The Exile

[Paroxysm]

It was with an idle finger that Abel probed the engraved surface of the book he had removed from his well stocked shelf. Although the book was no more interesting than its rival selections, it did, at least, provide an in depth review of Cizok’s Imperial court and the intrigue therein; unfortunately, Abel had gotten only as far as the opening paragraph before immediately dismissing the entire nation as one of madmen and simpering fools.

Sighing, Abel’s eyes glanced over to the fire crackling in the corner of his room and he gave an involuntary little shudder in response.

The young man gritted his teeth and glared hard at the flame licked wood, as though the fire, under the expression’s suffocating weight, would be smothered and allow the dark memories it stirred up to drift back into oblivion.

It was a futile gesture, Abel knew.

Years ago, when he was of House Espoir, he had been an entirely different person, more innocent and full of life, but that was almost a life time ago, it felt; he wished dearly that it was so, but, in truth, he was no more an adult now than he was then, and while the pain had faded into only pangs of guilt and bitter anger, it was an ever present thing, a force with a mind and will of its own.

Diverting his attention from the fire, the boy’s eyes came to rest on his mirror instead and he flinched just slightly. There, sitting at his desk, in his room, was the stranger he had come to hate; he had the same cropped hair, which he knew had to be cut every day and then burned, and he had the same granite eyes, too, but Abel knew: The stranger was as much a monster and coward as he and no amount of alterations to his appearance would ever change that.

Abel took a deep, shaky breath and then brought his hands to either side of his face as he closed his eyes.

Years ago, he thought again . . .

It took an agonizing amount of effort, but he opened his eyes and then tried to get the taste of dirt from his mouth by wiping the back of his arm across his face. Coils of curly blonde hair fell just over his eyes and he quickly ran a hand back through his hair so he could see.

He had been ejected from the carriage immediately after a dueling knife was fastened to his belt; it had a long and slender blade, and its intended use was vicious, but it was an ultimately useless tool in his hands.

“Go on,” a harsh voice growled and his focus quickly swiveled and focused on the speaker with the kind of determination that only a child could muster.

The voice belonged to his father.

The rigid man, balding and red in the face, threw a small sack to the ground, which hit with a pronounced plop and the unmistakable sound of coin on coin.

The man--his father, he reminded himself--said nothing else as he shut the door to the carriage.

The driver snapped the reins and the beasts that drove the cab began to trot off.

Banishment, Abel recalled the word his father had shouted at him a few days prior.

Nausea twisted his stomach.

He was alone.

[Sage]

Abel had been left at the edge of a dark forest, the direction she was meant to go would have been made obvious, with his father's carriage blocking the road back. The horses were spooked, and not without good reason. Children had gone missing in this area before, vanished without a trace, never to be seen again. It was local superstition that there might be spirits inhabiting the woods, or perhaps a monster feeding on their young flesh, devouring even their bones to destroy the evidence.

The truth was much more horrifying.

Not far within the facade made by the first few trees of the path, she would feel a presence stalking her. Mocking her, with it's constant closeness. The sounds of nearby running water were the only noises breaking up the dead quiet and stillness of the night. No animals or insects could be heard for miles as one traveled through the forest at this hour. But something was definitely there, the boy would be able to feel it lurking, just out of his peripheral. But whenever he spun to confront it, there would be nothing but darkness and oak.

The worst part about the haunting presence, was that he would feel like it knew.

All the bad things he had ever done, just on the tip of it's tongue, as though a voice would recount them in his ear at any moment. Every time he had ever stolen, ever lied, and lastly; it knew that he had killed. Was he being punished? Would he be executed for his crime? Could he even die, knowing how the murder had come to pass? The thoughts would all be there, an open book as though the young noble could hear the abomination's thoughts.

Lastly, a thought would form in his mind. He would not be entirely certain if it was his idea, or one placed there by his stalker.

Do you fear me? Are you afraid...to die?

[Paroxysm]

Abel stood at the edge of the forest and hugged himself as a shiver ran its course down the length of his spine. He knew that this was his punishment and that he deserved this, but in his selfishness, he really just wanted to be home and back in his bed.

Nervous with fear, the young boy pulled the knife he had been given from its sheath with the gentle whisper of scraping metal. He stopped and stared down at the knife with wide eyes, and then he realized why he had done it: There was something out here and his instincts were on fire with alarm.

Abel whirled and hugged the knife close to his body, the movement causing leaves to crunch underfoot; he felt his heart quicken and the beat of it thundered in his ears.

“Ppei--” His voice broke in his throat and he swallowed, hard.
“Père?” He finally managed after a couple more attempts and the effort it took was visible from his face to the way his body was tensed, knotted with anxious, flighty instinct.

He wanted to run.

That was when the alien thought slithered its way into his mind and he staggered and nearly fell as he rocked back just a slight bit. At first, he could not differentiate the thought from his own, but as he stopped and considered, he realized that it was just too different, too foreign; and he hadn't thought it in his voice.

"Great merciful Lucien, God of the Sentinel," the boy exclaimed and he felt his stomach lurch again.

Was he afraid? Yes, Gods yes, he was, but somewhere in his mind, he also considered the fact that, barely a month prior, he had been shown the agony of the flame, and here he was, still alive and unmarked. He was not sure he could die, but he did fear it, regardless. He was a child.

The boy forced steel into his veins and with a sudden, authoritative command he shouted: "Show yourself!" and then he gulped, "whoever you are . . ."

[Sage]

A whisper began to wind it's way between the trees, this time it would seem more foreign, more unlike his own thoughts. As his heartbeat slammed in his ears he might even feel as though he could hear the words aloud, though every word formed first in his mind and was only released to the world around him when and if he repeated it.

The words were distorted and nearly inaudible, spoken in an ancient language that he could not explain why he understood.

" Father....calls to it. God...gods, alone. Fear, screams, flames...does it fear, death, gods, no gods...suffering. Take them...surrender. No gods here. "

It would sound as if multiple voices were speaking over each other, but the tone would be unmistakable, his pursuer was putting these thoughts into his head. Doubt and grief bled up through the ground, a constant buzzing would blare in Abel's ears as hallucinations began to form. A thick, black ooze seemed to seep up from around his feet and grasp at him, the trees all around him in every direction began to wither and die.

The apparition closed in on him once more. Even with assault on his senses, he would feel the overbearing black presence behind him.



This time, if he turned, he would see his aggressor. A tall, withered man, dressed formally. His skin was pale and stretched, his face completely devoid of features or hair. It stood it's ground, in an unnaturally casual stance, as spindly black tendrils began to emerge from it's back. Six in all, they bore down upon the boy as if he was meant to be skewered upon them.

The voice in his head stopped it's mutterings, and the hissing and hallucinations stopped briefly as torchlight appeared in the distance.

Intrude, intrude, they intrude on it's meal. Intruders.

A volley of arrows interrupted the creature, flying through empty air where he once stood behind the boy. The torches grew brighter as they closed in, voices shouting as they chased after the man in black. A small detachment broke off toward Abel, gesturing for him to move to them, but yelling in a foreign tongue words he would be unable to understand.

[Paroxysm]

Abel took a couple of cautious steps forward and glanced wildly around him and to the forest. He held the hilt of his knife in a strong white knuckled grip and his fingers were starting to ache. This was it, he decided. This was the true form of his punishment.

The boy’s hands shot up to the side of his head and he pressed them hard against his ears, but it did little to stymie the foreign thoughts and voice. Terror flooded his senses and he felt his vision dim until he saw everything as though through one of his father’s brass telescopes.

“Quit it! Stop,” the boy half-shouted, half-pleaded.

A sensation pressed against the nape of his neck and he was suddenly aware of a presence behind him, a nebulous and uncanny feeling that caused him to suddenly whirl around, accidentally hooking one foot behind the other, and sending him falling backwards onto the ground to stare at the creature in front of him.

Revulsion and adrenaline coursed in equal parts through his body and mind, and in sudden detachment, Abel wondered whether or not his best chance of survival lay in flight or fight.

When the tentacles spread out from the abomination, the boy kicked his feet hard against the ground and began scrambling back and away from it until he felt a sudden pinch against his right hand; he reached down, grabbed the knife from underhand and held it in front of him, his body still braced by the support the opposite arm provided him.

The lights were a quick, though fleeting comfort. The recognizable sound of arrows cutting through the air proved to be a more formidable source of relief, however. It didn't take long for Abel to guess what the newcomers--mercenaries or poachers, he guessed--wanted and he quickly stood, re-sheathed his knife, and hurried over to them, sparing only a few glances over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed.

[Sage]

The woman's party formed a circle around the boy as he sprinted to them, defending him from the creature should it attack again. The woman walked around the outside of their defensive formation, shaking liquid from a phial as she muttered. Once she had walked the circle completely, twice, she looked to the boy, hidden behind the bodies of her men. She placed her finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet, and giving a reassuring nod.

" Summon it. "

One of the soldiers turned to the frightened child, being careful not to make any sudden movements and startle him. Noticing blood on his hand, he reached down and wiped it away. With the child's blood fresh on his hand, the soldier ran his hand along the flat of his sword, smearing the blood along the blade. The act seemed to bring a change in the forest. As Helena muttered, and the fresh blood was placed on the sword, the world around them would begin to deteriorate once more into a nightmarish environment signaling the creature's renewed interest.

Trees creaked and moaned and a gust of wind picked up in their clearing, masking the sound any approaching figure might make. Helena gave a nervous glance around, eyes carefully scanning and rescanning the treeline for the man in black when she heard the gasps of her comrades. She turned, senses on high alert as she stared into the face of fear, itself. The screech each of them heard inside their heads were voiced by everyone they had ever wronged in their life, and for some, the staggered cries of their tormentors were almost too much to bear.

The pain was short-lived, however, as the soldier with the bloodied sword plunged it into the ring of liquid that created a barrier between them and the tall creature. The liquid burst into flames as it came into contact with Abel's blood, and the ring ignited briefly before Helena drew it toward her and redirected it at her aggressor. The flames sputtered and expanded, consuming the man in black completely in white fire.

The light cast off by it's banishment was blinding, and the clearing was lit up as though it were daytime until the Abel's own personal demon disappeared. Helena panted, exhausted from her magical exertion coupled with the fear and mental stress of battling this specific foe.

" The Slender Man is banished, for now. We can pick up it's trail when it's recovered. "

The men around Abel nodded, each releasing tension on their bows, and sheathing their swords. Those that carried torches cast light over the burnt ring around the ground, as well as the area where the creature disappeared, to ensure that the deed was really done. The Lady Inquisitor, however, was more interested in the child's well-being, who had stumbled across their Hunt. She studied him briefly, and decided that he must be a local. Quickly recalling the language of the region in her mind, she spoke in a language she knew that he would be able to understand,

" Fear not, it's gone. Are you alright, little one? "

[Paroxysm]

Having a wall of experienced warriors, even if they did turn out to be brigands, between he and the creature put Abel at considerable ease, if only temporarily so. He melted down into a boneless heap atop the dead leaves and dirt of the ground and said nothing, complying with the wishes of the veneur that lead these men--a woman, Abel realized, silently impressed.

As one of the woman’s men wiped the blood from Abel’s hand, he took it as a chance to get a better look at his saviors and what they were doing. The first thing he realized was that these were not criminals, at least, they were not like the criminals that Abel had seen his father’s men snatch up from their surrounding lands and imprisoned, and the way they held their formations and moved with purpose showed discipline, professionalism. If they did not know what they were doing, then they were very good at pretending.

The child winced with a sudden phantom pain and shuddered, and as he looked around, wide-eyed, he was just in time to see the man who had cleaned the blood from his hand plunge a sword, smeared now in crimson--his blood, Abel noted--into the ground. Fire blossomed around the group and Abel struggled quickly to his feet. The fire gathered at the lady veneur, apparently by her will, and then she cast it away, directing it at the creature with brilliant, blinding results that overwhelmed Abel’s eyes until he could see no longer.

His vision came back slowly, blurry, and in pieces, but it had, fortunately, returned. When the woman spoke to Abel, he regarded her with weary, though alert eyes, and a moment later, he nodded and his body moved into the practiced motion of curtseying--a gesture he immediately remembered young men did not do and he quickly corrected it after only a half-beat, moving his body into a more natural, if rigid, bow instead.

“Yes, m’am,” he supplied. "T-thank you for your assistance."

The boy was well-spoken, obviously educated; and he wore new, though now dirtied, clothes of good make, a set specifically designed to impress rather than for their practicality. They served well as traveling clothes, though, regardless. He wore shoes, as well, a more telling thing than most would think. Common folk in rural areas rarely had the money to spend on shoes for young boys, let alone expensive leather ones that would be outgrown within a few months time.

[Sage]

A wave of relief seemed to wash through the forest. The nature returned to normal, and slowly, the sounds of insects and birds could be faintly heard again in the distance. The tension seen just seconds previously in the men turned to a calm that came on all too fast. These people were veterans, and the Slender Man was not their first mark. The group became almost a bit too restless and carefree until Helena snapped, bringing them each to attention, facing her in a rigid stance with eyes intensely focused on her.

" Get to the camp, pack it up and ready the horses. We need to head home and pick up it's trail. "

Even the torchlight seemed a little brighter, no longer stifled by the presence of the creature, and Abel would be able to make out more about the soldiers than he had at first sight. Their armor was clearly issued to them, as it was crafted from the same materials and the quality was high, to boot. Their gear was not uniform, however. No two men had the same lines in his armor, or carried quite the same assortment of gear and weapons.

This was an elite unit, there were several specialties needed to keep it functioning properly, and each of the warriors comprising this small group of eight was a master of the art he represented in the group. Helena was clearly in charge, this was represented in their following of her commands unquestioningly, as well as her unique armor which was made to be much more aesthetically pleasing than the others'.

Helena leaned down to the child as her men gathered and marched to the south, out of sight. She tilted a skein at her side over a small piece of cloth she withdrew from a pouch slung at her side and wiped it over the boy's obviously injured hand. She wiped the remainder of the blood away that her subordinate had failed to remove, and noticed the distinct lack of a fresh injury, healing or otherwise. It was as if the blood was not even Abel's, but she knew this was not true, as she had seen the accident.

Ignoring the lack of a wound, for the time, the Lady Inquisitor spoke in a calm, even tone, almost sounding as native to the language Abel spoke as he, himself.

" You are very welcome, little one. We need to leave, but we can take you somewhere safe before we do. Where is your home, child? Do you have family nearby? "

Helena was no babysitter. She was not above leaving the boy with the first relatives she could find, as there was important work to be done, and they had a long way to go before they were home again to even begin. But she was no monster, either. If he could not remember how to get home, or had nowhere to go...which, she found hard to believe, if his fine clothing were any indication; she would take him with her, and make arrangements for him in Algeroth.

[Paroxysm]

Abel's breathing steadied and he grew visibly more relaxed as the calm returned to the forest. When the lady veneur set about the task of cleaning his hand, Abel winced out of expectation for a sting that never came, and, curiously, he looked down at the unwounded hand, puzzled.

So there it was, he realized: This wasn't all just some bad dream. His body rejected injury as surely as light rejected darkness.

On the subject of the boy’s home and family, Abel’s chest swelled with pride and he composed himself until he stood straight, then he said: “The good House de Espoir rule these lands, m’am, but our manor is far from here, and . . . “

His voice died in his throat with a soft, barely audible squeak.

“I was cast out,” Abel said with notable effort to strengthen his voice.

After a small moment of thought, he began to fish around his person until he found the heavy sack his father had tossed him before departing. It was, of course, full of money, and for most of his short life, Abel could remember his father hiring men for the local garrison, soldiers and guards to patrol the roads and keep the riffraff at bay.

“I have money,” he announced. “Can I travel to wherever you’re going, or however far you’re willing to take me?"

He wanted to buy their services, badly. In fact, he wanted to order them to escort him to safety, but after what he had just seen, it didn’t seem especially smart to push his luck with these people. Plus, the lady veneur was being quite nice.

[Sage]

These were strange lands, indeed. Helena couldn't imagine what a child must have done to be banished from their home and left to fend for themselves' in the forest, much less with a Class 2 like a Gheist wreaking havoc. Few things were worse, as classified by the supernatural Inquisition. It was a directive of the High Inquisitor not to interfere with the locals, as they had not received permission to send armed soldiers into Vontier, and she would surely be reprimanded for removing the child from his homeland. But he had seen them, now. He had seen a sacred rite, kept secret for generations, and more importantly, he had direct contact with Mourn.

If for no other reason, he would have to come back with them, in order to be debriefed regarding the 'Slender Man.'

" Keep your money, and secure that weapon. If you're coming with us, you will carry your own weight. Go see Lieutenant Cross, and have him give you a pack. Our ship is not far from here, and we will be safe once we're aboard. "

Helena's eyes narrowed, revealing flaws in her face that would not have been easily seen otherwise. She was beginning to show the slight signs of aging, dark lines and creases criss-crossing patterns around her eyes. She appeared to be in her mid-40s at least, and any weakness or kindness she might have held for Abel's fresh face had been bled out of her, after years of distinguished service obliterating only the most foul creatures in existence for the crown.

Helena turned on her heels, and set to cleaning up the mess they had made. She poured an impossibly clear, shining liquid over the scorch marks in the earth...sending up a sheet of wispy smoke and hissing steam. She paused momentarily after leaning down to do so, turning her head slightly to cast her voice over her shoulder.

" The Lieutenant is the blonde fellow, with the rather large crossbow on his back. Tell them I'll be along shortly. "

[Paroxysm]

Abel had expected a number of different responses ranging from rejection to caution, and, yes, acceptance, but he hadn't quite expected ... kindness, not after the last few months, at least. Sure, the woman didn’t exactly look ecstatic or anything, and she looked nothing like the generous merchants he had seen in town. Still, he couldn’t help but get a warm feeling in his stomach that was slowly spreading to the rest of his body.

With relief now flooding his senses, Abel fixed his dueling knife proper, double checked the knot that kept it fastened at his side, and then stopped and stared in silent fascination as the woman began to purify the area. This was all new to him, but he recognized sorcery--or what would be called sorcery by Vontier’s standards. Abel didn’t recoil, but he felt a fair bit of distrust mingle with his relief.

“Y-yes,” he stammered as he remembered himself,

Abel dipped his head into a small nod, just enough to show deference, but not so far as to acknowledge superiority. Although he had been banished, he was still technically nobility, and there were some habits that were hard to break.

The young boy slinked away and looked around the group of people, inspecting each one carefully until he found the man that the lady veneur had described.

“Excusez-moi,” he said as he approached the man. “Lieutenant?”

[Sage]

Cross was a large man, and the 'large crossbow' on his back was more akin to a portable ballista; one could only imagine the manner and size of beasts it was used to take down. His hair was meticulously braided and tied into a neat tail to keep it out of his face, and his vocalizations were reminiscent to that of an angry bear. He turned from the task of gathering up their supplies and securing temporary living quarters and dividing the load up into individual parts. His face elongated into a comical smirk, and he glanced over at his comrades before spewing a gruff laugh followed by a few sarcastic grunts spoken in his own native tongue.

" Dunna tell me we'll be takin' thy li'l spit of a thing with us. We've got no time teh be lookin' af'er no li'l ones where we're goin'. "

A shorter man who was helping pack up the foodstuffs and douse their fireplace looked up at Cross, and momentarily toward the boy, to whom he displayed little sympathy. He adjusted a pair of clunky glasses on his face and stood up straight, stretching his back as he kicked the bag at his feet to test the knot.

" I'm sure Lady Warheight knows what she's doing. We can drop him off on the way back, besides, judging from his things he might be nobility. There could be a backlash if he tells what he saw and their government believes him. "

Cross grumbled, and gathered up a pack with a bedroll attached to it and shoved it into the tiny boy's arms. It was a tad oversized, though he would be able to manage transporting it the short distance they had to go, even if he had to rag it.

The dark-haired intellectual spoke up once again, adjusting the hilts of three thin swords at his side as he pulled two large sacks up over his shoulder. He cleared his throat and attempted his best to speak Abel's language.

" My name is Veras, Anthony Veras. We've got to go about about a thousand yards or so, uphill. If you get tired, just hand me the pack, and don't let the Lady Inquisitor see. " As the rest of the group gathered their things, Veras nodded to the boy and he began trudging up he shallow slope which lead up to a point obscured completely by the trees.

[Paroxysm]

Abel furrowed his brow as he tried to decipher the strange, barbaric language Helena’s men spoke. There were a few familiar words, words that probably shared origins with some of Vontier’s, but, for the most part, there was very little he could grasp of what they were saying, though by their tone and inflection, Abel figured that was maybe a good thing.

He was about to continue relaying his message, in his own language, of course, when Cross forced the pack into his arms (almost at the cost of his balance). Regaining himself, Abel looked up at the man with a very faint line of irritation already appearing on his face, but the boy refused to allow the expression to become anything more than that and smoothed it over so quickly that it could only have been a practiced skill.

"I will manage," he replied somewhat more sharply than was necessary. He shuffled the pack in his arms, and held it up from the ground to the best of his ability. Anthony Veras' consideration had been surprising, and Abel felt himself regretting the tone he had responded to the man with.

"Thank you, monsieur," he said, softly. He paused, smiled, and introduced himself: "My name is Abel de Espoir."

Abel looked at the pack he was to carry with dark, intelligent eyes and then cursed it. He looked around, sighed and gritted his teeth, and then started to follow after the band of men. Surprisingly, while the bag was just barely within Abel's limits, he never had to stop and catch his breath, or to rest his limbs. It was as though he could go on and on and never get tired, but, all the same, throughout the whole ordeal, Cross was the recipient of countless murderous thoughts and fantasies.

[Sage]

" Good man, " spouted a sarcastic voice. A third of the soldiers slapped the boy on the back, hard. He was a bit more clean-cut and well-spoken than Cross, but he was equally large, and carried an equally intimidating and oversized weapon. The dual-headed axe on his back looked as though it was made from ebon wood and black glass, with curved spikes covering it's surfaces.

The group surrounded Abel in a loosely defensive formation as they made their way through the dense foliage, but they regarded him harshly, for the most part. It was Helena and Veras that generally dealt with people, the rest of the group were strictly there for their ability to capture and kill the supernatural.

As the top of the hill came into view, Abel would see the base of a large aircraft. It was powered by magitech, and was designed to be more sleek and small than the commercial airships employed by Algeroth, or the rest of the military. As they paused at it's base to load their equipment, Helena would catch up to the group, a scowl on her face, as usual.

" Please remain below deck until we are in Algerothian territory, I don't want a political incident on my hand. I'll come and find you when we've arrived. "

[Paroxysm]

Abel nearly fell over from the impact, but he caught himself after only a couple stumbling steps. He was starting to think he had made a bad decision to follow these people, but what other alternative had there been? Starving after his money ran out, or picked up off the street by people intent on using him? No, that was unacceptable. He was better educated than men and women twice his age, and he would be damned if he would be some rival lord's servant or be found dead in the streets, or eaten by . . .

Abel shivered recalling the image of the too-tall, too-slender man.

“P-par bleu!” He gasped.

An airship, really? Really? Abel had never seen one, but he had heard of them. Their existence would not have been so shocking a few years ago, but many countries had simply lost their ability to manufacture such wondrous marvels of engineering after the cataclysm. Either the lady huntress’ country had managed to save a few of their old world relics or they had been very, very fortunate in retaining access to the knowledge and the parts necessary to create them. Those were things worth guarding, and they were most definitely worth stealing. Either possibility meant that Helena’s country would have no end of enemies trying to get their hands on these treasures.

Algeroth, he repeated silently whilst running through what he knew of world history--that whole area had been a hotbed of trouble recently, hand’t it? The Darokin-Cizok war, The Covenant of Tribes, the Yuurei incursion, the coup of a Xexorian city-state, the Cizokian revolution, and ... Well, suffice it to say, Lord Battle must’ve really liked the place.

“Yes, m’am,” Abel answered, removing himself from his thoughts to board the ship. If he was required to stay below deck, so be it, but he hoped Helena would at least allow him to look out over the world from a window or something. She may take such things for granted, but this was a whole new experience for Abel.