Fragments Gallery
The Zealot
Sword in hand the man stalked towards his quarry. Blood dripped from the tip of the heavy blade; it had already seen use this day. The man opposing him wavered then threw his own blade to the ground and fled into the heavy fog which covered the forest.
The man's smile was triumphant as he wiped down the blade on the nearby tunic of a fallen warrior. Again he had faced his enemies and again he had proven victorious, again he had proven his devotion to his god. Around him only corpses remained. He was the only one left standing in the field; his faith had carried him through. He sheathed his blade and lifted his hands to the sky.
"Have I done well Lord?" the man yelled into the heavens, "I have done as you asked! I have defeated the heretics!"
Thunder cracked in the distance and the man closed his eyes to bask in the splendor of his god's approval. His elation overcame him and he fell to his knees in prayer.
"What have you to ask of me now?" commanded the man, "How may this humble servant carry out your will?"
An eastward breeze picked up and ruffled the man's hair. He breathed in the scent of rain that came along with it.
"Very well milord, I shall head east and cleanse the coast as you have asked. I will bring our faith to the nonbelievers there."
The man tensed as he felt someone approach him from behind. With the tip of one lone finger he drew a rune into the dirt before him, power flashed and the symbol was gone. It would keep him safe from any surprise attacks.
"Maybe that was a natural occurrence... Nothing more."
In a heartbeat the zealot was on his feet and facing the speaker with the blade unsheathed at the unexpected sound. Before him stood an elderly man dressed in long, patchy, grey robes; that was the usual attire for priests and scholars. They were careful to wear no colour to show their neutrality lest they get confused for some nobleman's subject. The man's long beard was well kept and he seemed well taken care of. Something in his bearing suggested that he was eccentric.
"Of what do you speak," demanded the zealot, his face twisting into a cruel sneer.
"You take the wind as a command from your lord, but perhaps it is no more a command than the sun rising in the early morn. You take the thunder as approval but could it be the same coincidence as a soldier finding a new blade the moment his breaks on the battlefield?"
"You know nothing of that which you speak old man," sneered the zealot, "Were you a worthy opponent I would strike you down for uttering such blasphemous words."
"Listen my son; this is not the path of our lord."
"You too claim to follow the dragon," scoffed the zealot, "But you speak against his teachings. He would never accept a follower as pitiful as you."
The old man sighed, some of his vitality seeming to drain from him, "If this is the course you wish to walk then that is your choice. I can no more stop you than could these men."
The zealot showed his teeth in a rough grin, "No one can stop me so long as I am guided by my faith and my god is at my side."
The zealot bowed mockingly and turned away; he would waste no more time here. He had received his guidance and had to be heading east.
The old man sadly watched the zealot vanish into the mist. This was never what he wanted from his followers, this particular man was the worst of this particular sect; he was insufferable and unstoppable. He took coincidence as signs of divine favour and used that to validate his actions.
Thunder cracked nearby and the old man closed his eyes in resignation, he had feared this day would come.
"He has become a problem and he is out of control. When he began to walk this path you guaranteed that you could keep him under control."
"He wasn't always like this," the old man regretfully stated as turned to face a cloaked young woman who had appeared at his side. "There was a time when I saw him as the greatest of my disciples."
"You spoiled him Galantris, you gave him too much leeway; too much slack," She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "He is your responsibility father; it is up to you to stop him."
"And so I shall," he said calmly, "Even if it seems a waste… but if there is a way to bring him back to the path… I no longer see it. Let the others know it will be dealt with. The dragon will act."
The young woman nodded and vanished with a flash of light and crack of lightning.
Galantris stared off in the direction the man had gone; he knew what to do but he was reluctant to proceed. After a moment he steeled himself to do what he must. This man was one of his own so it fell upon Galantris to ensure that he was stopped.
"Come," he commanded, "You are needed."
Before him the ghost of a massive mechanical creature appeared and then proceeded to materialize as it switched realms. It was easily twice the size of any man, and covered with heavy steel plates; its four arms ended in long blades. Within seconds the avenger was fully within this realm and ready to do his bidding.
"Find him, and kill him," Galantris told the machine, "Bring him down."
The creature bowed to him and stalked off into the fog. Galantris hated to do this, but at this point he had no choice. He had to stop that man from causing any more harm in his name.
If he did nothing the other gods would do it for him, and that could lead to war among them. No, this was something he had to see done.