Caretaker of Light

[Fez_The_Kid]

The perpetual flow of sewage waters played in the background like the strains of some deviant troubadour, often joined by the feeble squeaks of rats and other elusive vermin. Mortared bricks the color of rust made up the walls, the slabs built on top of one another and slumping at the base as if they would give way at any moment. Given its subterranean quality, the air was sultry, worsened still by the distinct odor riding the entire sewer system.

A small fire yawned in the grate built into one of the dingy chamber’s walls, coals burning as flames ate away at them. Before it in his silent trance, a Raiaeran sat in a makeshift chair of sorts, hunched over as he weathered the internal storm that was his own mind. A broken Bladesinger insignia marked his discolored breastplate, and greasy, lacquer-black hair drooped about his elven ears.

The ashen stench wafting from the hearth had kept him from drowning in his thoughts.For days now he had naught but shadows to keep him company, the day's sun nothing but a week-old memory in his mind. He was weaponless and in solitude, stripped of his powers and locked away in this chamber like a mangy, undesired mongrel. While nothing physically held him from making his escape from this room, what awaited him in the outside gloom was enough to keep him from his slumber. Nor, in fact, did he wear any form of decent protection against the many monstrosities lurking in shadows.

Most, however, fortunately seemed to hold an abnormal fear of fire.

Yet in light of his situation, he found himself at the end of an incredibly short leash, the tight grip of desperation, of powerlessness, firm about his neck. And when he had grown tired of this self-pity he opted to take his leave and step right into the maw of any of the monsters and end it there. Yet an invisible force would stay his muscles from that intent. And worse still, he considered, was the fact that directly overhead lay an entire city, its numbered inhabitants unaware of his sentiments - of his very existence.

He was, in truth, lost in the heart of civilization. Adding insult to injury.

Stripping him of magic, however, was not enough for him to not sense its presence; a birth of power exploded behind him, come in the form of a bleeding portal. He rose, turning to meet the new arrival, the outline of a figure appearing in the gate’s unnatural light. Blinking, the wound was simultaneously replaced by a robed, elderly elf supported by a cane.

Balling his fists, the first elf clenched his jaws as he met the other's gaze. “Have I kept you waiting?” the older elf asked.

“Long enough to question my sanity,” the young elf responded, disgust framing his strong features. After a short pause, his gaze flicked to the ground as he muttered, “Not that I relish the company, either way.”

“So you say…” The older elf stepped forward, passing him as he made for the hearth. The wild beard suspended from his chin swayed with the motion, his fiendish eyes on the burning coals. “Yet it’s far better than solitude, is it not?”

“You are perverse, Maverick.”

The elf seemed to ignore the verbal assault. With slitted eyes, the man sighed softly, then spoke. “Tell me. Do you know why you are here?”

No words answered the ancient man.

“Ah, but of course. You haven’t an answer to the most forthright question of them all. I've already told you, you are an invaluable asset to my long-overdue set of plans. You would be presumptious to question the nature of my intentions, for what I seek is only for the wellbeing of this torn land and and its people. Now, my friend, we leave it to your companion for everything to fall in place.”

The once-Bladesinger grimaced. “I know what your plan is, your vision for our country. Its position among its grander neighbors. That's good, and all, but your ways about it are… wrong. I cannot, will not, accept the loss of innocent lives for our interests. And why involve him?” the elf demanded. “This should never be the business of aught but our kin, I ar galadrim. It is not his war. And I truly doubt even one with his tracking skills could find us in this rotten chamber."

Maverick was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “You would be delighted to be informed that he is making great, great progress in that regard. For I," he chuckled, "have been keeping a close eye on him for the past few days. Too close for comfort, I might add. Oh, and before you ask, he is well.” The priest’s expression crinkled in an almost heartfelt smile, before souring quickly. “Regardless, it would be far overdue to negotiate matters now. I have not come here to chat, after all.”

The elf opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut. It was too late to protest against the jerking hand that suddenly tapped his bridge. Tapped, and sent a jolt of raw adrenaline in his veins. Incomprehensible words sputtered from his mouth.

High Priest Maverick grinned, his eyes glinting in the candle half-light. “This should serve you well, future assassin of kings--” He tensed, scowling as the invisible powers interconnecting with the warrior burgeoned. “Cease your struggle! It is futile!" A blinding light exploded from the priest's hand, sheathing the elven warrior in its grasp. “Let me be your Caretaker! The power of Light shall be yours!”

Merka heaved a gasp as darkness surged from his peripherals and struck him unconscious. Indifferent to the extinguished hearth flame, and in turn the complete gloom that swallowed them, Maverick crouched, his bony hand receding back into its sleeve. “Sleep, my dearest protege,” he whispered. “It should kill the time as you await the son of the House of Ubissad.”