
"Jason! Zachary! Everyone! Please, we must not resort to physical violence! How can we afford to fight amongst ourselves in such a manner! An evil has taken a hold of this land! That much is certain! Or else we would not be squabbling so in light of such tragedy! Now please-let us not lose another-let us all come to our senses!"
And with that, the two, not truly wishing to shed blood within church, reluctantly settled. Zachary volunteered to forfeit his dagger to the chief, wiped the blood from his mouth, and after clearing his throat, stated,
"Nevertheless, understand that I will still agree to lead the expedition." He looked towards Jason, sneering, "But I will require assistance if there is any hope of recovering the body. And when the search is over I am turning back home-alone if I must-and I leave you all to your fate. I am indeed a deserter-a coward who should be fighting alongside my fellow Nyphlice. It was only for you all that I abandoned warfare to join this hopeless refuge. And here and now I will demonstrate my courage by leading the expedition to reclaim Zoe, hopeless as it may be, and when it is done I return home. And I will turn myself in to the Nyphlice Army."
In return, Jason grumbled, choking back tears,
"A doomsayer, I say. You dare now incite that I, Jason-of Zoe's own flesh and blood: her father, wouldn't take part in the expedition myself. And you threaten to leave us to our fate when the search is over. You are indeed a deserter?twice over!"
Zachery's sneer grew ever so wide, "And just who are you-" but before he could finish, everyone's attention was turned to the sound of the chief's dog, Kenko, who started a vicious barking from outside. Joel, head of the chieftain's guard, rushed in through the door, "The shade! He approaches from the north! And he carries the pelts of three feral beasts over his shoulder!"
The sky began to dim and so began a flurry mixed of hail. The greeters awaited the shade as he made his way up the green. The dog-normally ferocious-turned to whimpers as the shade neared. Licking his lips, his posture sank in submission as he retreated behind a rotting elm. The unnamed tribal chief, though himself uneasy of the approaching site, moved courageously to the forefront of the company-a little ways beyond the entrance of the church. Zachary backed him, equipping himself with a scimitar he was quite skilled with. He tucked it into his sash. Behind them stood Cara and Jason side-by-side, nestled, and the fifty or so remaining refugees crowded outside the church entrance.
The shade was now plain view, and it became clear then that the shade was, in fact, a man-though his face was thoroughly concealed in a black war paint. His strong and otherwise handsome features were further shadowed beneath a loose beige hood falling low above his eyes. The eyes-they were dark and sinister-so much so that it was virtually impossible to distinguish the pupils.
The tribal chief, with experience at his side, supposed the man's age to be in his early-to-mid 20's. Although, he did have a weathered, despotic appearance-of one wise beyond his years who holds forbidden knowledge. Layered over the black garment that covered him neck to tow was a heavily forged iron armor-thick at the shoulders. His iron boots and gauntlets were coated in a black metallic alloy, of a substance the chief did not recognize. He was about six feet in height with a solid athletic build; and although the armor had obviously been fitted for a heavier man, he wore it as if it were weightless. His weapon of choice: A massive war-axe. It was similar to an executioner's, and was kept holstered behind his back. It, too, was heavy and ominous, possessing a long, finely crafted handle and incredibly sharp edge further reinforced with that same dark alloy; the edge shaped into a finely sharpened tip at both ends of the blade. The smith had also fitted it with foot-long iron barbs at both the top and bottom of the handle; and the weapon appeared to have had tasted the blood of many a champion.
The dark vagabond systematically approached the chief, came to a halt just a few feet before him, and dropped the pelts before his feet, saying nothing.
And they knew then that the three beasts were in actuality one consisting of three heads: Cerebrus! The tribal chief was t
aken aback; for up until this moment, in the era Secundum Domino, the monster's scarce existence had been long forgotten. He thus scanned the vagabond up and down, in awe, and recalled Zachery's comment concerning the feral beasts whom even the finest warriors of Gaia could not hope to overcome. He dug down deep within himself and attempted to maintain some presence of dignified authority, as he greeted this ominous stranger,
"I bid you welcome. What is your name and origin, if I may so inquire?"
"I am Cantos-like you, once among the Riverstein's hunted. Fate has, however-under the stars of Orion-spun; and from that where once lurked my predators there now lurks, forevermore, my prey."
His voice was deep, ominous and emotionless; and the way it reverberated in the tribal chief's ears absolutely terrified him. It was as if his words went straight through and struck the skull, cutting into the brain like a fatal thrust from that gigantic war-axe. Just the individual force of Cantos's presence alone overpowered him: it was pure, tyrannical darkness-so intense it nearly paralyzed his thoughts. And for the first time in his life, the chieftain found himself at a loss. His energy was sapped and his head began to sink. He found