The Prophesy - 1. The Prophesy

The Master, Spinder, sat holding a well worn copy of the prophecy the Council decided was coming to pass very soon according to the omens. It had been written in a language that hadn't been spoken since before the elf wars though and some words were not translatable, however they were convinced. A note at the beginning stated the original had ragged edges and words were smudged over and run together, but the scribe testified that it was a true and accurate translation as possible with the knowledge available. This copy was beginning to look the same.

Journeyman Raulf had not been allowed to see the prophecy in it's written form, but he had memorized the agreed upon interpretation in his studies. The Adept Kwardon charged Spinder with sending Raulf after the boy the council decided fit the description of the chosen one. These things were right only about half the time, Spinder thought. I wonder which this will be.

"(?) born under the Dragon (?) blessed with the Bane of (?) death to the Dem(?) this warning (?) brought to the Cross of the Waud of Az at the (?) Micah (?) marked by (?) three. (?) blood (?) an innocent will herald in a new era of untold (?) look for this to happen on the feast day of Micah (?) Aziel who surrenders his life in the hopes to save (?)."

"I hope we got the most of it right." Spinder muttered out loud to the rats, the lives of two youngsters and the fate of the world hinged upon it.

"But he's unremarkable." The younger of the two men complained. "He can't be the one."

"Not only can he be, he is." The grizzled old man informed the youngster.

"But Master..."

"No buts, Raulf. He is the one." The Master smiled.

"I don't see it." Raulf stated again. "The prophecy says..."

"It matters not, Raulf," The Master cut him off, he had heard all of Raulf's arguments before and time was running short. "The Adept has determined he is the one. Go to him and lead him to Aswald's Cross."

"What do I tell him?"

"If you were in his place what would you want to know?" The Master did not wait for an answer, but instructed his protégé. "Now go, and take the sword, he's going to need it."

Raulf packed his rucksack and strapped the sword to his back, then took off toward the village and the boy.

Raulf had been into the village many times since he came to study under the Master, but this time it would be different. This time he was on official business as a Cloaked One, and the villagers would not see his face, so they would fear him. Only twice before had Raulf acted in an official capacity both were judgments. Once the offender was found innocent, and once the offender was found guilty. The guilty party welcomed death at Raulf's command. It was not easy being a Cloaked One.

Well before the edge of the settlement came into sight he stopped and donned the black robe. Pulling the cowl over his head, he invoked the cantrip that obscured his face. Then he invoked the second one that would camouflage his passing until he came to the bell in the green. It would only ring for a Cloaked One, and once it rang, the village was bound to do as he bid.

He made his way past the thatched roofs and mud plastered walls to the rough timber structures with pitch roofs then onward to the cut timber and stone buildings with shingled roofs. No one would be able to tell which of the Cloaked Ones had visited today or which direction he came from. To anyone he would look like all the other Cloaked Ones -- ageless, faceless, nameless. Raulf stopped in the village green and with his staff tapped the bell once. The children scattered as he unveiled his presence with the tone of the bell. "The Cloaked One! The Cloaked One comes!" they yelled as mothers gathered little ones to their skirts.

"Ezial, son of Tomlan, come forth." Raulf's voice boomed across the village green. He watched them shuffle so one youngster stood alone. Raulf turned his obscured face toward him. He was in his mid-teens, slight of build, and mousy in coloring. Raulf motioned for him to come forward. The boy stayed rooted to the spot though, until an older version of him stepped up behind him and pushed him forward. One stumbling step followed another until he was trembling a few feet from Raulf. "Ezial, son of Tomlan, you have been chosen to serve. Come." The boy nodded mutely and Raulf invoked the obscuring cantrip again. They stood in the midst of the village, but they were unseen. Raulf turned and walked away. He knew Ezial would follow, he had to he had no place else to go. The villagers would not accept him back for fear of the Cloaked Ones and it was likely the boy hadn't been out of this village his entire life.

A league past the village marker Raulf discontinued the cantrips and pulled off the cowl. Sweat had matted his golden locks to his head. Opening his rucksack he offered Ezial a water skin. "Drink?"

"Raulf?" Ezial looked confused but he took the skin and drank. "What did you do?"

"Duty." Raulf kept walking. "Like you will do on the marrow."

"I don't understand."

"There's not much to understand really. You will stand on the marrow at a dawn at Aswald's Cross and meet your fate. That's all I can tell you."

"And if I don't want to?" Ezial stopped walking.

Raulf turned, "You will willingly or you will be Commanded to do it, which would you prefer?" Raulf watched him, ready to speak the words to command him. Ezial didn't respond verbally, instead he looked back the way they came once, then the way the were headed, and began walking again.

"Will I be a hero?"

"If things go well, your name will be recorded in the Hall of Heroes and bards will sing of your victory to all the people."

"And you?"

"I am but a Cloaked One, Ezial. If I am mentioned at all it will be as thus." They walked along in silence for most of the afternoon. Toward early evening they approached Aswald's Cross. The east-west road led through the southern pass of the Dragon's Teeth. The north-south road led only to farming villages, some even smaller than the one Ezial grew up in. Aswald's Cross was not much more than a water stop for caravans headed from the other side of the mountains to the larger cities further west. Once there, Raulf, once again a Cloaked One, commandeered a room at the inn.

An hour before dawn Raulf woke Ezial, dressed him in the clothes the Master said he should wear and helped him strap on the sword. The prophecy said the threat would come at dawn.

The sun was nearly overhead when Raulf decided the prophecy was wrong, but he and Ezial waited until dusk to be certain. They stayed another night at the inn and the next morning began their trip home.

Meanwhile, 50 leagues to the north and east on the far side of the mountain range known as the Dragon's Teeth on the edge of a forest called Az, on the feast day of the patron saint of the Daughters of Micah, Sister Florian stood in the Abbey's garden wielding a hoe against an attacker out of her nightmares. The lost elfin lad ducked the first blow, but the second caught him upside the head. The iron, more deadly to him than the blow itself, cracked his skull and spilled his blood on the tomatoes. Horrified at her actions Sister Florian ran back into the Abbey to the safety of her sisters.

At dawn the day Raulf and Ezial left Aswald's Cross, the Daughters of Micah Abbey lay a smoldering pile of ashes, the cleansing had began as warned by Aziel after he fled the fey forest of his childhood to the world of the humans, the world of his father. He died clutching the parchment on which he wrote down a warning to be passed on.

To they who are born under the Dragon's Teeth and blessed with the Bane of Iron which brings death to the Demolar. Heed this warning: A plea for help will be brought to the Cross of the Waud of Az at the Most Holy place of Micah which is marked by sides of three. Royal blood accidentally spilled by an innocent will herald in a new era of untold pain and suffering unless stopped. Look for this to happen on the feast day of Micah at dawn. Given by Aziel who surrenders his life in the hopes to save humankind.

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