God Squire

Ch. 2 Dark and Stormy Knights

Two armies warred in never-ending battle across the crimson plains of Yestermoor. The shadowy crusaders of the Dusk Conclave against the thunderous berserkers of the Squall. Both believed their deities to be the one true god amidst the infinite, neither truly realizing their patrons were but two powerful pieces in their local pantheon. One side used the shadow magic and blades of the Umbral Marquis while the other used the mad lightning and conductor spears of the Mother Storm.

Palidus yawned as he watched the soldiers dance their bloody macabre across the battlefield below. The pale prince was the youngest of his ancient brethren in their pantheon, well, except for Bloum, but his little sister and her flowery dreams were little concern of his. Nevertheless, he enjoyed growth through conflict. Sadly the battle below has been stagnating since three generations before this current batch of battle ready martyrs woke this morning.

In short, the immortal was bored. Yestermoor, like much of Avalik was still a resplendent realm of ancient lore and grand magicks, but a little behind on the times in Palidus's unashamed opinion. He yearned for more than bloody blades and classic spell warfare.

He yearned for...

Thunder roared as a gargantuan bolt of lightning rose next to Palidus. A worn fighter of the Storm Mother's brood appeared kneeling next to him, reassessing the battle, completely missing the deity. The young man had short red hair, slashed clothes, and a tall conductor spear. Tears of rage flowing from his eyes.

"There has to be another way," The berserker said to himself. "There has to be the calm before the storm. Pat can't die for nothing."

Curious and curiouser, Palidus smirked at the mortal. In all his years of roaming the crimson fields and their eternal battlefields, never has he seen a Storm Mother's faithful question or strategize mid-battle.

This one's conflict is in his soul, the pale prince licked his lips. Delicious doubt, exquisite uncertainty, just what the apothecary prescribed.

"Troublesome isn't it?" Palidus said. The Warrior turned on a dime, but stayed his blade.

"Who are you?" He asked, still catching his breath.

"A lone surveyor of the struggles of lesser beings," He said. "Though, I'm certain I have no need to name myself."

The lad looked Palidus up and down, then collapsed onto his back with laughter.

The pale prince frowned. "What's so funny?"

"My apologies, I'd heard stories of the god of jealousy watching the battles of Yestermoor with envy, but to look at you here..." He said between chortles. "I guess even gods have daydreams."

"You mistake me, mortal," Palidus rose to the height of ten men. "I am not the god of jealousy."

The warrior frowned in confusion. "Then what deity would watch our battle?"

"What is your name?" Palidus demanded, ignoring his question.

"I am named for the Storm," He said. "I am Chill."

"Kill?"

The warrior nodded. "Yes, but spelled in the storm's tongue."

"Ah, Odith was always one to frustrating annunciation," The pale prince chided.

Chill's eyes widened. "You've met the living storm?"

"You seek another way, Chill?" Palidus smirked. "Then you shall find your way or fail trying!"

A vortex opened below the warrior, dropping him into the unknown darkness. Palidus laugh roared into the skies above. Then he paused to see two armies starring back at him.

"Don't mind me," Palidus said, returning to his preferred size. "Continue."

Thus the never-ending battle of shadows and storm raged on. The pale prince watched, curious if the fool would do well on his journey.