Chapter I, pt 2

Magus, a young and exceptionally skilled acolyte, faces his final trails. What he doesn't know is that fate's wind is to carry him elsewhere afterwards.

“This is your final test, acolyte. Pass it and you prosper. Fail and you fall. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Magus III walked out to the auditorium from the cellars. It was massive and grand, masoned with stone and boasting gold embellishments in a few places. The crowd was scattered about the stands; he acknowledged this with a heavy sigh. The graduation of an acolyte was no small feat, yet it wasn't celebrated as much by the public. He stepped into the middle of the auditorium and awaited the trail. A normal man would have fear running through them. Not Magus. One’s will can only be tempered in blood to stand the flame of war. That was his long-standing philosophy. Knowing this, he was ready for anything.

The wrought iron gate opposite him opened. There were whispers among the crowds. Whispers out of curiosity? Or out of fear? The clicking noises from the far entrance answered his question.

“His master went rough on him this time,” he overheard. Another whisper went “The poor man's done for”. Magus was not intimidated. He unsheathed his sword, the golden handle shimmering in the light, and poised it with practised efficiency. The silhouette of his enemy was now clearly visible: a giant three-tailed scorpion clad in a tan shell. Magus, in spite of the imminent danger, smirked and said, “I've seen worse” and took off his robes with a flourish to reveal a suit of chainmail draped over with a red cape.

The scorpion stepped out and charged at the noble, narrowly missing him with its claws as he quickly sidesteps the attack. He, in turn, leapt up and skillfully carved his sword down the beast’s back. Magus heard a deafening screech by the time he made his way to the tail. The expression of pain by a foe is a good sign you're doing well. The bold acolyte then dashed back and forth striking several of the scorpion’s tails. A few attacks later and one tail was cut off, some blood spraying on his face. Magus was about to make a second series of dashes when his enemy struck down on him with its remaining two tails, knocking him back down to the ground. He clambered back up only to get hit once again by the scorpion's claw. Magus quickly composed himself, however, springing back up, lunging at the beast to finally kill it off.

The relatively small crowd cheered. “How did he pull that off? Is he a demigod!?” Magus heard from the stands. His master, an elderly but wise man, soon emerged.

“Congratulations, Magus. You have done outstandingly well. Even better than I could've done, considering my age.”

Magus smiled and said “After 7 long years my training is complete. This is really a moment to be proud of.”

The old man chuckled. “Don't be silly. You training persists to your deathbed. Your accomplishment isn't the climax, but the introduction. You still have long and far to travel, young acolyte.”

His student nodded in recognition. “Let us be in touch, master.” He then turned and walked out of the auditorium and started down the cobblestone path outside. This was a slightly quieter part of Atdlt, not like the bustling trade centre or the king’s courtyard. It’s like master said: I still have long to travel. I learned all there is to learn, but what does one do now? Do I just simply wait for fate’s wind to carry me somewhere? Magus sighed and started walking towards his home when he heard the sound of galloping.

Probably just a courier, Magus thought and carried on. He cruised across cottages and stands, nobles and beggars, carts and waggons, but the galloping not only persisted but seemed to get louder. Why’s this carriage following me? He decided to take a look and an ornately shaped purple carriage trimmed with white, pulled by a white horse entered his vision. His majesty himself? What is he doing here in these lowly regions? Magus paced at the carriage, curious. The horse stopped near him and a figure dressed in purple stepped out.

“Greetings, Magus,” the man said.

Magus was slightly concerned. Am I to be condemned? With this is mind he simply asked “Why are you here? And how do you know my name?”

“Listen.” The man walked forward. “This mustn't be spoken with words aloud. Get on board and don't be alarmed. All will be revealed in time.”

With some reluctance, Magus stepped into the carriage. What met his eyes were rather unusual: sitting on an ornate chair was a man with black hair and steel blue eyes, dressed in a dark blue cloak. A steel rod protruded from his back.

Alvin turned to face Magus. “Who are you?” he asked with a noticeably cold and emotionless voice.

“Magus III of the Dracus family. Your name?”

The cloaked man sighed. “Call me Alvin.”

Magus raised an eyebrow. Fate’s wind has certainly carried me somewhere now. After a moment of silence, he resumed. “Where did that name come from?”

“I don't know. Why do you want to know?”

The noble was about to answer when the same man who brought him in entered.

“Carry us to the next destination please,” he called to the front. After a short “Aye” coming from the front and the carriage started rocking back and forth, he faced the scythewielder and acolyte.

“Right. I'm assuming you have many questions to ask right now, so I might as well answer some of them.”

Alvin and Magus looked at each other. Magus shrugged, so Alvin asked the first question.

“What do you want us for?”

The man dressed in purple sighed, took a deep breath and started talking. “As of late, we encountered some strange… occurrences. Some people disappeared, others exhibited strange behaviour and in three cases, people were being, well, possessed.”

Magus spoke up. “If this is so serious that people are being possessed, then why haven't the monarchy done anything about it? Surely they have the manpower.”

“Well…” The man trailed off in his thought. “I wish we could do something about it, but unfortunately the army and even the local militia are preoccupied with tasks I must keep confidential.”

“So I'm guessing that you want us to investigate this matter, yes?” Magus asked, to which the man nodded.

“But why us? Why not some other ordinary folk?”

The man chuckled. “I said it to Alvin and I'll say it once more to you: because you are anything but normal, Magus. Explain to me how graduating as an acolyte 14 years earlier than one would’ve classified as normal.”

“But what about Alv-”

“And explain how single-handedly killing an elder dragon in one swoop classifies as normal.”

Magus was so taken aback by this feat that he nearly fell out of his chair. “How?” he exclaimed, facing Alvin with disbelief. “Are you a demigod or what?!”

Unfazed by this reaction, Alvin sighed. “When you're stuck in the wild for as long as you can remember with nothing but you, your cottage and your blade, what else can you do? Let the beasts tear you apart end from end?”

Magus quickly recomposed himself. “Ok, we’re special, I admit that. But is there anyone else we’re working with? Two men seem a little… thin for this task you describe, even if I graduated 14 years early and he can cleave a dragon’s head clean off.”

“Well…” The man smiled. “You’ll see.”

The chariot galloped away, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.