Chronicles of a Pagan

Chapter One (Official)
-The Traitor’s Road-

Her bare feet were cut and blistering from stumbling down the dusty, overgrown and ancient road. It was dark and she couldn’t see anything in the moonless night, but she could sense it. The dirt was different here. It didn’t feel like home. It was stony, rough, and hateful; there were rocks in the middle of the path and great drops into steep and impassable valleys from which she could feel no escape. If she fell down into the gullies, there would be no crawling out and her magic didn’t work here.

She could call herself home, but it wasn’t her home anymore. They would kill her now if she went back. After what she had done, she would be lucky if they weren’t riding out after her. But they didn’t know this road. This road was lost; no one knew this road anymore, except her. She knew this road; it had called out to her.

Her hand reached up and she wiped the blood from her lip. Not her blood. His blood. She still had it splattered on her face and hair. She had stripped her armor and left it behind. She had left everything behind. Even Calamus. Calamus. A smile played on her lips.

“You’ll be fine.” She whispered into the wind again. “Go be feral. Go back to your sisters.”

It was the seventh time she had uttered that into the wind. She was sure Calamus had gone back. The great leopard had come to her out of the wild, she would surely return to it willingly. She was sure of it.

She stumbled on the dark strange earth. Her palms scraped the jagged rocks of the path. Her arms shook a little and a strand of blonde hair fell out of her neatly tucked bun. She couldn’t wander into their land like this. They’d know as soon as they looked at her. She was unwanted by them; they would kill her. She was a traitor if she went back; they would kill her too. There was no country for someone like her.

She stared into the blackness as she knelt there on her hands and knees. She could go on, past the borderlands into their land, but what was there for her there? She couldn’t go back, she knew that. Not after what she did.

His steel-toe boots stepped up to her. It was the first thing she saw of him, the glint of the starlight against the silver of his steel walkers. Slowly her eyes looked up. He was probably jeering down at her. She was going to be an easy kill, just another notch on his ax-handle.

He wasn’t jeering. She could barely see his face but his brow was furrowed slightly in confusion and his lips were drawn tight.

“Get up.” He growled at her roughly. She didn’t answer at first. He poked her with tip of his club. “I said get up!” His voice rose a little. She lowered her eyes again and dropped her head between her arms.

She heard the air hiss as his angry heavy weapon swung up through it. Here it was. Her ending happened here. At least, she could say, it happened in the borderlands. She heard steal clink and suddenly there was a hard and heavy metal grip on her arm. She was being jerked up to her feet and shaken.

“What’s wrong with you mage!” He growled at her. “Are you broken?”

“Just kill me already.” She whispered softly. He tossed her back and she stumbled, crumpling and falling onto her hip.

“There’s no point in killing something that’s already dead.” He growled softly and she looked up quickly in surprise. She saw his silhouette against the stars as he reached back up and took the club from his back. He was turning away. He was going to leave her there, let her live.

She shook her head slowly and collapsed to the ground. He was right. She was dead already. She was dead inside.

“Mastidon!” A young Vail’s voice cried out and she felt the oracle’s feet pat through the dirt. This dirt felt so different then home. “Mastidon, where did you… Oh! Oh! You got another one! Try sneaking into our town, you little…” Her feet were running towards her, but they were stopped suddenly. “Ow! Mastidon?”

“Let the dead thing alone.” He growled softly. She was being dragged, her heels scraping the dusty path.

“Ow! Hey! Let me go you half-breed Ogre!” She was crying out. She struggled loose of his grip and her feet were running back towards her.

“Scryren! I said leave it!” Mastidon shouted angrily.

“But it’s still alive.” Scryren’s voice pouted as she bent over her. Mastidon scoffed loudly.

“There are different levels of dead, baby girl.” He grumbled under his breath. His heavy steps came back towards her. She saw Scryren’s soft boots step up by her face. Then her strange dark eyes, lit by the glimmer of starlight were visible to her.

“Are you dead? Like he says?” She asked her softly. Her breath caught up in her throat. She was so much like Okasa. Oh goddess, she even waited to see, just like that stupid little girl would. Mastidon came up behind her quickly and their silhouettes blurred together. He was grabbing her by the arm and dragging her off again.

The very tip of the crescent waxing moon was just barely cresting the mountain ridge. Life was pouring into her. She felt so weird. The moon never felt like this back home. It was the sun that gave her strength back home, but here, here moon gave her power.

Scryren broke loose of Mastidon’s grip again and came running back to her. She knelt down by her face again and looked down at her.

“Do you have a name?” She asked.

“Do not make friends with it!” Mastidon shouted angrily.

“Well you’re the one letting it live!” Scryren screamed back at him. She wasn’t listening to their argument, though it continued. Her name. What was her name? She had forgotten. Her name had been stolen from her lips by the trees. The trees that saw what she had done. What name would she give them?

They were all dead. She had driven the dagger into his throat and pulled it out again. They were all dead. There was only one of them who had known what she was doing and who had given her permission. She had understood. Oh goddess bless, she had known and she had let her do it. She had known. She wouldn’t be angry with her, she knew that, she was sure of it. She was never angry with her; ever, even when she had failed.

“Come on, stop you’re crying. Everyone’s alright, that’s all that matters. You’ll do better next time.” The memory of her crooked smile and rusted, misfit armor flooded in uninvited. She had been the best friend a mage could have ever had.

“Well, let’s give it a shot!” She was saying, tightening her gauntlets. “What’re you afraid of? I’ll be right here in case it goes south, okay?” She was drawing her heavy two-handed blade. “Believe in me. I believe in you.”

No, no she wouldn’t mind if she used her name. In fact, it might make her a little proud. It seemed like the sort of backward, underdog thing she always loved. She was her hero... in a strange way. Her poor, broke down, rusted, hero.

“Ontibile.” She managed softly. “My name… is Ontibile.” Their arguing stopped immediately. Mastidon leaned over her, towering like a wall.

“Ontibile is a fighter and a human.” He said quietly. “I knew this name on the
battle field.”

The battlefield? Ontibile had never mentioned being in battle. What other secrets had that old girl kept?

“I am… using that name.” She said slowly. Mastidon knelt down slowly and grabbed her by the arms again, picking her up to hold her face close to his. This close, she could see the outline of a horrible scar running through his left eye. He stood up with her like that and set her on her feet.

“If you’re going to use that name, you better live up to it.” He growled as he released her. Scryren put out her hand to steady her and frowned up at Mastidon.

“Who is Ontibile? You never mentioned her.” She pestered softly. Mastidon didn’t answer. He reached out a hand and roughly patted her shoulder hard enough to hurt then grabbed a fistful of her plain tunic and turned to walk up the steep mountain road. She was dragged along and Scryren followed them curiously.

“Come on,” He growled as he dragged her after him. “You stay out here and you’ll die by the spiders alone.”

“Wait!” Scryren cried in the background. “Who is Ontibile?”

“I am.” She said softly, her bare feet stumbling on the rocky, overgrown and ancient path.

Aww *feels warm inside*
I loved this story!
Can you write more please?

While reading it, i suddenly want to faction change and be one of the Furies too.
The way how you describe Ontibile watching the big hulk, Mastidon, was so touching!

*wipes a tear away*
♥

Thank you very much.

More is coming now that I know someone wants it.

Love it =) I cant wait to read the next bit... thats if there is a next bit.

Awh <3 I really like it too. Simply the plot itself made me love the story. Looking forward to reading more of it ^^
Make sure you finish it fast though, some people aren't that patient and will be mad if you don't want to finish it And you won't like them when they're mad >:O
Jokes aside, I'm honestly waiting for more parts of it


-AceLynn-

Chronicles of a Pagan

Chapter Two
-Just Once More-

“Hey wait!” She growled in frustration as the defender ran off without so much as a word to her.

It was a hot summer day in the forest by the hunter’s camp. She hadn’t been training for very long but it was already proving near impossible. She wasn’t very good, in fact, she was down right terrible.

“I can’t do this!” She cried out in frustration and threw her staff down to the ground and kicked it. It flew up off her toe and was caught by a passing fighter who was stopped as the staff threatened her.

She wasn’t much to look at; she was barely the same height as the mage. Her armor was old and rusted and broken in places. It was mismatched and her clothes and face were dirty. Her sword was twice her size, hanging from a tattered leather scabbard on her back. She smelled like smoke and alcohol.

“Easy!” She said as she caught the flying staff. “You could hurt someone, you know.”

“Yeah… well… it would be the first time!” She had snapped back, still angry. “I can’t do anything else with it apparently.”

“Oh?” The fighter turned the staff over and handed it slowly back to her. “You want some help?”

“You’re not a defender.” She muttered as she snatched her staff back.

“No, I’m not. And I’m really terrible at defending… or whatever it is that they do.”

“Well I’m a terrible mage so we’ll make a fine pair.” She huffed softly. “No, I give up. I’m not cut out for this. It’s too hard.”

“Wow. I wish I could say that.” The fighter mumbled softly. There was something in the fighter’s voice that made her stop. “Why don’t you give it one more shot? Maybe we can sort out what’s wrong, then.”

“What’s wrong?” She turned back. “What’s wrong is that I can’t do this.”

“Can’t never could and never will.” The fighter said then she nodded and half-smiled. “If you change your mind, my name is Ontibile. You’ll find me at the inn in Ael for a while… I’ve got something I need to deliver to a friend.”

She watched Ontibile walk away too down the shady lanes through the forest.

“Hey wait!” She shouted suddenly and trotted to catch up with her. “I guess… I guess it wouldn’t be a huge waste of my time to try again… just once more.” Ontibile turned to look at her and smiled, her dark eyes glittering under her black bangs.

“Just once more.” She said back and patted her shoulder roughly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her feet stumbled as Mastidon dragged her into the tiny, half-assembled camp. The firelight lit the horrific scar on his face. The fighter was dead. She had stolen her name. She crumpled to her knees before the small camp fire when Mastidon let go of her.

“Why are you letting me live?” She managed to ask softly.

“Why are you wandering through these mountains like a lost cougar cub?” Mastidon growled back.

“I’m a traitor. I killed them. I killed her, Ontibile.” She whispered.

“So did I.” He humphed. “It wasn’t really that hard. She kinda put herself out there… a lot.”

“She’s not coming back this time. None of them are.” She explained softly. Scryren sat down next to her. “Just kill me.” She begged.

“Now you sound like Ontibile.” Mastidon muttered. He was rummaging through a pack for something.

“So you can’t go home?” Scryren asked her softly. Ontibile didn’t answer at first. She gave Scryren a flat look then shook her head mutely.

“Here, drink this.” Mastidon held out a glass vial to her.

“What is it?” She asked as she took it from him.

“It will either turn you into a Vail or kill you. You can’t go roaming around Union territory like that and if it kills you… you get you’re wish.” He lifted one shoulder lightly and turned to walk back into the shadows.

“Why would help me?” She asked quickly. Mastidon paused but didn’t turn around.

“Because I can.” He said after a long pause. Scryren made a soft sound.

“That’s all you ever say, you know that?” She complained loudly. He disappeared and she realized he was going to leave her behind. The earth scuffled as she got quickly back up to her feet to chase after him. “Hey, wait!”

She looked down at the vial in her hand and the clear liquid inside. It looked like water.

She didn’t want to go on, knowing everything that she knew. She had been secretly hoping to meet the edge of someone’s ax. Who knew why she had even bothered to run? Perhaps she didn’t want to waist time on a lengthy trial, the kind they usually gave traitors. She had been hoping to just be another dead body in the borderlands.

Her namesake would have never stood for that. Her namesake would have said something kind but just sharp enough to make her feel like a coward for wanting that. Unfortunately, her namesake was still the voice in her head.

Suddenly she jerked the cork out of the vial and knocked back the fluid inside as quickly as she could. It didn’t taste like water that was for sure. She coughing as the strong acid like stuff clawed her throat on its way down.

“Just once more.” She coughed softly into her arm. “Just like old times.” Her vision suddenly blurred and she felt strangely lightheaded. Then, quite suddenly, everything went conveniently black.

The next thing she remembered was the smell of the earth under her head. The sun wasn’t warm here. It wasn’t bright either. She couldn’t feel it on her skin. She could hear the fire was still crackling and at first she thought, maybe it wasn’t morning yet. But as she slowly blinked awake she saw it was rather late in the day.

Frowning as a dull ache came into her head she slowly sat up and reached up one hand to rub her head. Her hand never made it all the way to her head. She sat there, staring at it, the back of her hand, something she should have recognized.

She felt footsteps in the dirt and looked up to see Scryren run to her and slide to a seat next to her.

“It worked! Wow! It really worked!” She picked up one of her hands and turned it over in her own. “So what are you going to do now?” She asked as she held her hand.

“Start over I guess.” Ontibile sighed. “As a pagan.” The last bit was muttered with a touch of spite.

“You could always try being an oracle.” Scryren offered. Ontibile scoffed.

“Please. I’ve never healed anything in my whole life. And I’m not about to start now.”

“What about a sin?” She tried again. Ontibile gave her a flat look.

“Could you see me with a set of knuckles? I’d kill myself before I did any good damage.” She shook her head. “No. I am what I am. And this time I won’t make the same mistakes I made before.” Mastidon made a soft sound as he came up over the rise and set his shield and club down.

“You’ll just make whole set of new ones.” He muttered under his breath as he started to kick out the fire. “Scry; can she borrow some of your old stuff? Clothes, shoes, that stuff?” Scryren nodded and quickly opened her pack.

“I haven’t used this stuff in ages. Doubt I ever will again so you can keep it.” She said as she handed her tattered, folded up, used clothes and walkers. Ontibile smiled a little thinking of that rusted, old, dirty armor and took it from her.

“Thank you.” She mumbled as she got up and put on the old, worn walkers.

“Here, take this too.” Scryren said when she was finished. Ontibile looked up at the staff she offered. “Every pagan needs one.” She smiled a little as she took it from Scryren. Its weight felt strange in her hand, new, like the handshake of an old friend you haven’t seen in decades.

“Aridon is that way.” Mastidon shouldered his shield again, having put out their small fire and demolished any sign of their camp. “It’s a small country town, a place to hide out for a while and figure out what you’re doing here.”

“We’re not taking her with us?” Scryren asked in surprise.

“I don’t think it’s wise for someone so new to the Union to be wandering around Starfumos, Scry. She needs to lay low for a while. Come up with a back story other than… yes, I’m a mage who wandered across the mountains.” He looked at her pointedly as he spoke, and then he put up his club and held out his hand to her. Ontibile put her hand into his and he jerked her forward a step. “I’m giving you the chance she never got. Don’t waste it.” He whispered to her and turned away quickly.

“But…” Scryren looked at Mastidon’s back and pouted overdramatically. Then gave Ontibile a look. “I… I have to go with him. It was nice to meet you… I hope we meet again.” She held out her hand quickly. Ontibile shook her hand.

“Thank you for helping me.” She said and Scryren suddenly dug back into her pack to pull out a sack of something.

“Take these too! For good luck!” She turned and ran after Mastidon. Frowning Ontibile opened the sack. She smiled wide when she saw the green apples. She drew the string on the sack tight and opened the flap of the old pack Scryren had given her. Putting away the green apples she looked around at a different world.

“Just once more.” She whispered again. “I must be insane.” She groaned as she looked at the narrow winding path to Aridon. “But then, so often, you seemed crazy too.”

She took a deep breath in and one step forward. One step at a time. Then another. Then just one more. And just one more. And just one more.

Chronicles of a Pagan

Chapter Three
-Braving Aridon-

The fighter’s boots were dusty and dirty. She watched them as she followed her back to Aelbeageu.

“You know you don’t have to follow me.” Ontibile told her quietly.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She replied. “And after all you really helped. You helped a lot.” She smiled but Ontibile didn’t turn back. She waited a few steps before talking again. “So who are you going to meet there?”

“An old friend.” Ontibile replied quietly.

“Who?” She pestered. “I grew up in Ael, I might know him.”

“I doubt it.” Ontibile’s boots scuffed the soft earth a little as she walked, like she was dragging her steps, taking her time. She didn’t ask why the fighter did just use magic to get back to the elfin city. She assumed the fighter didn’t know how to use it.

The pair grew quiet as they passed under the first arches of Aelbeageu. The white and green leaf pattern archways were so familiar to her, but Ontibile looked up and watched them with every step she took. Little yellow butterflies fluttered through the pillars and around the yellow flowers. A soft breeze swept across their path, carrying the voices of the bustling town ahead.

There were the warm smells of home to her, fruit from the vendors, the smoky smell from the blacksmith and the heavy scent of leather from the armor shops. There was the chatter on the busy double white stair way curving up around the holy tree. Under the portico where the portal gate was there was some clamor going on about news from Keolloseu.

Ontibile passed up the stairs and the tree and the waterfall. The famous sites of Ael and shouldered her way through the crowd by the blacksmith. She wondered where the fighter was going. The fighter moved around the crowd by the tavern ducked under the portico. She passed by several of the small doorways back in the shadows and walked back to an empty, abandoned and dusty corner by the wall.

She stood on tiptoe as the fighter knelt down in the corner and laid something on the stone ground. Ontibile knelt there for a long time, but no matter how far she leaned she couldn’t see just what it was that she had put there. Slowly Ontibile stood back up and turned to face her.

“Let’s go get something to drink.” She said with a wide grin as she put her arm around her shoulder and led her away from the spot. Twisting as she walked to look back over her shoulder she saw a small gold coin lying on the ground in the corner.

“Why did you do that?” She asked curiously. “I thought you were going to see a friend?”
“I was and I did.” Ontibile replied quietly. “I lost a bet and owed him some money too.” She grinned but her voice was stricken. “Come on, ale sounds good right about now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had always wondered what the Union looked like. It had always been just a gray line of distant mountains to her. Now as she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the dim sun to look up at the black spires of Aridon, she wasn’t marveling at it. The only thing she could think about was what she had been pondering for hours.

Mastidon had said this was the chance her namesake had never gotten and not to waste it. How did he know Ontibile? How well did he know her? What did he know about the fighter who used to stand for hours just staring at the sun, as if she was hoping to go blind? What did he know about the human woman who would watch the borderland horizon as if expecting to see Nordiens at any moment? What exactly did his words mean? She had always known that there was more to the crazy fighter who wandered in and out of her life. There was plenty her namesake never told her. Now she wanted to know it, more than ever.

Magic was back in her, but was strange magic. Ontibile hadn’t felt this magic before, it was dark and it flowed deep and powerful through her. The dirt here was harder and harsher voiced than that of Erina. The red flowers didn’t nod at her gracefully, they stared in suspicion… as if they knew.

Sighing softly she ran her strange hand through her short black hair and frowned. However was she going to do this? Who would believe she was a born and raised Vail? Even the flowers didn’t believe it.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whispered softly as she walked past a patch towards the banners of Aridon. “I’m doing the best I can.”

The best she could. A small black butterfly fluttered across her path and Ontibile frowned a little. This strange alien world was supposed to be her home. She was supposed to be used to the things that lived here, she couldn’t be watching them like they might jump up and bite her at any moment. But for all she knew… they just might.

Sighing she stepped out onto the bridge across the deep ravine around the black city and under the red and blue banners. Vail banners. The only banners Nordiens used were skulls and dead bodies. She took another slow breath.

She knew the great secret know, she knew the lie. This needed to be her home now. The crescent moon against a black star needed to look like safety to her. Her eyes looked up as she passed under the banners. She remembered how her namesake had walked into Ael. She suddenly understood the fighter’s expression. The old rusty fighter had been nervous. Now that Ontibile thought about it, her namesake had walked into to towns a lot with that nervous expression or grimacing, cringing with something on her mind.

The banners seemed to glare back down on her like they knew too. She was an imposter, a ruse, a walking façade.

Aridon was a lot quieter than Aelbeageu. The dusty city streets weren’t filled with merchants and visitors. She could smell a little whiff of the familiar smoke from the blacksmith, but the food all smelled different. The dry breeze drifted through the town and she could hear low voices on it, whispered conversations in shady corners by unseen vendors making questionable transactions.

Ontibile slowed to stop just beyond the gates. A guard looked her up and down with a grin and she rolled her eyes a little. She looked around the calm and quiet streets.

“Where would you go first?” She asked under her breath. Then she nodded quietly and stepped towards the guard slowly. “Excuse me. Um… I was wondering if you could tell me… where I could find a tavern?”

“A tavern?” He arched an eyebrow at her and looked her up and down again. “Are you sure you want a tavern? By yourself?” Ontibile scoffed a little.

“Yeah,” She nodded. He gave her an uncertain look then shrugged.

“There’s a nice little place tucked in over by the blacksmith.” He mumbled.

“Thank you.” She nodded politely, probably too politely. He gave her another strange look, like she was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. “Ale sounds good right about now.” She sighed under her breath and turned to find the blacksmith.

Oh my god<3

ontiiii I <3 your story.

MORE XD !!