Chapter 1:

The Great Sorrow

It was a cold and starless night, knee-high crabgrass stretched along the horizon under an angry sky. Only the dim light of the moon illuminated paths that had lost its century long struggle against the foliage that endangered its stubborn existence. A massive weather front had passed through, and hadn't fully died away. The bushes that skirted the roads seemed to have a great distain for travelers. The branches were leafless and twisted into gnarled claws that threatened to ensnare any careless pilgrim to venture within them. Swift creeks overflowed their banks and fierce winds still whipped about. As the winds swept throughout the valley, the grass stirred and rustled as if it were alive, and when the wind died back down, the stillness of the valley returned but not before lashing out to howl like some beast in the night. Behind this now-passing storm, more dark clouds pressed the horizon as the sun struggled to peak over the far mountains to light the sky.

The lands of Aeriander were always as such, never truly calm and peaceful, not sense the beginning of the great war of Sorrow. Even now, after sixty years the scars of war were evident. Kyrie sighed as he looked out the window of his prison. The land was blemished with barren pockmarks as far as his eyes could perceive, and there were few trees to be seen; in fact he could number them on his hands and even those few trees were but shells compared to the lush trees that had once grown here, and sadder still, the dirt held a crimson red to its hue, stained by the blood of a thousand armies.

No one truly remembered the cause of this war, but this bloodbath spread across Aeriander like the southern wind; and its blight has managed to take root in the foundation of all things, including the heart of the King. Kyrie slid down from his perch, which was nothing more than a meager stool turned up and placed on his straw bed so that the legs wouldn’t go through. He looked about the tower with its dank walls of graying stone and metal bars. This had once been a place of worship he remembered, before the war or the rise of the mad King.

The tower held ten cramped cells four of which had windows. The cells were divided by alternating columns of bars and brick wall. Leaving two of the cells with no light at all, the air was rank with the smell of filth and excrement’s because the waste pails were only swapped out once a week and they were only given a small ration of water. Rotten food had become a luxury, for it was the only food they were given if any at all.

Still there was a reason to smile; the people outside these walls have not entirely forgotten the rights of their faith. Kyrie had caught site of the buzzing about the city that marked the end of the year. Preparations were being made in celebration of the Lotus to welcome in the New Year. Kyrie could hear the soft voices whisper into his ear; he knew these disembodied voices well, for he had heard them all his life.

My Auger, Even now the excitement of our New Year is being drowned out by the news of the Corzieon Kings draft.

The Kings hunt for warriors to brave the wastes and search of the ruins of the old cities for the Auger would bring nothing but more death. Kyrie sighed; sometimes he hated being the Auger. To know the unknown in these dark times was a burden that weighed on the soul, and as if to give proof to his thoughts of the Kings draft, a vision danced before his eyes in the dim light that cast in from the narrow window.

The sign above the gloomy Troll Tavern was hanging from one of its corners, but still the tavern seemed to be bustling more than ever, tables were filled with stocks of would-be celebrators noisily boasting about the future accomplishments they plan to undertake come the New Year. Kyrie could see the tall woman that runs the tavern moving about serving everyone as quickly as she can, somehow able to hold multiple conversations with multiple tables without getting confused. Then a number of Corzieon warriors came into the tavern, and begun to round up all the able body people. They shove slips of paper into people’s hand as they push them out of the inn, the tall woman was shoved out with the rest of the drafted people, She opened the paper to read it and cried at the words. All Kyrie could see before his vision ended was what was on the parchment.You have been drafted, Serve faithfully or you and your family will die.

Now Kyrie, It is time.

A deep sorrow filled Kyrie as he tried to protest. But…

Sweet Kyrie - soothed the voices – in order to survive we must begin anew, much like the nature of things the old must make way, so that the young will have room to grow.

Kyrie knew then that would be his last vision. He knew that a time would come when the voices of the gathered would move on. Now was that knelt to pray in front of the window, the dim grey light of the outside world washed over him. His hands cupped together in the traditional prayer’s symbol of the gathered gods. He had known which was the first to pass - the tempest wolf - he could feel the absents of the gods, but her absents he felt for the longest time. Kyrie had envisioned her death. Now only one of the nine stones on his chain hummed with power. He had carved the matching symbols of each god onto the stone walls of his cell. Over the past sixty years – with the passing of the respected Deity - the symbols either faded or cracked. Leaving only that of the Jade Lotus.

“What are you doing Kyrie?” Gasped a male voice from the adjacent cell.

Kyrie had almost forgotten that young Nelwyn was in the cell next to him. The boy had been so unusually quiet. Nelwyn had always asked question after question about the faith of the gathered, by now the boy could have entered one of the many orders with the knowledge he’d attained. Kyrie believed the boy would have, had circumstances been different for him, but things were as they were and there was nothing that could be done about it.

Kyrie gave a small sigh; he knew where this conversation would lead. “I’m praying.” Nelwyn was indeed an apt pupil; he knew that a prayer from a priest would expose the deity. In this time of sorrow, with all but one of the gods either missing or dead; the priest had a duty to protect the last of the gathered gods. Nelwyn was shocked at the risk Kyrie was about to take. “I can see that. You of all people should know what this means. You’re the Auger Kyrie, you would expose him. Have you forgotten what the Corzieon are like, you’ve seen them in action – look around, this place is proof of their malice - a mortal bound god would be no match for the Corzieon or their mad king.”

Kyrie shook his head. “I know… but our faith is needed now, or all will be lost.” He knew the risk he was taking, but it had been months sense his last prayer. The Corzieon King had struck the gathering faith hard. No one was allowed to show praise to the old gods. As much as Nelwyn knew about the faith and the gathered gods, his knowledge was nothing compared to what he didn’t know about the faith. It was only a small few that knew that a god’s survival is based on the homage they receive, or that for the next Auger to be born a god must fall. The Chi Scorpion was the last of the gathered – the final reincarnation of the Auger. This coming Auger must complete the prophecy or the gathered gods will truly be lost.

Nelwyn rustled off the straw bed. A small cloud of dust trailed him as he made his way to the middle of the cell, Nelwyn brushed the floor beneath him; kicking up swirls of earthy cloud before kneeling. Kyrie coughed emphatically as his lungs protested the intrusion that drifted in from the next cell.

The creaking sound of iron bars mingled with that of a wheezing cough caught both there attention. Kyrie looked up in time to see a gruff man in black linen breeches and jerkin. The man was tall and well built, but then all Corzieon were of a bulkier build then the Cotai. He’s teeth were bone white even though he was missing his k-nine and the one right behind it.“YOU!” pointed the jailer with his sword as if Kyrie was not the only one in the cell. “It’s time.”

Nelwyn got off his knees and headed to the bars. His heart was racing from the moment the man stepped through the door. He had seen this man come and go many times, and every time he would come, Nelwyn would soon hear the screams of death from his cell window. Nelwyn tried to mouth the word that would sum up the man that trailed the guard but all he was able to do was whisper his title. “Executioner.” It was only when the door to Kyrie’s cell opened that panic wakened his voice. Nelwyn could do nothing but shout. “Fight Kyrie… FIGHT!”

As much as Kyrie wanted to lash out and fight back, he knew he couldn’t. It was his vow that made him the Auger and “This is my fate, Nelwyn.”

Kyrie look to the hooded man standing behind the guard, he knew this day was near but he thought he’d have more time. Standing with grace and a calm the stunned even him, Kyrie Looked to his young pupil. All he could do now was have faith that all would be ok.

Nelwyn had no such calm, he could not suffer to hear the cries of anguish that would come from Kyrie, and yet there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable. He rushed the bars, yelling, letting his emotions govern him. He’d managed to grab hold of Kyrie’s shirt in a death grip, tears ran down his cheeks. “Don’t let them take you! Fight them!” he sobbed wishing that he could do more to help.

The jailer grunted and pulled at Kyrie - tearing his shirt and snapping his stone chain. Kyrie pulled himself closer to the bars and looked the boy in the eyes. He whispered just low enough so the guards wouldn’t over hear. “I am fighting them, for I give the world you.” The sentry was caught off guard at the strength of the old priest but now that he was aware of what Kyrie could muster he tightened his hold. Kyrie knew he was no match. The jailer was bigger and stronger. He might have had a chance back when he had been properly fed, but not now. What little strength he had would be needed to work his last spell.

The guard tugged and Kyrie found himself being dragged out of the cell tower. He had only time to call out “Pray Nelwyn, Pray and all will be well.” before the wooden doors to the tower room slammed shut.

Nelwyn stared at the door for a long moment as if Kyrie would race back through them. The sounds of cheering from the courtyard below had Nelwyn vaulting to the window. There was a bunch of people outside standing around the hangman’s pole. Kyrie was tied up by his wrist. And the jailers were handing out baskets. Nelwyn couldn’t see what was in those baskets but he knew a stoning when he saw one. A deep well of anger filled him at the thought of his friend being killed that way.

Nelwyn couldn’t watch his friend suffer like that and he really didn’t want to hear Kyrie screaming in pain. He sank to his knees and clutched at one of the stone orbs of Kyrie’s chain that had made its way into his room. For the first time in a long time Nelwyn prayed, he did so with all his heart. He prayed for Kyrie his true friend that he would not suffer too greatly, he pray for deliverance from this war and its blight, but mostly he prayed for retribution.

Little did he know that he was holding the last of the gathering stones or that the last of the gathering gods was listening. The last seal on the wall in Kyrie’s cell cracked and the wall exploded outward, showering the ground below with large stones. Kyrie looked up and smiled. “So it is done.” He whispered to himself as one of the large stones descended upon him. You are not yet finished Kyrie Dromite there is still much work to be done. And with that distant echo of words, Kyrie closed his eyes and welcomed death.

Nelwyn gawked at the size of the hole in the wall, half the upper tower had fallen. There was no way up or down now. The tower had split nearly in two. The stone necklace in Nelwyns hand had grown hot and he could swear her heard Kyrie talking to him.

Nelwyn.

Kyrie?

Yes Nelwyn it’s me.

Nelwyn waited awhile, letting the fresh air wash over him, before answering. It was good to not have to breathe in the rank smell of excrement, and the light rain felt good as it washed some of the filth from him. - I’m I the Auger? - Nelwyn could feel the light chuckle of Kyrie ripple over him.

No Nelwyn you are not the Auger.

Then why can I hear you?

I haven’t time to explain, just listen. The new Auger was born today in the runes near the city of Bellum, find him.

I can’t, I wish I could but I can’t. I’m stuck in this tower. Nelwyn could feel the spirit of Kyrie near him but the voice was growing weaker.

You have been gifted with the ancient power of the Laret, right now you should be able to turn into a small number of animals… and plants. Free yourself.

A Laret, Nelwyn thought to himself – I’ll turn into a hawk - As soon as the want of being a hawk jumped into his mind, his body started to turn. The bending of bone’s and the stretching of flesh was agony. With every new change and growth came a sharp pain. Nelwyn tried to cry out but found his voice to be that of a mighty screech. Talons scratched the stone in place where his hand s should be and he could feel two powerful wings testing their strength on the air. With that in mind he leaped from the tower – thankful of his new found freedom – “Bellum here I come.”

A/N

I hope you all like this tell me what you think. R&R. oh i know there are some typos that i missed or there should be seeing as how it 5am and i'm writing this and have not yet slept. but I tried to find them, i did. if you see them let me know and i'll fix it. and tell me what you think.