EA Chapter 7 - Old Scratch

Helsen's home was as humble as the man himself, a bungalow that sat squat on the outer edge of the village. The building looked out over the sea. And, on a clear day, his home gave him a good enough view to make out the distant highlands to the north. The interior was sparsely decorated: just a bed, some cabinets, several wicker chairs, and a single table. A clay fireplace burned in the rear of the house, casting a flickering light into the main room.

After everything that had happened, narrowly repelling an invasion of the undead, it would have been nice to simply collapse into bed. But Helsen was not being given such an opportunity. Not when one of his old mentors wanted a report about the incident, and he wasn't a man to be left waiting.

Ordean Kask, better known to his students and subordinates as 'Old Scratch', leaned against the wall beside the crackling hearth, his arms folded across his broad chest. He was dressed in the standard white and red surcoat of Elthreme, the metal beneath the fabric glittering in the firelight. A carved bar of ruby sat embedded on the breast of his coat. His age was writ large by the wrinkles on his face, his grey hair oiled back. His namesake was a jagged line that ran from the outside of his right eyebrow toward his jawline.

His eyes were narrow, like a predatory jungle cat, and regarded Helsen with a keen interest. "And this child killed a dire crayfish in a single strike?"

"As I've already told you, yes," Helsen replied with a sigh. "Not that I can blame you for being so incredulous. I still can't believe it either."

The paladin grunted, thinking back on the thin slip of a thing his men had seen in Helsen's arms. A teenager who put seasoned arcanists to shame, living out in the sticks. "So, is she the one? From a few years back, when all you arcanists flipped your lids?" he asked.

"Her age matches up. As does her power and raw natural potential." Helsen turned away from the fire, walking slowly around the room. "I just... have no idea how. Even prodigies from the larger cities, kids born from legendary arcanist families, couldn't do what she just did. Handling the Way of the Cosmos of all powers... I’d think it a farce, if I hadn’t seen it first hand."

Old Scratch nodded, regarding the ceiling while deep in thought. After the long years they'd spent serving together, Helsen could practically read his thoughts as easily as he could tell the time. All the value she could give to the army. "Kid that age fighting drowned men, without even flinching? That's pretty shocking too."

"She wasn't scared at all." He recalled his own first fight against the undead from the Mire, the terror and dread it had inspired in his heart. He was deep in his adult years by the time he could face them without fear. Luna had faced them head on, seemingly uncaring that she might die in the process. She hadn't just been fearless. At times, she'd even been smiling! As if the whole thing was nothing special to her.

"Interesting girl," Old Scratch noted. A mocking grin formed on his face. "Any reason you never said a word about her to High Command before now?"

"I-" Helsen broke off, shaking his head and trying to suppress the annoyance surging in his mind. The old bastard was still good at getting under his skin, even years down the line. "I had no idea how capable she actually was. I did some training and meditation with Luna in the past, but never anything that pushed her to show off like that."

"Well, you're lucky it's me you're dealing with. Others in my position wouldn't be so understanding," the old man replied. A hint of a laugh escaped him. As strange as the situation was, he was enjoying it more and more as he thought about it. "So, you thinking what I'm thinking? It's entirely possible this kid's a Reborn One."

Helsen sighed. He hadn't wanted to consider the possibility, he didn't put much stock in fairy tales, but there wasn't much else to explain her strange abilities, her unnatural intelligence. "Never took you for a man to believe in such fables."

Old Scratch advanced to the table in the heart of the room, unlacing a flask from his belt. Helsen moved as quickly as he could, between his injuries and exhaustion, and set two cups on the table. "I may not talk about such things out loud, but that doesn't mean I live without hope. The heroes of the Sacred Era being reborn in the modern age? It may have been some farfetched tale woven to give people hope, but if there's even a chance of it being true... Might be just what we need to stem the tide of the ashborn, and see the world beyond the Ashlands." He poured a jet black liquid into both offered cups. "Worth a shot, eh?"

Helsen frowned, accepting one of the cups. It smelt like a mixture of burnt incense and pungent alcohol. Seemed Old Scratch had never lost his passion for home brewing. Helsen could only hope he'd gotten better at it in the years since his last drink with the man. He sniffed experimentally at the drink and decided that perhaps there wasn't any harm trying it. This one wasn't scorching the hairs in his nostrils, at least.

Both men drank in silence for a few moments. Helsen winced at the bitter burn, while Old Scratch gulped his as if it were plain water. When he lowered his cup, he looked at Helsen, his expression unreadable. "What do you think of her, then? Aside from her power and talent."

Helsen frowned, contemplating his words carefully. "She's... abnormal, for a girl her age. Unsettlingly so," he replied.

"In what way?" Old Scratch asked. His tone was casual, but his gaze held an intensity that made Helsen's soul squirm.

"How do I say this?" Helsen rubbed at his brow, feeling an ache forming in his head. It had been a damn long night, and the brew wasn’t helping. "Luna has a vicious streak to her. A cruel one. More than once I've seen her threatening violence to her peers."

Old Scratch scoffed as he poured himself another drink. "Near as I can tell, youngsters are always threatening violence to each other."

Helsen sighed and closed his eyes. "Not in the way Luna does. There's a viciousness to her words, a deliberate and casual cruelty, emphasizing her physical violence with precise mental violence. And when she says she'll kill someone, I believe her," he explained.

"Well. It might make her a good soldier, if we can drill some discipline in that head of hers," the older man replied.

"You remember Lasket, from my training days? He had a lot of talent as an arcanist too, and had no qualms with killing. But that same drive ended up making him a liability, and a danger to his cohorts." Fortunately, the ashborn had killed Lasket before he could pose too much of a threat to his allies. "I've done what I can to try and hem the darkness in Luna's heart. To little avail, I must admit."

Old Scratch raised an eyebrow at Helsen's admission, but made no remark about it. "We're bringing her up to the capital with us. Citadel's going to want to study her, and see her potential with their own eyes. Way of the Cosmos is such a rarity, of course they’ll want to capitalize."

Helsen nodded slowly. He had expected as much. They'd take her all the way up to Vyrham, and from there the instructors of the Citadel would make a living weapon of her. He knew it was going to happen eventually. After all, Luna had made no secret of her intention to follow her older brother's footsteps. He just wished he'd had more time to try and put her on a kinder path.

"How are things on the front these days?" the arcanist eventually asked.

"Same old. The walls of the Bulwark are holding firm, even if the ashborn make regular attacks on them. We've sent fewer and fewer scouting parties into the Ashlands these days. Trying to find anything useful out that way is an exercise in futility. The beasts roam freelyout there, hunting whatever prey they can catch, and killing those they don't eat. Well, there is one noteworthy difference: Some of the ashborn have been abnormally strong of late."

"Oh. Wonderful," Helsen sarcastically replied. He certainly didn't regret leaving that life behind. It was better, he thought, to serve isolated people like the villagers of Strafford's Harbour, than to live atop that damn wall and slowly watch his friends and allies being ground away by the passage of time. Fighting in a war that had no end.

Old Scratch chuckled and hitched his flask to his belt. "Well, I still have hope. We'll turn the tide on the bastards some day. Until then, we just need to keep training up new generations of warriors." He made for the door and pushed it open, inviting in some of the chilling mist from outside. A pair of guards stood outside, each clutching a halberd rifle that emitted a faint ruby glow from the quartz chambers. Given Ordean's power, their presence was more of a formality than a necessity.

"You're fortunate you got to leave when you did. Some of us are in this for life," the old man said.

Helsen gave him a flat look, drumming his fingers on the table. "Or until death."