Maxwell

  “There was a time when I could still see it, in my dreams. Our house upon the hill. The great expanse of yellow. The scent of freshly-baked bread wafting through the air. My mother’s loving eyes.

  An untarnished paradise, with dreams of tomorrow.

  The raiders took that from me. They brought death and destruction to our sanctuary, and now, my memories are stained in blood. I can no longer recall what it looked like before. Only what it looked like after.

  I can never forget this transgression. It feeds me rage in moments of need, and rage… rage is a powerful emotion. Perhaps the most powerful of them all.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2147 Post-Separation (PS).

  Trailing after my rescuers-turned-captors, I soon came to a realization.

  The walls that loomed before me were more than wood alone - the logs were interwoven with bone that gave an odd shimmer to the surface in the blazing firelight of the torches. They looked strangely similar to the ones found in the guards’ peculiar lanterns. A recurring theme, perhaps? To reinforce things with bone.

  We approached the town from the south, walking beneath a large metal gate that had been built into the side of the walls. There were few guards on duty. I could only spot three or four, standing in a half-circle just inside, their spears resting comfortably in a weapons’ rack, well out of reach.

  They’re not even armed, I thought to myself. They must not be expecting anyone, or anything, to attack.

  Sterb and his men continued on, forcing me ever onwards into the settlement. A stunned breath promptly escaped my lips as I turned my head from the guards and took in the full sight of it.

  “Impressive, right?” the young guard from earlier said, once he noticed the awestruck expression on my face. “Won’t find another town like it… not this close to the Darkenlands, anyway. Would-be Delvers all pass through here, on their journey to The Long Divide, stocking up on supplies and the like. That’s why they call it the Merchant Town of Galwen.”

  I nodded my head in response, as if I had understood even a single phrase he had just uttered.

  Darkenlands? Delvers? The Long Divide?

  The words were entirely foreign to me, yet my mind set itself to the task of analyzing them all the same. My earlier realization of this being a different world only continued to cement itself as the truth.

  The guards took a winding route on their way to Miss Rachel, allowing me to form a decent mental map of the town’s layout as we walked. In truth, it felt more like a bazaar than a town - a mercantile haven, of sorts. A grand boulevard of well-trodden flagstones ringed the inside of its stout wooden walls; the entire eastern half dominated by countless merchants’ stalls. Despite the late hour, the streets were alive with people walking this way and that, talking in loud voices, their cheeks flushed a deep scarlet.

  Thanks to a collection of numerous regularly-spaced braziers that warded off the darkness, there was ample light to see by… yet, these were not the normal kind I had seen before, back in my own world. These braziers did not contain wood or coal. Instead, they were filled by what appeared to be giant crystals, shining with an almost mythical glow, casting yellow-tinted light across the buildings and cobblestones. There was no electrical wiring or other such power-supply to be seen, giving the impression that these crystals were self-sufficient, capable of emitting light all on their own.

  If one continued all the way around to the western part of town - past the equally imposing north gate - one would come to a slight hill, where the Town Hall stood prominent, along with a red-bricked building that struck a stark contrast to the largely wooden constructions found elsewhere.

  Nestled in-between the merchant district and this western slope lay the residential area, along the main bank of the town, situated right off the central avenue. The guards took me past the Town Hall and down a side-path, before promptly coming to a halt in front of a large house. A sign next to the door read “Galwen Lamphouse” in ornate letters, complimented by an illustration of a lantern-like object.

  “Here we are then,” the guard Sterb said, signaling for his men to hold back. “Let us hope Miss Rachel is still awake.”

  Approaching the front door, he gave it a series of firm yet concise knocks, before standing back. A moment later, sounds could be heard from inside, before suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a supple woman dressed in a florid, embroidered nightgown.

  I felt my eyes go wide at the sight of her.

  The white silk contrasted nicely against her umber skin, which gave her a delicate sort of beauty, a kind that could perhaps be mistaken for frailty, were it not for the commanding gaze of her caramel eyes. Ash brown hair ran in springy coils across her shoulders, and she held herself with a regal sort of poise, even now, dressed as she was for sleep and not for visitors.

  “Yes?” she asked, regarding us with an attentive stare from behind a pair of rounded spectacles.

  “Apologies for the late hour, Miss Rachel,” Sterb said, nodding his head. “I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

  “What is it?” the woman replied, her voice soft yet assertive.

  “We found this man outside the walls, milady,” Sterb continued, pointing a gloved hand in my direction. “He came running from the forest, with a whole slew of Husks on his tail. We managed to slay the fiends, but it was a close thing. Claims his name is Maxwell Balton, but that he doesn’t remember anything else, not even where he is.”

  “… You don’t say,” Rachel said, inquisitive eyes coming to rest on me. I felt myself shrink beneath her scrutiny.

  “Figured you’d want to talk to him before we throw him in a cell,” Sterb finished. “Find out what he’s up to, that sort of thing.”

  There was a moment of silence as the woman in the door considered the quandary she had been presented with.

  “Well… I suppose I have the time, now that I am already up,” she sighed. “Fine then. Leave him with me for an hour, and I will see what I can do.”

  “Thank you kindly, milady.” The guard gave a courteous bow.

  “No need for any of that,” she shook her head. “You do your job and I’ll do mine, Captain.

  “Of course.”

  Turning around, he waved at the other guards, who promptly took hold of my shoulders and started leading me forwards. An uneasy trepidation welled up in my heart, yet I followed their lead, helpless as I was to resist.

  “I’ll leave him in your capable hands, then,” Sterb finished, taking over for his comrades and pushing me the final few steps. “If he tries anything, feel free to restrain him. Or kill him, for that matter. I don’t particularly care either way.”

  “H-Hey!”

  “Understood. Good evening for now then, Captain,” the woman I assumed was Rachel said, before grabbing hold of my arm and yanking me through the opening.

  The scent of old parchment mixed with a metallic tang filled my nostrils as soon as the door closed behind us. My eyes were drawn from the entrance to the space before me: towering bookshelves stretching toward the heavens, lined with leatherbound tomes and crumbling scrolls, their spines carrying unfamiliar symbols and strange markings. At the center, a massive oak table bearing the scars of centuries of rigorous use. On its surface, glass vials filled with iridescent liquids standing in racks beside copper coils, brass instruments and intricate alchemical contraptions. These devices all hummed with an odd cadence, as if reacting to some concealed presence or energy.

  In one corner, a peculiar workstation adorned with myriad ironworking tools, inlaid with crystalline gems. A half-finished construction lay in the middle, surrounded by parts that had yet to be assembled. Next to it, one of those skeletal lanterns the guards had clipped to their belts.

  “Alright then,” Rachel sighed from behind me. “Take off your clothes.”

  “… Come again?” I blinked, whirling around to face her.

  “You heard me. Undress. Now,” she repeated.

  A moment of silence passed as my mind worked to process the situation. Every conclusion seemed equally erroneous.

  “Like… all of it?” I asked.

  “Your upper body will do,” she frowned. “Rest assured, I have no desire to see you naked.”

  “Uhh… Okay…” I mumbled, feeling the weight of her stare as I placed an awkward hand at the ribbing of my hoodie. It was not a particularly expensive piece of clothing - a simple black design with a brand logo on the back and front - yet the woman regarded it with curious eyes as I pulled it over my head, revealing the white t-shirt underneath.

  “Your clothes,” she started. “They are… unusual.”

  “A-Are they?” I said.

  “Yes. I’ve never seen such embroidery before in my life,” she continued, walking over to snatch the hoodie from my hand. I offered no resistance. I had long since come to accept that she was in a position of authority here. She held it up to inspect it in full, an inquisitive gleam in her eyes. “Where did you say you came from again?”

  “I didn’t,” I replied. “Because, uhh… I can’t remember.”

  “Ah-hah…” she said, before something else caught her attention. I followed her stare to my torso, and soon realized what was wrong.

  My t-shirt was stained with blood.

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  “Oh. Uhm…”

  “Let me guess; you don’t remember.”

  “Right…”

  A vexed sigh followed.

  “Very well then,” she said. “Remove the shirt. I’ll have to make certain that you’re not injured.”

  “O-Okay,” I nodded. A few heartbeats later, I was standing exposed from the waist up, feeling anxious and self-conscious. Rachel let her gaze roam across the front of my body, looking for wounds or gashes. When she found none, she circled around me to inspect my back, and that was when I heard a startled cry slip from her lips.

  “What? What is it?” I asked, heart suddenly racing beneath my ribs.

  “Stonefather be with me…” she gasped. “It cannot be…”

  “Cannot be what?” I pressed, turning around.

  There was no reply. She merely stood there, looking at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. It was not before I moved over to a nearby mirror to see for myself that I understood what had surprised her so.

  Carved into the flesh on my back was a complex pattern of strange sigils, arranged in a triangular sort of shape. The sigils were unlike any I had seen before; more akin to tangled scribblings than letters. Each one had been meticulously sliced into my skin, like a chef scoring his meat, leaving dried streaks of blood behind. The skin around it was swollen and painful to the touch.

  Between each cluster of runes ran diagonal and horizontal lines, weaving it all together in a patchwork of frames and circles. The model was so tightly interwoven that it was difficult to tell where one sequence ended and the next one begun.

  “What in the-” I started, words escaping me as I stared in disbelief at the symbols in my skin.

  “An alchemical sigil…” Rachel whispered, her features frozen in a portrayal of shock. “But that’s impossible! I’ve never seen one so complex before… Could it be…?”

  She ran a tentative hand across my back. I jumped at the contact, and let out a sudden howl of pain.

  “Hey! That hurts!” I complained, taking a step away from her.

  “O-Oh… My apologies,” she said, looking genuinely regretful. “I didn’t mean to harm you, I’m just… I can’t believe…”

  “You called it an alchemical sigil?” I said, trying to collect my thoughts. Now that I had been made aware of the damage to my back again, it was starting to hurt. A lot. “What is that?”

  “It is… the piece of divinity that allows us to harness the power of the elements,” she said. “The prerequisite for becoming a Wielder. It is a sacred thing, bestowed only upon members of the Great and Lesser Houses…”

  “Uhh…” I blinked. “Yeah, you’re going to need to explain that in a bit more detail.”

  “You… don’t know what Wielding is?” she frowned.

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “I can’t remember anything, remember?"

  “Well… Wielding is the art of taking energy from one thing, and using it to fuel another,” she explained, adopting the tone of an impatient teacher attempting to enlighten a particularly challenged student. “Imagine a plant breaking through the soil. Brimming with potential, it uses sunlight and water to grow strong and tall, its green body the image of vitality. Now imagine taking that plant’s energy - its life essence - and extracting it. All it was, all it ever would be, right there in the palm of your hand.”

  “Okay…” I said. “I think I’m following…”

  “The plant dies, of course, because you have taken its soul,” she continued. “But in return, you are granted a powerful energy source that you can funnel into something else. A spark of electricity. A blast of fire. A stream of water. Whatever element your alchemical sigil allows you to manipulate.”

  “Ohh,” I breathed, as understanding dawned on my confused mind. Within moments, an overwhelming urge to holler and jump welled up in my core.

  She’s talking about magic, I thought to myself. Literal spellcasting. The stuff of fairytales.

  “This is obviously a very simplistic explanation of it, but… it will suffice for now, given your amnesia,” she concluded, before the shock from earlier crept back into her tone again. “Though, what I want to know is just how you happen to be in possession of an alchemical sigil to begin with…”

  “Y-Yeah,” I coughed, doing my best to suppress the sheer and utter disbelief I felt at this entire situation. “I take it they are pretty rare then?”

  “Not just rare,” Rachel denied. “They are hereditary. You are either born with one, making you a Wielder, or you are not. It is impossible for a person to acquire a functional alchemical sigil in any other way. Even if you attempt to carve it into your skin, like it would seem you have done.”

  “Well, that’s-” I started, only to realize that I had nothing to say on the matter. I recalled what had happened to me in that void, prior to waking up in the forest, and suspected it a likely cause of the sigil now decorating my back, but even so… I could hardly tell Rachel about that. Every move I made from this point onwards had to be rooted in the foundation of my make-believe amnesia. It was the only layer of security I had. Going around telling people that I was from another world would do nothing but label me a madman, and that would be no help at all.

  Thus, I picked the only real option available to me, and chose to hold my tongue, allowing the silence to speak for me.

  “You can put your clothes back on now,” Rachel said, lips pressed into a thin line. “Now that we have assessed the damage to your body, there is no further need for you to remain exposed.”

  “Ahh… Right,” I said, following her instructions with haste. A minute later, I was once again wearing the black hoodie, looking like a man out of time and place. The fabric felt course and rough against the wound on my back, causing me to grimace.

  “Either way… Seeing as you claim to be essentially clueless to your past, I suppose I should start by asking if you’re even aware of where you are at the moment,” Rachel said.

  I shook my head in apologetic denial.

  “Ahh… Well then,” she sighed. “Let us begin with the absolute basics. You are in the country of Alwaar, in the Merchant Town of Galwen. It lies on the western side of the continent, close to the Darkenlands, and half a day’s ride from The Long Divide.”

  “Okay…” I said, doing my best to mentally catalogue as much of this information as possible. “And… what’s the Darkenlands? And The Long Divide?”

  “The Darkenlands are the common name of the territories belonging to the Great Corruptor, Gol’Truun. The Long Divide is the wall built by the Great Noble Houses in cooperation with the Central Banking Authority to protect the rest of the realm from the monstrosities that lie beyond.”

  “Monstrosities?”

  There were a plethora of things I wanted to comment on in her explanation, but that word in particular stood out to me.

  “Yes, monstrosities. Namely, the Husks.”

  I could not help but note the utter hatred in her voice as she spoke the word. As if all the pain and suffering of the world could be attributed to its existence.

  “Husks?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

  “They are beings born of darkness. Remnants of humans and animals who have been taken by the Rot. They possess no desire except to consume and devour everything in their path. Once agitated, they change their forms into crude imitations of the people and creatures they once were.”

  An image of the slime-like monsters I had encountered in the woods flashed before my mind’s eye. A cold shiver crawled its way up my spine.

  “So, those… things… the guards saved me from…” I started.

  “Those were Husks, yes,” Rachel confirmed. “Melted piles of flesh and bone… An insult to Astratum’s creation, and the bane of our existence. They are challenging to fight, due to their nature as thralls of Gol’Truun. Infected with sorcery, our blades cut through their bodies like water, doing no damage to their internals.”

  My mind was already swimming from these newfound revelations, yet I still desired to know more. My thirst for knowledge was far from sated, and the bleak statement Rachel had just made only lent itself to further confusion.

  "But... how do you survive here then, if your weapons pass straight through them no matter what?" I frowned.

  "With this," Rachel explained, gesturing to the skeletal lantern laying atop the workstation. My gaze immediately went to its bone-and-iron surface.

  "Oh, those… I heard one of the guards call it a… Bone-Lamp, I think," I said.

  "That is correct," Rachel replied. "Bone-Lamps are special lanterns made from the bones of the Stonefather. They are mined from his corpse and processed in the Free City of Hilfen, before being shipped to various Lamphouses across the land, where they are forged into Bone-Lamps.”

  “Uhh… Okay, hold up a minute here. So you’re telling me… all these lamps are made from actual bones taken from some dead guy’s corpse?”

  “Not just any corpse. The corpse of the Stonefather. An Ascended One. A god.”

  “A-Ascended One?”

  A weary sigh escaped Rachel’s lips at my question.

  “Just… think of him as a person who managed to transcend his mortal limits and obtain divinity.”

  “… Excuse me?” I blinked.

  “Ahh… Remind me to lend you a book on the history of the Progenitors sometime,” Rachel waved, as if that equally perplexing answer somehow settled the matter. “The important part is this; to properly use a Bone-Lamp, you take a drop of your own blood and mix it with the blood of a fallen Husk. Then you put it in the lantern, and light it on fire. The glow of its ethereal flame holds the power to render any Husk vulnerable to attack.”

  "Really?" I asked, regarding the lantern with newfound interest. "So with this... weapons won't just pass straight through them anymore?"

  "No, they will not. Therefore, it is crucial to remember this one simple rule: if you ever find yourself out in the wild on a Husknight, do not extinguish your Bloodflame… ever," Rachel warned me, a dark shadow settling on her features. "It is our foremost tool in the fight against the Husks. Without it, we are largely defenseless. Without it... we die."

  A tense silence settled in the wake of her statement.

  “I’ll, uhh… try my best to remember that, then,” I said.

  “You should. Unless you desire an early grave, your Bone-Lamp is your lifeline. It is considered an object of reverence by many here in Alwaar, so please treat it as such.”

  “Got it…” I nodded. “So, uhh… how do I go about getting one?”

  There was a sudden pause.

  “You do not have one?” Rachel blinked.

  “Ehm… No?”

  "But… Wait…” she started, furrowing her eyebrows. “The guards said you came from outside the gates. From the forest. On a Husknight.”

  “Y-Yeah, that’s… that’s true,” I coughed, trying to dispel some of the awkward tension that had descended upon the room. “I did wake up there… in the forest.”

  “Then… How are you here right now?” she asked, genuine bewilderment coloring her features. “The Husks should have eaten you alive!”

  “Oh, they tried to,” I said. “I had to run like a madman as soon as I came to. The fact that there happened to be a town so close by was… well, pure luck, really.”

  Another weighted silence passed between us, as she regarded me with an incredulous stare.

  “You either have to be the luckiest person I have ever met,” she finally said, shaking her head, “or the stupidest. Or maybe you are simply suicidal.”

  “Hey, I’ve already told you, haven’t I? I can’t remember anything prior to waking up in that forest!” I replied, trying my best to muster up some kind of defense. “So it’s not my fault things ended up the way they did!”

  “Actually, it still is,” Rachel scoffed. “The only thing your amnesia proves is that the earlier version of you, the one who presumably still had his memories intact, was just as stupid as the current version, seeing as he took you out into those woods in the first place.”

  “Hmm… Touché,” I grumbled.

  “Either way, to return to your original question… if you do not possess a Bone-Lamp, then I could make one for you. This is a Lamphouse, after all,” she continued, her eyes flitting over to the workstation again. “Fair warning though; they can be quite expensive.”

  “Ahh, yeah, that’s… that’s going to be a problem,” I said. “I’m, uhh… flat broke, you see.”

  “Hmm… I might have figured,” she sighed. “In that case, I am afraid there is precious little I can do to-”

  A sudden knock sounded on the door, interrupting our conversation. We both turned our heads at the noise.

  “Are you, uhh… expecting visitors?” I asked, feeling a cold sweat break out across my back.

  “No…” Rachel shook her head. “I am not.”

  The knock sounded again, more insistent this time.

  “It’s probably just the guards,” I said, my voice devoid of conviction. “Coming to check on things, to make sure I haven’t hurt you, or tried to run away, or… something…”

  “I highly doubt that,” Rachel said. “All Lamphouse operators are from Lesser Houses, and thus in possession of alchemical sigils. And the first thing any Lamphouse operator learns is how to utilize Wielding as a tool for self-defense. So the guards will not check on us, mainly because they do not believe you capable of harming me.”

  “A-Ah…” I said, my eyes yet fixed on the entrance. “So… who could that be, then?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Another knock thundered against the door. The rhythm of it was growing impatient now, almost demanding. The sound spurred Rachel into action, and she approached with hesitation, eyes narrowing as she reached for the handle. Right as she was about to grab it, however, the door suddenly swung open on its own, revealing a cloaked figure standing with a rigid pose in the sparse lantern-light outside.

  A tense silence befell us as we regarded the unknown visitor with wide eyes. The figure was draped in a tattered cloak and hood, the dark-brown leather marred by sprays of mud and grime. Beneath the cloak, I caught glimpses of a wine-red garment resembling a dress, but clearly tailored for mobility and combat rather than elegance. Adjustable straps crisscrossed the sides and abdomen, secured by dark crimson-painted metal buckles. A collection of pouches in various sizes hung from their waist, accompanied by a knife sheathed in an intricately decorated holster. Its size and design suggested it would be more suited for combat than mundane tasks.

  The person also wore a Bone-Lamp, though no Bloodflame shone within. They must have extinguished it when they made it inside the town walls.

  The silence lingered for a while longer, before the stranger moved to speak. The voice that followed was distinctly feminine in nature, and had a regal sort of undertone to it.

  “So… are we just going to stand here, or are you going to invite me in?”

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