CERUS'S TEQRON

Walking towards the target he felt disgruntled, the Teqron spoke when he slept, he dreamed the name "Cerus Trius."

“How long?”. How long since he was nothing but a boy he pondered, remembering the gift on his family porch.

“Gift?” he thought, the white Teqron Shard wrapped in an aging cloth, yellow with rot over the years.

Dreams, the target. It was everything he thought about on the road through the Great Divide. The cold, the bite, the climb.

“How many now?” he pondered, climbing the last peak. He stumbles and stands. “My family won’t miss me, a 72-year-old man”.

The Teqron spoke this name, that name, he obliged. “Kill the target and sooner or later I’d rid this blasted rock”. But now the name had meaning and this journey towards the Siren Shore had haste.

He remembers every name, every slit of their throat. “Why?” He didn’t overthink the purpose. This Shard, a Teqron, does not want to be returned, only fed, he read the scroll. "A thousand years and it ends with me."

He remembers every name he dreamed from that cursed rock. Every slit he should have returned, not a pass over but a here say. Not something the God’s will do to stop life, but this is personal.

He never considered murder, only strived. He didn’t then, but a childhoods boy’s dream cursed by a name. “My father died, my mother died, my family died because I didn’t follow that drastic rock!”

Now it’s his name, he followed this Teqron and his wealth is meaningless, his luck redundant, and his perspective flattered. He’s not passing it on to another door. The name is his name and his murder streak can seize with him.

“Necrium”, he pretends not to be afraid, but life has had its ware. Blood, gore and this story is weight which draws this way.

“Onward to Insidium”, he had passed the brunt of the journey. “There I’ll get crossing, to Deadwake, to Necrium”. He had a plan to outwit the curse this Teqron Shard had fallen upon him. A plan, but with every help he pushed aside, “it’s the Teqron,” he thought. His mind now succumbs.

Climbing down the rugged terrain, he kneeled. Death, it was close. But his dry bit on his lip contrasted against the icy sleek melt of the lower lands within the Siren Shore. He made it, and onward towards Necrium, onwards towards his hope.

A week passed and he finally arrived at Insidium. The town’s streams seemed sleeker into the brothel's drains. The guard is the Requisian Imperials on foot. “They’re here? This far north? he thought. "How much are they paid? Four Quarts should be sufficient”.

A hold of his breath and a firm hand, his grasp reached towards and a shackle shackled in the guard’s palm. “On you go”, the guard nodded. Sighed, relieved, he entered with all eyes on him. “That way,” an entrance maid blurted, pointing up the stairs in the middle of the hall.

The Captain stood perched against the door, “awaiting his turn I assume”. His lank, his shoulders, “a Vaelorian?” His clothes were ragged, unwashed, and smelling of the ocean. “Unloyal to a Reaper Priest, perhaps? Or is a Bloodtaker my fate?”. He approached, avoiding the Vaelorian’s dead gaze, his head shape more refined to the shape of his skull. It spilled fear. Stories from the Light Keepers, the Thorn and the Holy scrolls reminded of their ways. “But passage I must seek, and they weren’t afraid”.

“Ten Quarts, Necrium, I’ll passage you” said the Vaelorian. The Captain knew and smirked. “This is what I do. All men try to cheat death, and necromance being romanced, I make a living”.

“I don’t plan blood taking, nor reaped, only surviving,” said Cerus, muttering and whispering to maintain his shroud.

“Third born and without cause, I passage without Vaelor. Nor do I reap. I strive only to avoid those Priests”, the Captain said without fear of hinder. “Tomorrow we sail.” The door opened and a whore’s hand gripped his ragged cuff. “Until then.”

Satisfied and without use, his departure is halted. “Light Keeper radicals?” They stood blocking the stairs. White shrouds and clean, “Word against God” they spoke in sync. A panic overtook him, and he fumbled through their ranks to escape. Kicking and vaulting, he stumbled down the stairs.

“This is Insidium, not your prophet, infidel!” screamed the witness as he ran to his hired protection. Sprinting through the brothel’s door on exit he trips face first into muck. Fear engulfed only to turn his head and see the Imperial foot pace to curtain.

“Psss” a whistle echoed from the shadows within the nook ahead next to a worn-down market porch. The Imps looked, but no one snapped. Heads up, he bolted his ancient body towards the voice.

“Onward to Necrium?”, he heard from the shadows while staggering, spitting grain and dirt from his mouth. “Yes, and I’ll get as far,” Cerus shouted to the mysterious figure. Pulling the Teqron from his crotch piece, the glint pierced the rotting cloth. “Let me leave,” he screamed in an effort of salvation.

“You have it” said the voice, a shaded figure emerged, blood black, dark, with black running down her hair to her hips. Sleek and unnatural, sharp with the wear which made the puzzled appearance. “Necrium? I know a crossing,” she said, grasping his wrist and pulling him into a nearby way.

“You seek life?” the mysterious woman asked, slamming the chiseled door behind her. His back thumped against a table, shouldering the deck. The latch sealed with a shingle of relief. She turned, lifting the sharp suave to face him.

“This is it?” she said, moving slowly towards him. With a blank face, her eyes targeted his gripping fist.

“This is Time, not Truth, nor Mirrored neither. This Teqron is Life’s End, it predicted you.”

He turned white as she gripped and tugged the rag covered Teqron from his palm.

“Luck is luck and misfortune is misfortune, this is Truth”, she reveals her Teqron Shard tied to her neck piece. “This one is of my making”.

“And an Elderdivine a thief?” murmurs Cerus, holding still, the safe feeling receding.

“Elder?” she chuckles, turning her back to him.

“Necrium? For the Teqron? I was...” he stutters as a curtain rolls down at her will, revealing several coloured glints, all a crisp taste to the eye.

“No, not Life”, her smirk continued. “Behind you is a blessing”.

His nails scraped against the table. Picking up his weight, Cerus peers over his shoulder. A glass veil, full of black and dust sat in the shadows.

“Blood...” interrupted he suddenly gasps as a sudden cold pierce fills his chest. His eyes turned back to hers, her glare distracted from the dagger now thrust deep within his heart. The drift felt easy, and she spoke “If you want to die happy, die first”.