This Place Cannot Be (Part 1)

Past the seafoam and ice of Drakkenfel's northern shore sits a lonesome lighthouse, nestled atop a weathered and jagged cliff. A path carved downwards leads down to the shoreline, speckled with stones like the teeth of dragons. A mighty wooden vessel rests upon the rocks, hull cracked and broken open like the belly of a beached whale, its sails long tattered and blown to sea, the stern of the vessel now stripped away by the waves.

The lighthouse stands a silent vigil upon the rock. At its base is an attached cabin, once abandoned, now occupied by a solitary figure. Her gray, frazzled hair mimics the dead brush that lines the building. Her skin is aged, a light bronze, marked with scars and calloused on the palms of her hands. From the top of her forehead across the right eye that is now sewn shut, a scar extends to bottom of her right cheek. The ivy green eye that remains watches across the water, into the fog, into a mist that has hung longer than the banner of Drakkenfel.

The door of the cabin scrapes across the cobblestone floor, and a young woman clamors inside, carefully latching the door behind her. In her arms is a bundle of firewood, freshly cut, sticky with sap. Her black hair, framing a pale and oblong face, is flecked with snow. As she moves across the sitting room towards the fireplace, her hood falls back and the cloak across her shoulders drops to the floor. The crackling flame in the fireplace dances in her eyes, as orange and warm as embers. With a deep sigh, the girl places the wood near the hearth and pulls the shutters of the nearby window together.

"Eshera, it's just a bit insulting that while I'm chopping your firewood you are letting a draft blow into your home. I mean no disrespect, but I don't understand just what it is that you expect to see on the ocean."

The old woman, Eshera, meets the younger woman's eyes and smiles with a tangible warmth. "There is nothing that I expect, child. But there is much that I see already, much that has happened." Her hand shakily extends outward and she grasps at the girl's hand. "I need not tell you the stories that blow in from the sea, Astra. All that I can offer is a warm bed, which I might add is calling for you now, my dear."

Astra, as she was called, gave a soft smile. Her grip on Eshera's hand tightens as she nods her head. "As always, your insight is astounding." She pulls her hand away slowly and turns to face the hearth. In just a moment the fire is culled, now burning low, the burning wood now reducing its glow. As Astra stands to her full height again, she is faced with the crudely carved whale on the mantle. Surrounding it is a menagerie of figurines; foxes, rabbits, fish, and little birds have all been aligned above the fireplace. Mementos from a past left far behind.

Eshera pushes herself up from her chair, her joints pop and her arms shake as she rises to her feet. At this point, Astra has retired to her bedroom, leaving the old woman to her own devices. The wind howls around the corners of the cabin, breaking the silence of the night. As Eshera fastens the latch on the door, she catches a faint and astringent scent. Notes of bitter coffee and burnt wood radiate from beyond the door, denoting the arrival of an unexpected guest.

The door creaks open slowly, Eshera pokes her head out into the cold night. Several feet away, cloaked in a black hood and clad in ornate leather stands a man, white hair flowing in the wind, his bright yellow eyes cutting through the dark of night. Unlike the two women in the cabin, he sported two tall, black, spiraled horns that extended from his forehead. "I have come with news, Eshera. Astra should hear this as well." His voice was strong and blunt, but each word echoed as if it came from the forest itself.

"I apologize for coming at such an odd hour, matron. But given the nature of my message, I cannot hesitate."

"Do not apologize, my son. I welcome you here anytime, provided that you come alone. Should I wake Astra, if this is truly of such importance?"

He pulls his lips in, with a marked trepidation. "Ah, no...no, that may not be entirely necessary." With one hand he unfastens his cloak, and with the other hand, he reaches to remove his sword from his side. "I have received word from my agent in Greyspire. From what he described, one of those machines has woken up. It has yet to reach the surface, rather it has only remained to toil underground."

Eshera's eyebrows raise and furrow in one motion, her left eye narrowing and digging into the man. "By no means should you have brought this news here, Belitrus. I will not allow you to lure Astra to the same death that came upon her father."

"Eshera, it is not my place to insist, but I must encourage you to tell the girl. I wish not to wrap her up in a dangerous venture, I only wish to prepare her for something that will find her regardless. Please, to protect her, you must send her to me." Belitrus, having not fully removed his cloak or the sheathe of his sword, fastened them back tightly. "I had hoped to discuss this further with you, but I can see that it will only upset you. Goodnight, matron."

The blue-skinned tiefling gives his elder a shallow bow, pulls his hood across his head, and raises his scarf over his nose. Without a hint of hesitation, Eshera opens the door and Belitrus passes through into the night. For a moment the old woman stands still, her hand resting on the latch of the door. Behind her, the soft shuffling of feet.

"I heard what he said, ma'am. I know what I have to do, whether or not you approve of it. I will go to Timberfrost tomorrow and speak with Belitrus. Breakfast will be ready before I leave." With that, Astra brings the door to her bedroom shut.

"Child...if only you could know," Eshera whispers towards the bedroom door, tears welling up in her remaining eye. "Your story ends in death. I had hoped that you would not hasten towards it."

The night passes into morning, the sky above the ocean, lighthouse, and field hangs heavy with dark gray clouds. A light mist rolls in from the sea, blanketing the stones and grass, blanketing the coast with a biting chill. Within the warmth of the cabin, Astra packs her food into a small wicker basket. On the table sits a plate of eggs, salted pork, biscuits covered with redcurrant jam, and a pitcher of milk. In front of them, one single plate. With each button fastened on her cloak, the girl could feel her throat tighten and her face grow warmer. For a moment she looked towards the door of Eshera's bedroom. Seven years spent here, with this kindly woman, coming so abruptly to a close. With traces of sadness in her eyes, Astra stuffs the basket into her bag, hefts it onto her shoulders, and steals out through the door.

Before her lay a field of white snow and ashen grass. Past that, a thick cloak of trees and brush concealing a stone path through the murky swamp. Behind her stood the lighthouse, stoic and monolithic, keeping a silent vigil. In Astra's mind it resembled Eshera, a monument to the struggles of this land, watching over a world that has fallen into stagnation. For a moment she could not break her gaze from it, silently cursing herself. As if pulling a splinter, the girl spun on her heels and broke into a quickened stride. The time to grieve was past, there would be no more laying in wait, staring into gray nothingness.

She kept a steady pace across the cobbles, watching the birds in the trees; the trickle of water into the still pools throughout the forest coupled with the call of the birds in the high trees, almost in perfect harmony with each other. Stacks of smooth rocks were placed periodically along the path so that one could find their way in heavy snow. At their bases sat petrified shards of bone. These waypoints remained as memorial to those that could not make it through the forest, either being lost in the snow or falling victim to the violence that once wreathed this land. Frost clung to the trunks of the tall trees, heavy snow pulled the boughs closer to the earth below, the mist from the sea mixed into the thin haze that permeated the scene. The hilts of broken swords and the shafts of buried spears peered out from the snow, markers of a time that was best left forgotten.

Within an hour's time, Astra stood at the great northern gate of Timberfrost, carved into the side of a steep crag. On its surface were intricate depictions of the forest and of farm life, symbols of the city. Once upon a time, they were enchanted with a magic that made the gate visibly inperceivable, as if the mountain itself had never been tunneled through. The doors of the gate parted slowly, with a great rumbling and creaking, the cogwheels on which they pivoted having been arranged centuries prior. Just through the gate was a stone tunnel, columns stretched upwards into the ceiling, holding torches that kept the path illumnated. Standing guard at its mouth was a lone man, clad in a steel breastplate and thick leather. Instead of striking an imposing figure, he sat atop a wooden crate, his chin resting upon the pommel of his sword. As Astra entered the tunnel, he silently nods and smirks, doing the bare minimum to acknowledge her existence. Inside of the tunnel sat several of the same guards, lazily chatting. For just a moment they straightened their backs and pretended to be the staunch protectors of the city.

At the end of the tunnel was another such gate, usually kept open. And beyond this gate was the centuries old city of Timberfrost. Her rooftops sported thick snow, the streets were lined with bustling life. To the west, across the river, was fertile farmland and tall windmills which caught the gusts that poured down from the mountains. To the east, further into the foothills, stood an antiquated and impressively tall tower. Smoke from the chimneys funneled into the sky mingling with the fog above. As Astra strode into the city, the smells of warm bread, of cooking meat, of such great comfort washed over her. Plump women in humble garb cast welcoming smiles at her from their porches as they swept or hung clothes; children ran through the street, laughing and playing as if they were the heroes of their own epic fables.

The Giant's Breath Inn sat proud aside the market square. In the front of it was a large patio, on which the older men with their wooden pipes and long beards would recite the same stories as they had the day before. A menagerie of merchants peddled a variety of goods, from fresh and exotic meats to strange curios and fine jewelry. It took Astra considerable resolve to focus her attention on the matter at hand. As she pushed the door of the inn open, she was met immediately with the boisterous and obnoxious singing of a wandering minstrel. The patrons sat at their tables, grimmacing as they ate their food, exchanging looks of annoyance as they picked at the food on their plates.

Sitting at the far end of the bar was Belitrus, in pedestrian garb, glancing periodically towards the door. He rose quickly from the stool, having caught sight of Astra at the exact moment she crossed over the threshold, and hastened towards her. In one smooth motion he took her by the arm and led her into a small private room behind one of the large kegs near to the counter. Soft daylight streamed in through the window, casting itself upon barrels and bags. A small table was pushed under the window, a chair placed across from one another Before the tiefling dove into the conversation, he made sure to shut the door tight and light what was left of his cigar. Astra drops her bag next to the table and turns towards Belitrus.

"I'm sure this decision did not come easily for you, girl. I apologize for the confusion that you must have at the moment."

Astra settled into her seat at the small wooden table, resting her chin upon her knuckles and her elbow on her knee. "No, it has not been without much deliberation. Eshera has spent much time impressing upon me that I cannot accept your offer."

"Then it is fortunate that she is not here, yes?" Belitrus chuckled softly as he relaxed into his chair across from Astra. "As it happens, the offer is still open. I will accept you as a student, and all you must do is say the word."

"As much as I enjoy chopping wood and collecting bread at the grocer, I may have been considering this more and more as of late. I want an answer, Blue. I want to know what exactly happened to my father and why Eshera and my mother never spoke of it."

The man ran his hand across his hair and sighed. "I don't call you 'Pale', so I would prefer that you call me by my name. The fate that befell your father is something that has haunted me for years now. I will ask you only once, before I go further... Do you truly wish to know? Will the truth of his circumstance cause your heart to bleed?"

"I've spent twenty years wondering, Belitrus. My whole life, I've wanted to know, I am tired of grasping at the truth. I want it now."

"Very well. Your father died while... Well, he died in an accident. We had entered a ruin beneath the city of Ezkaton, far to the south. We encountered strange, horrific creatures, but your father insisted that we proceed deeper within." The tiefling shifts in his seat, visibly disturbed. His eyes rest upon the coat rack in the corner, but they see only his memory. "For some time, I estimated two hours or so, we fought our way through the temple. These things grabbed at him, these slimy, moaning things. But he just kept slicing through them. It was almost like slicing into pig's flesh, but it fell away like wet cloth, this black tar oozing out of every wound we made. They were easily twice our height, but they crawled on their feet and hands. They were human, in a way... like some sick interpretation of human, at least. Your father, he was brave. He stopped only once to rest, but he was relentless, saying that something was calling to him."

Astra, now shaking, grasped at her mouth. She wrapped one arm around her stomach as she felt heat rise up in her tightened throat. "Belitrus," she croaked quietly, "Please. Please just say it."

"We found a machine. It was massive, golden, like a memorial to the Giants that lived here first wielding a terrifying hammer. Its eyes began to glow. The creatures poured into the chamber, clamoring towards us, outnumbering us by at least twenty. Your father took many wounds as we fought, and he fell against the leg of the statue. Then, it started to move. It laid the things to waste, it belched flame and ripped them to shreds with its hands. When they all died, it stopped moving. It came crashing to the floor. I watched as its mouth fell open and... your father's soul ascended from inside of it. Somehow it took his soul and it just didn't return to his body."

"A machine, a golem, took his soul?"

"Yes, Astra. His soul entered it and I swear upon my life that he possessed it. Every movement it made mimicked his perfectly. He protected me, not knowing that he would not return from the machine." Belitrus turns to face the young woman, a tremor through every word he speaks. "I'm sorry, Astra. I'm sorry that I could not have saved him. If I had known what we came upon, I would have told him to retreat, but he had this spark in his eye-"

"I never got to know my father. I cannot recollect his face. I have heard nothing but mourning from my mother, I do NOT want to hear any more."

Belitrus nodded his head slowly, impressed with the girl's tenacity. "Very well. No more mourning." He stood to his full height and struck a confident pose. "Astra. I will not speak lightly. Your life will be in danger every moment of every day from here forward, if you so choose to join the ranks of the Twilight Shroud. As my apprentice, you will face rigorous training and testing, you will be pushed beyond your limits. Regardless of you being the daughter of my sworn brother."

Beside his chair sat a swortshord in its sheath, resting against the wall. Belitrus took it in his hands and slowly pulled the blade forth, its glorious iron casting a gleam across the room. With a swift downward movement, he drives it into the table and releases his grip from the handle. "This weapon is different from the ones used by other apprentices. This was your father's training sword. He'd only used it four times before he was given the weapon befitting of an oathkeeper. He wanted his child to carry it into battle. If you are prepared, child, take it into your hand and never look back."

Without an instance of hesitation or second thought, Astra jumped to her feet. The light from outside reflected from the blade, turning her eyes into portals of blazing and passionate heat. "So be it." Her hand shot forward and her fingers gripped the handle tightly, lifting it from the surface of the table, directing its tip towards the ceiling. "I accept, Belitrus."