Chapter 10 - Saga 3, Anything’s Fate
The Beginning of the End
Several months after the breaking of the Fellowship…
*
Archer slowly continued his way through the dense forest, trees obscuring his view in every direction. He hated working under these conditions. Moderating didn’t used to be so difficult, so utterly relentless. He couldn’t help but notice that every tree had been carved upon, some more than others. Rarely did he pass a tree that was perfectly clean. It saddened him, really, to see all the bark so marred, rendered imperfect, impure.
He gave a heavy sigh at reading a few of the carvings, topics that have been dead for ages, often signed by carvers who haven’t been seen since. Some of the carvings were excellent, the wording eloquent, somehow serving to make the growth more beautiful. This, however, was the exception rather than the rule.
He paused as he stepped over a log into a clearing. The clearing was large, the sun’s rays forming a fantastic view as the light wove and shimmered through the treetops. He found the grassy area made him happy, a space not yet corrupted by the denizens of Anything.
He had thought too soon. A brisk wind blew through, causing Archer to squint. He was afraid of this, a confirmation of suspicions that have been growing in his mind for some time now.
The gusts only grew stronger as soon the grass was being ripped out from the very ground, the mighty Troglodyte driven to his knees, squinting hard to watch what happened next. As if in answer, tendrils began to erupt from the dirt, spiraling through the air, threatening to stab the sky.
The vines intertwined, as other material also began to burst forth from the earth. It was not long before a structure was forming, an ominous shape of arcane reasoning. The King couldn’t help but notice that most of the vines seemed already dead, forced here by an outside force. Even more bizarre were veins within the vines that had an eerie glow, though this glow was never constant, always flickering. It was all very strange, his mind working fervently to decipher the meaning.
That could come later. For now, he drew his massive bow and lit an arrow. He aimed for the heart of the still-growing form and fired. The explosion was tremendous, its fury and noise only then topped by the rapid destruction of the intrusive darkness, as it burned well indeed, being mostly already dead.
Archer shook his head as the ashes settled, soot piling everywhere. This place of solitude, this solace, had been forever ruined, now only another blackened spot on the face of Anything.
He looked down, noticing a tender flower he had crushed beneath his foot. A few minutes ago, it would’ve meant nothing. Now, he searched his surrounding and found nothing green, nothing living, nothing vibrant.
He grit his teeth in emotion, holding back a tear while also enraged.
He looked toward the sky, as if for an answer.
*
Drexlin breathed a deep sigh as he grabbed a small towel and began wiping the bar down, shaking his head at the filth left by his latest customers. He was slowly getting used it though, as it seemed that while business was thriving, the drinkers were becoming a new breed, dirty, crude.
He remembered the days when fine folk would come in for a fine drink, when intellectual conversations could even be had amongst the tables, when lighthearted banter was freely exchanged between barkeep and patron. The golden days of a tavern where everybody knows your name.
Now an elf was starting a fight in a corner, something that threatened to turn into a brawl, the last thing Drex needed now. He tried calmly correcting, then lightly shouting, the elf’s eyes now hazy and red, a vision blurred by a drink too hard. By now he’d actually stabbed a dwarf in the shoulder with his bone dagger as he now stood in the corner, waving the blade back and forth, beckoning all to come as if in one last suicidal stand, care thrown to the wind in favor of bloodlust and fury.
Our mixed-race barkeep drew the heavy crossbow from under the counter, a long weapon of intense precision in power. When he purchased it, he purchased it fully aware that he didn’t actually require a weapon of such size. Yet, it seemed, sometimes the psychological edge was a benefit that outweighed the steep cost.
He leveled it as the rabble-rouser. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The reptilian being chuckled. “Afraid, are you? Right you are to be afraid. We’re all going to Hades, real soon.” Drexlin’s focus didn’t waiver at all as he made it a point to slowly **** the huge weapon, by now the din within the establishment died down as mostly everyone obnoxiously grinned at the spectacle, a few taking bets.
Drexlin couldn’t make sense of the matter, it should never come down to this. He remembered a time when he never had to do this. Not once. Now, it seemed thrice a week. Terrible.
The elf spat and hunched forward, drawing a second dagger and squinting, teeth grit.
At this, a NoThRoG frame unfolded from a stool at the end of the bar, cloak drawn back now as his steely-eyed face was made apparent in the dim lighting. The warrior had already drawn two miniature crossbows, each semiautomatic. He spoke with flat grin. “Elf, put the blades away or you’ll receive the same fate as half of Archer’s Army when they encountered me.”
Murmurs rose in the room, rumors whispered between everyone, a debate arising. Is that really Acid_Flux, the sharp-shooting intellectual NoThRoG with a heart of gold? The elf didn’t bother to question his identity, as it seemed the reality and gravity of the situation was finally getting to him. He withdrew the daggers, then collapsing to the floor. At this, some cheered, some laughed, one bothered to drag the body outside at an attempt for revival.
Drex strode over to Acid. “Thanks, I guess.” Even as he said this, he frowned, disappointed, unsure. “You seem to be taking in my ale an awful lot lately. What happened to all the debates and discussions downtown you’re usually participating in?” Flux sighed. “When’s the last time you’ve been to town, old friend?” The barkeep pondered this sincerely, searching his memory. “I don’t know, maybe, six months, something like that.” Acid Flux offered a sharp smile. “Things have changed. While there’s been huge growth, the atmosphere has grown polluted and stagnant. Gone are the days of polite politics, in which the mobs and riots and gang rule. I’ve heard it’s happening all over Anything. Some blame the lack of real government, some insist we need more Mods, I’m… not so sure.”
Drexlin raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, about it all?” The throg’s eyes lowered, smile quickly fading. “As I said, I’m not sure. Only that something is definitely wrong with Anything nowadays.”
*
Kelanor stood in front of the bulletin board where his latest article was posted. While he was interested in some bright Anythingers to actually contribute, it seemed he’d get no such thing, as the long text was being surrounded by a small gang of wretched beings, mostly human.
Kelanor took a deep breath, drawing two of his enchanted Mod blades, both rapiers, weapons of precision and elegance. One troublemaker threw a rotten tomato at the scroll, only for Kel to deftly catch it with the tip of one of his weapons, no small feat. He hit the ground from his acrobatic leap perfectly, a landing that left him only closer to the crowd now forming, all wanting a piece of him.
Insults were shouted, many insolent remarks and crude renderings of speech. A few even attempted to attack Kelanor directly, only to be humiliated as he managed to neatly remove their garments without leaving a single wound. More missiles were tossed at the board, our noble squire working fervently to deflect every projectile.
He remembered a day when none were so bold, or when nobody would’ve even had such crazy, barbaric ideas or behaviors. He remembered a day when it wasn’t so hard to find decent people. That’s all, just decent people.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed another bulletin board unfurling its own thread, one seeming a great many pages long. The oddity was in the fact that though it was only now appearing here, already were the scroll edges frayed and the parchment turning color.
*
Advocate_of_Lycanthrope’s jaw dropped as he gazed upon the newest shipment. He had recently become the postmaster general for Anything, by virtue of his amazing telekinetic penguins. They make handy mail-carriers, you see. Besides, AOL was all too happy to take the much unwanted job, seeing it as finally bringing some kind of meaning to his life.
But this he was not ready for. In front of him were several hundred crates, boxes, and other containers that varied in size and shape from lunchboxes to structural wings. He began to scan their tags, finding that their origins varied as well, from all the realms of Lore. He had his penguins begin to open the containers, only to find utterly useless items within. From dead threads to locked notes and old editing text, it was all junk.
He scratched his head, realizing that this was the biggest shipment yet, though he’s been getting stuff like this every day for a while now. Far too much hassle to send back to their points of origin, the logistical difficulty being enormous, even if he has thousands of penguins at his disposal.
Besides, last time he tried sending something back, the penguin was never seen again. In addition, none of the tags were signed, which only further didn’t make any sense. Surely someone was responsible for this.
He wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He sighed and looked away from the mess, only to notice a deceased thread sprouting from the very ground! Startled, he backed away, only to bump into a gruff-looking character he’d never seen before. He didn’t bother to ask where he came from, probably another one of the countless ‘refugees’ that have been steadily flowing into Anything for a while now. Outcasts, more like, not fit for proper society. Like they were punted into Anything because they were unwanted in their previous realm.
Advocate’s eyes then widened in sudden understanding, or at least the beginning thereof.
*
Kelanor stumbled into a dark alley, exhausted from yet another busy day of Moderating. Very rarely now was there an easy day, a day of calm and serenity. His chest heaved as he took his resting breaths, until a couple of ruffians approached with intent to rob him.
He neatly drew one of his fine Mod swords and, in a blatant display of blade mastery, not only used the weapons to shred their clothing without even harming them but also to tie those shreds together as the couple then became a twisted form of conjoined twins. He then swiftly kicked them into the next block, frustrated with it all.
Only a few minutes later did someone else enter the alley, a familiar Troglodyte. Kelanor rolled his eyes, definitely not in the mood for a Mod-on-Mod confrontation. However, Archer was approaching slowly and with slumped shoulders.
“Kelanor, we need to talk.”
Their eyes met in the light of the torch Archer was holding. In Archer’s gaze noble Kelanor saw no aggression, only concern, no rage, only worry. He rose to his feet, sensing that he knew what this meeting was about, and that a fellow Moderator of the realm of Anything was just the person to discuss current matters with for a start.
© Eric Bailey