Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Finding balance was a difficult thing. Desires, emotions, wants and joy. Sometimes they took hold of a person when a new day came, or perhaps at a random time in the afternoon. How much of the truth to show? How much to pretend? How many emotions to be worn on the sleeve and how many to be buried deep within, where no light would ever find them unless they became a storm and burst out?

Life was a masquerade. A constant game of showing people what they needed.

Sunday walked behind Kloud. The smile came upon his face, and he forced it down. Again and again, and endless dance. He didn’t want to appear too eager, too strange, too… euphoric. Sleep had done wonders for him. It was as if the so-called names had been naught but words before the rest. Now, their power had washed over, taken root, making him feel more.

It was a wondrous feeling, comparable to casting spells for the first time or breaking through the next rank.

He found it difficult to care about his current situation even before the strange effect. Now, it was impossible. If it had been Earth, and if the one leading him had been a policeman, he would’ve probably already pissed himself. Not so much in fear of the law and the punishment, but because he knew that usually came with a heavy dose of violence that more often than not left permanent scars.

At least in the cases of people like him.

But this was a different world.

The Arcanum was not the police, and Sunday was not who he was before. He had strength. Gold. Allies. Spells that could heal and destroy.

Fable’s Strength had made it so that he felt almost invincible today. It was like a shot of energy drinks was injected straight into his veins. Each step felt explosive, and each movement was smooth and crisp. He wanted to fight. To run. To exercise and test his limits. It was almost unbearable to leisurely walk behind his fellow mage toward a place where he would have to pretend to be normal.

He smiled wider. Then frowned. Some of the euphoria was already leaving him, which was good. But felt bad. Why was it that good things felt worse than bad things? It was all making it difficult to think clearly.

He disliked the sound of the names he had been given, but who cared what people called him when they came with so much? Each rumor or story was another step towards even more power. And this was just from a few villages and a city. Not a whole city. A small part of it. As soon as his booze business took off, he would focus on spreading his name just like he had done before. It was not necessary to perform grand deeds in front of an audience to be known.

A whisper here. A story there. In time, people would take care of it themselves. Who didn’t love a good gossip? Who didn’t thrive on believing the foolish, the exaggerated, the entertaining? It was the nature of people, and perhaps undead, to seek out fantasy.

And Sunday would make sure to sprinkle just a hint of truth in all that. He could already imagine the names that would come from that. Perhaps they would all combine into one – his very own legend. The strength that would give him into him was unimaginable. Could he empower his spells? His essence? If he traveled, reached new places, and kept going… how high could he reach?

Talents were not simple. He saw that better now. It was he who was not utilizing them properly. There was too much to figure out and through all the chaotic thoughts and strange sensation, he finally saw it. He had been treated almost like a child by the strange beings responsible for his current talents. And judging by the Hunter, there were beings. And perhaps he had already been given more than enough freebies…

“Will you stop grinning?” Kloud said as he turned toward him. The cold man seemed tired. Worried. Sunday wiped the smile off his face, but it slowly crept back in. It was inevitable like the sunrise. If the sunrise had teeth and the grin of a serial killer.

“You’ll do well to lighten up a bit yourself. Anyway, why are you doing this personally? Afraid I’ll escape?” What are we even doing?

“Zihei is too weak and unreliable to deal with you. His standing is too low. He is a good mage, but his mind is elsewhere. His job is an easy one, and no one counted on someone like you to appear and make a ruckus. As for myself… you can say that I’m personally involved now. I vouched for you, along with Adept Ironbond. My word is important, and keeping it so is in my best interest,” Kloud said. “As for escaping… you don’t seem afraid of the hearing.”

I’m only afraid of what I might do… oh this feels amazing.

They skirted around a corner and once again the large and imposing building of the Arcanum sprawled before them. It seemed… less gray. Less dramatic. As if the colors popped up more now. Sunday grinned even wider. The improvements were like a drug, and nothing seemed able to bring down his mood.

Nothing.

***

The corridors of the cold Arcanum had somehow managed to suck a lot of joy away. There was something about the walls of stone, the tall ceilings that made each step echo far, and the gloomy people they passed. Each hurried off somewhere, doing who knows what.

Then came the grin of the Hurind Yunvies as they entered a large hall. It all but made Sunday vault over the ginormous table and throw hands. And next to him sat Sotu, the mage who had hidden behind the barrier all the while Elora was getting her throat slit.

A coward.

Worst of all, they had dragged Elora along too. She sat next to a woman who looked like an older, plumper version of her. She was dressed in a fancy dress that covered her from the neck to her feet. Yet, she was less radiant and more unwelcoming than her daughter.

Elora met his eyes and for a moment, Sunday saw anger in them. Was she angry at him? Surely not. They had not spoken or met since that day, and her offer to bring him to the black market had seemingly evaporated.

A bunch of other well-dressed men and women sat around on chairs that had been specifically dragged to make a cluster. Sunday knew none of them.

This smells rotten.

The euphoria of his strength was turning into a weak version of the buff from the Moon Moths, as he had taken to calling them. However, he recognized the new feeling for what it was - just plain old irritation, and nothing magical.

The chairs were set around a large half-circle of a table. They had taken many sets of stairs, and quite a few turns to reach the large but otherwise empty hall they were sat in. Kloud had even gotten a bit sweaty and he took a seat with obvious relief. Undeath had spared Sunday from the same fate.

A small dais was set on the flat side of the table and on it were three high chairs. The left one was surprisingly taken by Adept Ironbond, who smiled reassuringly. The right one held a thin elderly woman whose very presence seemed to make the room chiller. Her dress was black and adorned with pieces of thin armor, making her look like someone who knew how to fight.

The middle and the tallest chair was unoccupied.

“Is this him?” the woman asked. Sunday’s eyes narrowed. He knew bitter old bats well, and she struck him as one. Dangerous too. “He is strange, indeed.”

“Yes, Adept Juvide,” Kloud responded with a bow.

One of the Adepts, then. A rank three mage. I wonder what her spells are.

“What are you staring at, boy?” the woman asked him. Her tone was as unfriendly as it could be. There was a glint in her eyes, however.

“I’m just in awe at your presence, Adept.”

The woman grunted. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Now, let’s not waste any more time.”

“Perhaps, we should wait for—” Ironbond tried to protest.

“He’s busy. This is a small matter that doesn’t require all three of us to be here,” the woman interrupted. “Frankly, if it was not for the heavy-handed involvement of a Divine and the strange circumstances of the attack, we wouldn’t even be mediating such a small offense.”

“Small offense?! He destroyed my manor, insulted me, and attacked a rank two mage under my direct employment!” Hurind protested. His chubby cheeks jiggled in offense, but as soon as Adept Juvinde’s eyes turned toward him, his passion evaporated.

“Magi fight all the time. That’s why we have duels. That’s why we have built so many sparring arenas and invested heavily in the thick walls of this place. The very request for this hearing is a waste of my time and nerves. It’ll do you well to keep your mouth shut until called upon,” the woman responded. Then her demeanor grew colder. “To add to that, he fought worshippers – more than we have seen in the last decade – and won. You’re only alive, because of him.”

The man deflated at that and glared at Sunday as if he had done something wrong. It was still confusing. Why was he so angry? Surely not because of a simple slap.

Sunday found himself liking Adept Juvide. It went against all his preconceived notions of people in powerful positions. So far two of the Adepts had proven alright. The Vampire Baron had turned out reasonable too.

“If I may?” a well-dressed man sat next to Hurind and Sotu suddenly spoke. He had a well-trimmed beard and quite a few jewels in the buttons of his suit.

She evaluated him with a scowl but then nodded.

“We’ve called for this evaluation, due to a few quite important details. I assure you that the damage to Mr. Yunviens’ manor, and the physical attack against the mage Sotu Ariveri are secondary,” the man began. Sunday had expected him to introduce himself, but it seemed that everyone but him knew who he was. “The timing of the attack, the location, and the presence of the mage named Sunday are all too coincidental. We have it on good authority that he has been present during other such happenings. We’re quite sure he is somehow the cause of them, and the preferential treatment given to the mage since his arrival is quite worrying.”

Sunday frowned and shuffled in his seat. It was not a secret that he was ‘special’. Many had already easily recognized that and he didn’t expect the Arcanum to be any different. However, these people were using his status for something else. While they were trying to blame him for what had happened, they also put some blame onto the Arcanum itself. Was he a pawn in a power play?

The man continued talking, reading out statements with locations and times. He eloquently theorized that the believers were somehow connected to Sunday, while not in any way alluding that Sunday was working with them. It was perhaps an accusation that carried a different weight than the others.

Sunday was starting to wonder if there was actually someone who hadn’t stalked him. Mera, the Vampires, the Arcanum, and now those… merchants? The City Council? Was he that obvious?

After what felt like an hour the man finally stopped speaking. He focused on the incidents, briefly mentioned the recent disturbance in the vampire quarters, and mostly aimed to blame the Arcanum for their negligence.

“If I may?” Sunday copied and without waiting for permission rose from his seat. The grin still played on his face, unable to be wiped off. He just felt so good. A bit angry, but good. “I think most of us don’t really care about this theatre. If I understand it correctly, I’m here because of the formal complaint from my fellow mage I slapped silly. Then, can I just fight it out with him? You can deal with all the political bullshit later on.”

There was a pause. He didn’t need to argue with the man and his long-winded report. He didn’t need to prove anything.

“Good. I agree. Fight.” The old woman said and crossed her arms. Those were her first words since the man had started speaking. The expression was like that of the hounds.

Hurind visibly paled, and so did Sotu. The man who had spoken shot up.

“Adept Juvinde! The mutually agreed on laws, outlined in the understanding between the City of Blumwin and the Arcanum demand –” he started.

“Bah!” the woman spat. She waved a hand and the air grew colder. “We have laws too. Those in the agreement serve a purpose and it is not to punish members of the Arcanum for silly theories. They exist to balance the many powers that take bites out of it. Like you. I only agreed to this hearing because I was curious what you fools want of us. Since ancient times conflicts between magi have been resolved with duels. This is a tradition that precedes any understandings and laws, and even the city itself. A formal challenge has been issued and we’ll deal with that first, and then if the City Council has any further complaints, we can revisit the issue. In fact, we most certainly will revisit the issue.”

Her demeanor grew even darker, colder. Kloud’s sullen expression was like a warm campfire in comparison.

“After all,” she said. “Trying to frame a mage of such combat prowess and who has so many contributions in the fight against the Divine is suspicious. The Arcanum is independent, but we’ve sworn to uproot corruption and keep the realm safe from the touch of the Divine. If there’s a Voice around, then anyone is suspect, especially those who try to use the situation to propel their standing. Kloud!”

“Yes, Adept Juvinde!” the man snapped to attention, all fatigue gone.

“I want you to look into the dealings of all those present here. See if they are connected to any of those Initiate Sunday has exorcised, and what the connection may be. I grant you my authority as an Adept of the Illustrious Arcanum to use all resources necessary for your investigations. Anything is to be reported directly to me. Corruption shall not stand.”

The uproar was almost immediate.

“This is insanity! You can’t do this!”

“Do you want a political war?!”

“The Council will not stand for this!”

Elora’s mother was red in the face, but she kept silent. Elora herself was grinning, and she winked toward Sunday. That was a good sign. He didn’t want to fall out with her.

“Now,” Adept Juvinde said. “Let’s see Justice prevail.”