Under the Dusk
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“When the alchemist and philosopher Malyl built the clocks of Cith, he intended all the faces to tell a sort of time. The pewter counter was meant to tell days, and the gold was meant for months.
However, when Malyl’s sister died hours before the clocks were meant to be revealed; the pewter counter dialed one.
When Malyl’s son was born mere minutes after his sister’s death; the gold counter changed to one.”
- The Fox Prophet
Tyvon stared down at the floor. Cith streets were a tangled mix of stones of varying shades, almost like grey veins guiding people throughout the city. They all spawned from the point where he stood, a glass floor a couple inches thick, over top giant ticking clock with exposed gears. The clock had five faces, the largest told the hour; the two directly left and right of it, told the minutes and the seconds. Each of the faces had an iridescent gleam to it, while their hands were a shining bronze.
The other two faces were a bit more extraordinary. The one on the ‘bottom’ per say, which was farthest from the Ceathon Fortress lift, was pewter; with a gold counter in the center it. The counter itself, had six sliding cylinders which could display different numbers. The one closest to the lift entrance, was the direct opposite. Solid gold, with pewter dials.
The gold clock displayed the number of newborns born in the city each week.
The pewter showed how many deaths there were.
If the gold clock had one more then the pewter, in the next hour the pewter would be even with its twin.
As magically brilliant as the contraption was, something about keeping track of such figures made Tyvon uneasy, and thus he moved on.
Ceathon Fortress had a rather brilliant design. Built into the mountain itself was the ‘lifts’, giant platforms that were raised and lowered by giant gears and prisoners turning them. There were eight lifts in all, four of them were on the lower half; going from here to the checkpoint. The other four went from the checkpoint to the fortress itself. At the very top, in the belly of the fortress is where one would arrive. However, if anyone ever attacked the fortress, they would be forced to use the lifts, and guards in Ceathon itself, would simply severe the ropes.
Ceathon was almost its own country, mages had created farmland in the Ceathon ‘courtyard’ outskirts long ago.With enough food and water stockpiled, it could last for months and hold out against the enemy.
Despite its strategically brilliance, Neverwinter hated going to it.
He had an odd fear of tight spaces, something one of the philosophers in Alastaas had called a ‘phobia’.
In his opinion, they could call it whatever they wanted; the lifts from Cith to Ceathon, and a lot of the fortress itself, were a bloody nightmare.
“Visitin’ the Queen?” The lift operator looked at him. He was greasy and grimy, obviously not nearly as privileged as those that were allowed entrance to the fortress. His clothes were probably stolen; looking half like something a noble would wear, except for the dirt stains and tears in the cloth. “I hear she don’t like you guardians much.”
Tyvon wasn’t the one to indulge in such tales, but that had caught his attention. People like the lift operator often were overlooked and ignored, allowing them to have some interesting information. He pivoted on his heel, holding his helm under his arm; he approached the man and smiled at him.
“You think so?”
“Dun’ do much thinkin’ sir, but that queen sure yells loud.” He looked up the shaft, a lift was coming down. “My nephew works up in the fortress as a corsair’s apprentice. He told me ‘bout an hour ago, he overheard the queen cursin’ some bloke named Gregoir.”
“Oh?” Tyvon’s curiosity began to grow. “What did she say?”
“Said he was old an’ useless, somethin’ ‘bout how he puts too much faith in superstition.” The man paused as the lift groaned to a stop. He moved past Neverwinter, and began to pull open the cage door. “Superstition saved me from Par Eva, ya know. Lived there ‘bout twenty years back.” Another pause, but now the operator looked sad, his eyes widening as he remembered. “Wind was bitter, food tasted burnt… I left, took my daughter an’ my nephew. Wife, eh…” The sadness deepened. “She didn’t come.”
The guardian put a hand on the man’s shoulder, summoning him out of memory. “I’m sorry.”
The lift operator shrugged off the arm. “Tis fine, it’s the old bat’s own fault. Just eh,” he looked down at the mud-covered floor as he issued Tyvon inside the lift. “Ya know those feelin’s, where yer gut tells ya somethin’ just ain’t right. Don’t ignore them boy, never ignore them.”
Neverwinter nodded, and gave him a weary smile. “You’re name sir?”
“Just call me Trudge,” He waved him off. “Member, hands an’ feet in at all times.”
Tyvon nodded, his weary smile turning to worry. The lift lurched, the grinding of cogs and gears making the man gaze up.
Darkness, that’s all that the tunnel offered him.
“Guardian.”
Gregoir stared at the figure before him.
A woman clad in armor that was vaguely supposed to compliment her shape addressed him. The entire suit was black, with a matching cloak shrouding the entirety of her face. Both the robe and the breast plate however, bore the mark of Ceathon: a golden tri-cross with a triangle in the center. Her hands rested on two blades, both were elegantly crafted scimitars, with bejewelled pommels.
“Templar.” He returned the greeting, though it was far more akin to acknowledging a life-long adversary then an ally.
She was younger than him, or at least she sounded as such. He couldn’t see any part of her flesh; all were shrouded underneath the dark armour. Not that it mattered; the templar order was an organization of Ceathon loyal Shi’zha. Humans that had been altered by dragon long ago to have their memories passed on to their daughters.
Besides the Drak in Muir, the Shi’zha were the only other culture to have women warriors and soldiers.
“Shouldn’t you be off guarding Cith?” She questioned, though her condescending tone meant she was just toying with the idea of actually listening.
Templars were not good at listening. If the Queen hated the guardians, then the templar order did as well.
“I came here to view the seeing stone.” Gregoir frowned. “I didn’t realize that it was illegal.”
“It’s not.” She answered with her voice light and playful. “I am not barring your path Knight-Commander, if you wish to see the stone, and then do so.”
The seeing stone was located directly under the clocks; very few people actually knew it existed, and even fewer knew that it was so close to the general public. Gregoir hesitated a moment longer, moving to the archway and towards his goal, before a sleek, steel blade was put out in front of him.
“However, I know what you intend to do, Gregoir.” The templar spoke, bringing the blade up so it touched his cheek. Applying a small amount of pressure, she turned his head to face her again. “And that’s quite illegal..”
“I don’t-“
“Don’t lie to me.” Anger made the blade’s tip cut into his cheek and draw a tiny amount of blood. “I know you sent Tyvon to Ceathon, and I know that it’s not just some coincidence you want to view the stone at the same moment.” Her tone became light again. “Don’t act so surprised Gregoir, the templar are charged to protect Ceathon; that means watching everyone; including you.”
“What do you want from me?” His hand was gripping his blade, all templars were bastards, and he had long sought to duel one.
“The truth.” She chuckled. “Honestly, if I wasn’t the tad bit curious, you would be kneeling before Vanessa already; begging for mercy.”
Gregoir let out a short bark of laughter. “I doubt that… You want the truth, show me your face; templar.”
Blade still at his cheek, she removed her hood. Gregoir’s expression didn’t change and he was far too stubborn to admit she was by far, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had long hair the colour of mahogany, with almond shaped eyes and auburn irises. He was right as well; the templar was far younger than he was.
She had probably already planned at least five different ways to kill him. If her deadly glare told him anything, is that she was a true Shi’zha. Raised in the Darklen- a place devoted to battle and warlords: men who were strong and fast enough to kill the matriarchs who had the wisdom of ancients.
“Frightened Gregoir?” She questioned.
“I thought all the true Shi’zha stayed in the shadow lands.” He noted, narrowing his eyes. “Why are you a templar?”
“I got sick of slaughtering dark men and abominations.” She countered, and he assumed there was some truth to it. “Now the truth.”
“The seeress is in danger.” The Knight-Commander answered, in a hurried tone. “The Queen, no matter how much she may frown on the girl’s abilities; will never let her leave. She’ll die in Ceathon.”
“How do you know this?”
“I have no proof, if that’s what you’re asking for.” He knew the woman would know of the seeress’s limits. “I sent Tyvon to fetch the girl and run.”
“Then you came here to alter the stone’s memories…” She filled in the last part of the plan. “How do you know she won’t die outside the fortress? The girl has lived here for five years; her visions offer her no insight into the world outside Cith besides pain and suffering.” The Templar frowned.
“My lieutenant will keep her safe.”
“You put a lot of faith in him.” Her blade began to drop, and both warriors relaxed. “The templars will not let him leave with her.”
“The templars do not ordinarily question a guardian’s orders. He’ll be fine.”
She smirked, and sheathed her blade. “Change the stone if you wish, I need to go.” Her face became shrouded in shadow as she put up her hood. As she left, he called to her.
“Where are you going?”
“To make sure your lieutenant doesn’t fail his task.”
The Knight-Commander opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped. The templars didn’t have the authority to question a guardian’s tasks, let alone impede on it. But the woman had seemed rather confident in the idea that they would, in fact, attempt to stop Tyvon with deadly force. That could only imply that Vanessa had changed something.
’Daggoth help me, what has that queen done now?’
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Under the Dusk and it's characters © Crystal Tears
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