Paradox
04-13-06, 10:29 AM
Talis MageHunter shivered as he quietly set foot upon the dirt square. The night was inhospitably cold, the shadows of a dominatingly overcast sky casting a veil of stygian silk over Tomaris WillBreaker’s campsite. His companions - murderers, outlaws and thieves – had long since decided to lay themselves to rest. A plethora of different tents and improvisory huts surrounded the clearing, the campfire acenter it having been doused hours ago. The smell of half-burnt, salted pork still wafted through the bivouac; it mingled with other, more rancid odors before assaulting the thin nostrils of the sole person still awake and outside. An ominous silence held the surrounding forest in sway; not the slightest breeze, not a single animal dared defy the saturninity of its moonless darkness.
The shadowy delineation of his person drew its colorless cloak tighter around his slender frame. In the bliss of daylight, one might have been able to distinguish clothes from skin – but tonight, Talis was nothing more than an inky frame pacing quickly through the narrow pathways between different tents, with no general direction to his movements. He stood still in front of a dormitory not much unlike the others, apart from the three human skulls gazing over trespassers from atop the entranceway. The hut was shaped much like a wigwam, a small, leaf-covered pathway leading up to it. The cloaked shape took one more look around the area, to make sure he wasn’t being followed, then ducked through the opening. He did not notice the nearby crow, a winged speck of blackness flying speedily towards an already overly crepuscular horizon.
WillBreaker’s interior greeted him with the more likable fragrance of natural opium. Sure enough, once Talis’s eyesight accustomed itself to the thick silvery haze, he could discern a batch of fluorescent red petals on the rickety table in the room’s center. Two wooden boxes on boths sides of it served as chairs. Tomaris sat there in his black robes, his long white beard spreading out all over his lap, a stark contrast with the warlock’s bald head – a head which showed the same pattern of red and black tattoos as Talis’s hairless skull. The bandit leader sat with his eyes closed. He looked pale in the flickering shades of a nearby oil lamp, the only source of light available. The Magehunter would have thought him asleep, were it not for the regular puffs of new, white smoke spiralling up into the air from the end of the long black pipe protruding defiantly from the warlock’s lips.
“Please, sit down.” Even while consuming his drug, Tomaris’s voice was wonderful to apprehend, like a song of angels raining down upon an unsuspecting believer. Talis immediately felt the urge to take a seat, and before he could actually command his body to follow the WillBreaker’s command, his backside was already firmly pressed against the hard wood of the box opposite to his leader. Talis always found it troubling to start a conversation with Tomaris; for when a man spoke so perfectly as the warlock did, one’s own words appeared nothing but a pool of nonsense, useless ramblings which – he was sure – would not even remotely interest the powerful magician.
“Why – why did you have me come to your quarters at this time of night, sir?” Talis asked cautiously. He had been truly amazed once he’d received Tomaris’s personal, written invitation. No one was usually allowed in the leader’s tent after sunset; there was no excuse for entering. All who’d tried, even in case of emergency, had been executed the day after. Yet here he was, a skilled swordsman in the WillBreaker’s ranks, yet not nearly as perfected as some of Tomaris’s veterans. He nervously caressed his beardless chin in the uncomfortable silence that followed. The warlock had still not opened his eyes, and Talis quickly felt like a fool, as though he were trying to initiate an intelligent dialogue with a sleeping partner.
However, the elder man’s voice quickly cut through the silence. “I merely wanted to make sure that nobody was listening in on us. I wouldn’t want to make the boys overly worried.”
“Worried, sir?” Talis asked with a tinge of disbelief to his voice. “We’re in the middle of the woods! What could possibly pose a threat to one of your expertise?”
The warlock’s eyes flashed open, revealing two pools of the deepest black Talis had ever seen. The Magehunter felt himself drowning in those onyxes, and a feeling of shame came over him. “Have you learnt nothing?” he retorted angrily. “No magician is without peer. All magic has its strengths and weaknesses.” The moment was tense, but Tomaris seemed to snap out of it fairly quickly, perhaps due to the relaxing essence of his pipe. The man calmed down, closed his eyes again, sighed, and added to his words in a clear, tranquil voice. “I’m saying that this particular opponent has been a thorn in my side for many years. Oh no,” the warlock quickly spoke when he sensed the stunned incredulity on Talis’ face. “No, she’d never be able to defeat me in a duel. She holds sway over the forces of nature, much like a druid. Very powerful on the defensive side. But pacifist, too. Respect for all things alive. Even me,” he ended with a smirk.
“She, sir?” It was the only question Talis could think of while he was taking in all the information he’d been fed.
“You think a woman could not be proficient in the ways of sorcery?” the warlock asked with a grimace.
“Well – well no of course not, but…” the Magehunter stuttered, still caught inbetween thinking of new queries and analyzing the answers Tomaris had already provided him with. The warlock cut him short, however.
“Good. I do not doubt she knows you, Talis, you and your strange – or, as she prefers to call it, unnatural – source of power. The animals, the trees and plants have informed her. But such knowledge will not save her.” Tomaris’s voice had considerably decreased in volume, yet it sounded all the more threatening. “I want her dead. Once we head deeper into the forest, we will encounter many dangerous flora and fauna – at that point, she may very well use her druidic rituals to trap all of us, forever. It is her domain. The magical powers of foreign sorcerers, like myself, become weakened here. It is why I asked you to come here tonight, Magehunter.” He smiled mysteriously.
Talis sat wide-eyed, his arms hanging down limply from his quaking shoulders. The WillBreaker wanted him, a simple bladesman, to kill a full-fledged sorceress? But how in the name of the gods was he supposed to do that? That small spark of anti-magic he possessed couldn’t possibly be sufficient to tackle this menace, could it? Tomaris seemed to savvy the young man’s doubts, and he gestured the warrior to come closer. As he further bent his head over the table and heard the WillBreaker’s plan, Talis’ fearful visage converted into a grim smile of determination.
The shadowy delineation of his person drew its colorless cloak tighter around his slender frame. In the bliss of daylight, one might have been able to distinguish clothes from skin – but tonight, Talis was nothing more than an inky frame pacing quickly through the narrow pathways between different tents, with no general direction to his movements. He stood still in front of a dormitory not much unlike the others, apart from the three human skulls gazing over trespassers from atop the entranceway. The hut was shaped much like a wigwam, a small, leaf-covered pathway leading up to it. The cloaked shape took one more look around the area, to make sure he wasn’t being followed, then ducked through the opening. He did not notice the nearby crow, a winged speck of blackness flying speedily towards an already overly crepuscular horizon.
WillBreaker’s interior greeted him with the more likable fragrance of natural opium. Sure enough, once Talis’s eyesight accustomed itself to the thick silvery haze, he could discern a batch of fluorescent red petals on the rickety table in the room’s center. Two wooden boxes on boths sides of it served as chairs. Tomaris sat there in his black robes, his long white beard spreading out all over his lap, a stark contrast with the warlock’s bald head – a head which showed the same pattern of red and black tattoos as Talis’s hairless skull. The bandit leader sat with his eyes closed. He looked pale in the flickering shades of a nearby oil lamp, the only source of light available. The Magehunter would have thought him asleep, were it not for the regular puffs of new, white smoke spiralling up into the air from the end of the long black pipe protruding defiantly from the warlock’s lips.
“Please, sit down.” Even while consuming his drug, Tomaris’s voice was wonderful to apprehend, like a song of angels raining down upon an unsuspecting believer. Talis immediately felt the urge to take a seat, and before he could actually command his body to follow the WillBreaker’s command, his backside was already firmly pressed against the hard wood of the box opposite to his leader. Talis always found it troubling to start a conversation with Tomaris; for when a man spoke so perfectly as the warlock did, one’s own words appeared nothing but a pool of nonsense, useless ramblings which – he was sure – would not even remotely interest the powerful magician.
“Why – why did you have me come to your quarters at this time of night, sir?” Talis asked cautiously. He had been truly amazed once he’d received Tomaris’s personal, written invitation. No one was usually allowed in the leader’s tent after sunset; there was no excuse for entering. All who’d tried, even in case of emergency, had been executed the day after. Yet here he was, a skilled swordsman in the WillBreaker’s ranks, yet not nearly as perfected as some of Tomaris’s veterans. He nervously caressed his beardless chin in the uncomfortable silence that followed. The warlock had still not opened his eyes, and Talis quickly felt like a fool, as though he were trying to initiate an intelligent dialogue with a sleeping partner.
However, the elder man’s voice quickly cut through the silence. “I merely wanted to make sure that nobody was listening in on us. I wouldn’t want to make the boys overly worried.”
“Worried, sir?” Talis asked with a tinge of disbelief to his voice. “We’re in the middle of the woods! What could possibly pose a threat to one of your expertise?”
The warlock’s eyes flashed open, revealing two pools of the deepest black Talis had ever seen. The Magehunter felt himself drowning in those onyxes, and a feeling of shame came over him. “Have you learnt nothing?” he retorted angrily. “No magician is without peer. All magic has its strengths and weaknesses.” The moment was tense, but Tomaris seemed to snap out of it fairly quickly, perhaps due to the relaxing essence of his pipe. The man calmed down, closed his eyes again, sighed, and added to his words in a clear, tranquil voice. “I’m saying that this particular opponent has been a thorn in my side for many years. Oh no,” the warlock quickly spoke when he sensed the stunned incredulity on Talis’ face. “No, she’d never be able to defeat me in a duel. She holds sway over the forces of nature, much like a druid. Very powerful on the defensive side. But pacifist, too. Respect for all things alive. Even me,” he ended with a smirk.
“She, sir?” It was the only question Talis could think of while he was taking in all the information he’d been fed.
“You think a woman could not be proficient in the ways of sorcery?” the warlock asked with a grimace.
“Well – well no of course not, but…” the Magehunter stuttered, still caught inbetween thinking of new queries and analyzing the answers Tomaris had already provided him with. The warlock cut him short, however.
“Good. I do not doubt she knows you, Talis, you and your strange – or, as she prefers to call it, unnatural – source of power. The animals, the trees and plants have informed her. But such knowledge will not save her.” Tomaris’s voice had considerably decreased in volume, yet it sounded all the more threatening. “I want her dead. Once we head deeper into the forest, we will encounter many dangerous flora and fauna – at that point, she may very well use her druidic rituals to trap all of us, forever. It is her domain. The magical powers of foreign sorcerers, like myself, become weakened here. It is why I asked you to come here tonight, Magehunter.” He smiled mysteriously.
Talis sat wide-eyed, his arms hanging down limply from his quaking shoulders. The WillBreaker wanted him, a simple bladesman, to kill a full-fledged sorceress? But how in the name of the gods was he supposed to do that? That small spark of anti-magic he possessed couldn’t possibly be sufficient to tackle this menace, could it? Tomaris seemed to savvy the young man’s doubts, and he gestured the warrior to come closer. As he further bent his head over the table and heard the WillBreaker’s plan, Talis’ fearful visage converted into a grim smile of determination.