Survival

Deadly Prophecies

Entares’ grip weakened as he lost hold of the door handle and stumbled backwards into the hallway. A sickening feeling bubbled up from inside the mage and threatened to explode forth. Instead Entares managed to compose himself enough to take a knee on the red carpet.

Entares’ mind was reeling with that he was seeing. The world hazed over as only parts of reality seemed to permeate into the moment. Close by stood Fletcher who held a sword he had offered to lend Entares. The fact that it was a gift from Hathroc no longer mattered to Entares.

“S-s-sword!” Entares stammered out. Entares didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he knew he wanted a weapon in hand when it did. Fletcher gave a quick look of concern, passed the sword and drew his bow.

Entares’ hand gripped the black bladed sword and refocused his mind. Slowly reality rejoined Entares’ vision. The room stood still like a painting of some past horror. The dark skinned elf stood standing in the marble hall, holding an ornate sword in his hand. The colour of fate intertwined the scene, as eventualities and possible future permutations weaved themselves in the scene.

Time itself seemed to slow to a stop as past images and other memories ran through Entares’ head.

The first time it happened Entares had been only 5, telling his father to wear a raincoat because it was raining. The Lord of the Manor took the moment to look outside to see a bright sunny day. Dismissing the comment as being a child’s nonsense, the lord left for his council meeting. Of course, while in that meeting the weather had changed drastically, and a three day storm had begun. The occasion was not thought about again by anyone but Entares.

The next time it had happened had been more suspicious. It was the eve of Entares’ 8th name day. Lord Anderson was readying himself to inspect the town guard’s duty switch. Entares always knew how seriously his father took this duty and how stern he was with the men. Entares came to his father in the main entrance’s antechamber. It had been only one sentence, uttered with a casual but concerned tone: “please be kind to Gander father, his wife has just passed”. The comment was odd to Lord Anderson who had not heard of a death in the town. It seemed strange that his would know and he would not. That evening at the changing of the guard, Guard Gander seemed to be in fine spirits, his movements tight and deliberate. Lord Anderson thought perhaps Entares had heard wrong when a young page ran up and delivered a scroll. A quick glance at the words sent a chill up Lord Anderson’s spine as he glossed over reading only the important words. “…a still burning piece of ash… Mason Thompson’s horse… beast kicked… Liana Gander walking by… struck in temple… dead on scene…”.

Lord Anderson now begun to suspect that his son had certain abilities. Entares began talking with the town’s oldest and wisest members. Slowly they concluded that indeed Entares had limited seer abilities but they did not believe that sending him to a city or temple would yield much as the boy had no control over the ability and it seemed to manifest only rarely.

Entares was fourteen the next time he made a major prediction. Late one night Lord Anderson awoke with Entares standing by his bed crying. Bewildered, Lord Anderson inquired of his son what was wrong. Entares had had a bad dream, and talked of seeing Magaurn’s Library in Isis Keep burning. Entares told his father he was afraid that the same creatures which had attacked the Honastican city might also come to Oaken Glenn.

It was two weeks later that news began pouring in about a war that had started. Cities and towns across the countryside were being attacked. The specifics were few, as Oaken Glenn was barely big enough to receive regular trade. It took only another two weeks for accurate information to come in, and by then it was too late. Isis Keep was in siege and rumours came in of creatures roaming the country side. Some said it was devils, other demons, others still that Talib himself had returned. From that day on Entares’ visions or dreams were never taken lightly, least of all by Lord Anderson. It was soon after this that Aduin showed himself for the first time.

Entares had seen many things, some he was part of, most of which he wasn’t. Yet, no matter how dire or intense the prediction, nothing had hit him this hard. Over and over, the scene played out in Entares’ head. The marble floors, the ornate black sword, the dark skinned elf. The fear paralyzed Entares, as terror and confusion ran side by side through his veins.

Suddenly it occurred to Entares. The man on the ground was in the exact same position as Entares had been in his vision, looking up towards the oncoming death. Was the man on the ground here dead? Alive? About to die? Was Entares able to see from the eyes of others? Or more likely, was Aduin?

Slowly the fear began to recede within Entares, leaving behind only confusion. Who is this man standing about his foe? Who was the man below him? Is he still alive? Why had Aduin brought him this vision? Were these men of power? Was Entares to kill or befriend the victor?

Time began to catch up with Entares. Although only a few seconds had lapsed, the moment had seemed like a lifetime, and now time was threatening to speed up and carry the group towards calamity. Entares began setting his mind to slowing it all down.

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