(Here is -> Pt 1 and -> Pt 3)It was only when Elderon had settled for the paths of moonlight, near the graves of Tellurium that the wind changed. A circle of fire appeared before them, halting the War. It was time it seemed for their changed luck to start getting things done.
The fire burned scarlet around Elderon, giving away the skeletons of Nebar. Nebar skeletons were nothing but dastardly beings of servitude. Power was all they served- and unfortunately Demon Blood and Burning Witch conspirators were very powerful, even if they were hard to come by. They were of a corner of the multiverse that was just a pocket of its former size.
Elderon only knew of one conspirator, a powerful sorcerer known as Maine. They were not fond of him. Not all Nebar skeletons were of Maine’s power but Maine and his skeletons was the only one who would show his face in front of Elderon.
“And what might any of you want?” Elderon called out to them, almost bored. A dissociated whisper blew in with the wind, it’s voice not yet taken words. The skeletons looked amongst themselves before one spoke, in a language not commonly heard, giving voice and words to the wind.
“Our majesty sends you a gift, for the one with the Burning Witch Blood, let it protect you.” The skeleton was no more as Elderon’s lips turned downward. In a show of power and a general air of one not to be disturbed they let the wind spark and turn golden, they gave form to the rise within them. The War raised its head from where it was resting on its cloven hooves, the tusks glinting in the scarlet light.
“Tell Maine the next time he calls me Burning Witch Blood I’ll impale him to his throne. I take no gifts or other from Maine, your sire is not one I trust and he knows it, what business has he to send me anything?” The skeletons stilled at Elderon’s words, the whispers in the air coming to a stop. The skeletons had no flight or fight instincts, they barely had any agency at all, nothing but muscle memory was in them, and that was a powerful enough thing for them to get how scared they really should be at that moment.
Elderon was not one to be messed with on a good day but on a day where their luck has changed, well it’s a miracle carnage had not yet occurred. Trying to keep their patience Elderon decided not to disintegrate the rest of the skeletons and instead let them run back to Marine.
“Go, before I make Maine regret living.” The skeletons hesitated, the flames flickered around Elderon and then as one they turned around, back into the scarlet flames of the Nebar skeletons.
The flames disappeared after them and a voice spoke out, once the War had laid its head down again.
“Getting prissy there Ron.” Elderon looked to their left to see Reshim, one of their first friends. One of the first to fall. (Elderon’s cursed nature made sure of such a thing.)
Reshim was a girl like any other. Yet what set her apart was something that was beginning to become more common as days past. More common as more blood is spilt into waiting earth, ready to hold on. More common as wars raged on and Elderon was called upon more and more.
Elderon, the god of dead heroes and quests gone wrong. Elderon, of the disgraced.
Reshim, a hero. One of a failed quest.
“It’s good to see you to Reshim.” Elderon walked over to give them a hug, not minding in the least the burning sensation of holding one of their disgraced; they had gotten used to it.
“I would say it’s good to see you to Ron, but whenever we see each other these days, it seems your luck has changed.” Elderon shrugged at Reshim’s words, hiding their guilty face by turning away to the War.
“That may be, I need your expertise on this one. Free has strangely been holding its breath these days.” The land they were in seemed sentient some days and on others deader than the burning plains. They would never admit it, but sometimes it scared Elderon when Free became too sentient, it made them feel as if they were walking on a knife’s edge, between something beyond the abyss and something best left unsaid.
Their friends of the dead kind have probably realized how nervous Elderon gets when the wild magic of the forests become raging hurricanes and the golems of the North become ferocious cat-like demons. They no longer feel anything about such things, all they feel is anything that has to do with their patron god Elderon. And what they feel about them is varied.
“Free tends to do what it wants, we just have to go along with it.” Elderon carefully stroked the War’s fur, not looking anywhere near Reshim’s direction. Their mind seemed to be far from the conversation.
“Why?” They asked.
“Elderon, you ask this every time, yet I give you the same answer.” Reshim sighed, “Such is the way Elderon and you know it.”
Elderon’s frozen features turned downward into a scowl, they wanted to rage to do many things, yet they did nothing, for Reshim was right. Such is the way. No matter if they liked it or not.
“You know you seem to rage more than we do.” A new voice joined the conversation, an elf by the name of Glider. Elderon remembered him (as he remembered them all). He was a friend to her during the short years they were on a quest together. Glider was the one to slay the King Druid and start another cycle of death along with its wake. It was actually one of the more tamer results of one of Elderon’s quests. Usually things didn’t turn out as well as just another cycle of mass killing.
Turing to look at his eldritch features that seemed half in shadows, even in the lighting of the moon and star dust. Elderon sighed at him, at his smile and the memory of his last dying breath resounding in their ears.
“You do not rage because I do not tell you to. You do not rage because you cannot feel things anymore. You do not rage because you’re dead. I rage because you’re dead.”
“Well now you’re just whining Ron.” Reshim, walked forward to take Elderon’s hands in hers and lead them away from the War, farther and farther into the Dawn Army, Elderon’s army of failures.
All these hero’s dead because of- well, what? Elderon? No, such can not be. Then it has to be that just because it’s a quest; and they always go wrong in the most spectacular of ways. Elderon just seemed to be there for the ride.
Yet they didn’t always realize this.
Elderon’s shoulder got patted and they shook hands and traded jokes a few times, secret winks and inside jokes were said and made, handshakes with promises of a rematch of that one battle and for once (more than once, always more than once), they thought that that was it. They were home, weren’t they?
They could just forget what happened in that cave with Luck. Yet they could not and the reason they were there was always by their side, always in front of them, behind them, this is the Dawn Army, Elderon’s reason.
Oh how they wish they had no reason, no rhyme. No symphony to play in the part of things. Let the things fall where they may, they always thought, but it could not happen. It was not the way of things.
They reached a bonfire burning a multicolor mix and throwing light in many different directions. The souls of heroes were congregated around it smoking, playing, drinking, as Elderon finally got near enough they stopped enough to salute them, raising their drinks in the air and saying as one, ”To Elderon of heroes!” They laughed after their toast and Elderon laughed with them, content in their joke, knowing they mean no harm.
Elderon sat and the souls congregated around them, everyone of different races and gender, some had found their way closer to Elderon’s side, others content to stay with their friends. But little by little they quieted down, waiting for their god to speak.
“I don’t know who it will be, and what the quest will be. A prophecy has not yet been issued nor has any old one’s been taken up, yet I met the skeletons of Marine as I came here and Luck told me someone will come to see me, though that could mean they just happen to come by me.” Elderon sighed and shook their head, they conjured a mug of tea, never one to drink ale when they could avoid it.
“Ah mate, you know there’s no use worry’in, tha’s jus’ how things ar’. Gods and monsters ar’ ‘spessaly cryptic when it comes ta this type o’ shit.” Fray was growing out of his accent last Elderon heard them. They were one of the first to die on a quest for the chancellor that had shit information and too high stakes, that had dragons involved and some would even say the fea were as well, (though it is not polite to speak of them). Elderon would say that the quest was doomed from the start for they were there from the start, but others would say it was just fate. When it comes to the Dawn Army, Elderon somehow ends up in conversations like these daily.
“Yeah Fray’s right, gods are cryptic as hell, but at least you’re not.” Alen said, making sure to squeeze Elderon on the shoulder, trying to reassure them. Elderon didn’t know Alen well, he was one of the first to die on his quest and they weren’t all that good friends even before then. Elderon made sure to rectify that after.
“I’m not cryptic because you guys are dead and don’t have to go through hoops for my amusement.” Elderon said to them, cries of mock offense and other jeers rang through the clearing lit by stars and Elderon smiled at them, they were home, they felt, this was home.
The feeling wouldn’t last they knew.