Kalzara
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MoftheH Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2024-03-17 13:54:51 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note
DSE chapter will be released later tonight!
Incoming vent at the end of the chapter warning
Darian ran through the bustling streets of Arbrook, scanning the crowds for an official-looking robe or badge. The exam proctors inside were out of the question – they would never give him the time of day, and might even disqualify him for disrupting the test.
Finally, he spotted a man in the green and gold of the examiners' guild, standing at the corner of the square. Darian sprinted over, skidding to a stop and gasping for breath.
"Please, sir, you have to help!" he cried. "There are bandits on the roads, they're going to attack the students as we leave the city! People will die!"
The man looked down at him, startled. "Slow down, lad. Catch your breath." He placed a hand on Darian's shoulder. "Now, start from the beginning. What's all this about bandits?"
Darian gulped air, trying to calm his racing thoughts enough to speak clearly. "I overheard them, in the forest near my village. They're planning to ambush us, to rob and kill anyone heading back from the exams.” The lies tasted bitter on his tongue, but what choice did he have? The truth was too wild, too unbelievable. “You have to send guards, soldiers, anyone! We'll be slaughtered otherwise!"
The official's brow furrowed. "That's quite an accusation. How do you know this? Did anyone else see these bandits as well?"
"No…it was just me,” he stammered. "But I swear to you, it's the truth! Why would I lie about something like this?"
The man sighed, his expression shifting from concern to something like pity. "I think I understand what's happening here. You didn't do well on the exam, did you lad?"
Darian gaped at him. "What? No, that's not-"
"You're looking for an excuse, a reason to have the test invalidated so you can sit it again this year. I've seen it before, the desperation, the wild tales. But I'm afraid it won't work, son. The results stand, fair and square. Just try again next year.”
Hot tears pricked at Darian's eyes. "That's not it at all! I'm trying to save lives, can't you see that? Why won't you listen?"
He reached out to grab the official's arm, but the man stepped back. "That's enough, lad. I won't hear any more of this nonsense. The exams are stressful, I know, but this sort of behaviour is unacceptable. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The official nodded to a pair of guards standing nearby. They strode over, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"Come along, boy," one said gruffly. "Let's not make a scene, now."
Darian wanted to scream, to shout that they were making a terrible mistake. But the guards' cold gazes brooked no argument. Defeated, he let them lead him away from the square, the official already turning his back and moving on.
As they walked, Darian could not stop the hot, angry tears from spilling down his cheeks. The guards pretended not to notice, their faces impassive.
"You've got to believe me," he tried one last time, his voice choked. "Why would I make something like this up?"
One of the guards glanced at him, and for a moment, Darian thought he saw a flicker of sympathy in the man's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a weary sigh.
"Listen, lad...Darian, was it? I know you village boys have active imaginations, and I can't blame you for that. Life's hard out there. But you can't go around spouting tales of bandits and ambushes. It causes panic, see?"
"But it's not just a story!” Darian shook his head stubbornly. “It's really going to happen!"
The guard just chuckled and shook his head. "If bandits were foolish enough to coordinate a mass attack on academy students, they'd be signing their own death warrants. The King's army would hunt them to the ends of the kingdom for such an insult.”
Darian opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again. What was the use? They had already made up their minds. They thought him just a foolish, desperate village boy, spinning tales to get out of a failure.
The guards stopped at the edge of the square, a few streets away from the inn. "Head on home, lad," one said, not unkindly. "And don't go spreading those bandit stories around no more, hear? Arbrook has enough troubles without that kind of talk."
Darian watched them walk away, anger and humiliation burning in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. How could they dismiss him so easily? Didn't they realize what was at stake?
For a long moment, he just stood there, helpless rage and despair warring within him. Then, slowly, an idea began to take shape. A desperate idea, but the only one he had left.
If the authorities wouldn't listen, then he'd have to take matters into his own hands. He'd go to the one place where strength and courage mattered most. The one place that might just believe him.
The Adventurers' Guild.
Darian had always had mixed feelings about the Guild. As a child, he had been enchanted by his father's stories of daring quests and heroic deeds. He'd dreamed of one day joining their ranks, of seeing the world beyond his tiny village and making a name for himself.
But then his father had left them, abandoning his family to chase those very same dreams. And Darian's admiration had turned to resentment, his love to something uncomfortably close to hate.
How could his father choose a life of adventure over his own flesh and blood? How could he leave his wife and children to struggle and starve, all for the sake of some misguided notion of glory?
Darian had sworn then that he would never be like him, never put his own selfish desires above his duty to his family. He would stay in Brookhaven, no matter how much his heart yearned for something more. He would be the man his father had failed to be.
But now, with lives on the line and no one else to turn to, he found himself drawn towards the very thing he had once resented. The Guild was his only hope, as he hated to admit it. They were the only ones who might have the strength and the skill to stop the bandits before it was too late.
Mind made up, Darian set off at a run, his feet carrying him through the winding streets of Arbrook towards the towering stone edifice of the Adventurers' Guild Hall. He had passed it many times in the days leading up to the exam, marvelling at its grandeur even as a part of him seethed with resentment.
Now, he barely spared a glance for the intricately carved arch or the gleaming stained-glass windows. He burst through the doors, stumbling to a stop in the entryway.
Inside, it was loud and colourful. Dozens of adventurers sat at tables or stood around looking at job posters. There were all kinds of fighters there - old soldiers wearing banged-up armour and fancy swordsmen with shiny sword handles.
For a moment, Darian felt impossibly small and insignificant, a scrawny village boy in a sea of legends. He didn't belong here, among these larger-than-life heroes. What had he been thinking, coming to this place? They'd no more believe him than the guards had.
But then he thought of Breck, of kind, fierce Breck who had been more of a father to him than his own had ever been. Breck, whose blood had stained the dusty road as he gasped out his last breaths in Darian's arms.
He thought of Lila and Kara, of all the other students who would be riding to their deaths.
No. He couldn't let that happen. Not again. Steeling himself, Darian pushed through the crowd, making his way towards the long wooden counter at the far end of the hall.
A severe-looking woman stood behind it, her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun. She had the look of a seasoned warrior, with a long scar running down one cheek and a hard, appraising glint in her eye as she watched Darian approach.
"I need to report a threat," Darian said, raising his voice to be heard over the clamour. "There's going to be an attack on the exam students, bandits on the road. People are going to die if we don't stop it."
The woman raised an eyebrow, her expression unchanged. "Is that so?" she said slowly, looking him up and down. "And just how do you come by this information, boy? I don't recall seeing any reports of bandit activity in the area."
How could he explain that he had already lived through the attack, had felt the blades bite into his flesh and watched the life drain from Breck's eyes? They'd think him mad. So, he decided to repeat the lie.
"I...I overheard them. In the woods near my village.” Darian swallowed hard. “They were talking about how easy it would be, how the students would be burdened with valuables from the city. Please, you have to send someone. Hire out a band of adventurers to guard the road. Otherwise it will be a massacre."
The woman sighed, leaning forward on the counter. "Look, lad, I understand you're worried. But I can't just send out a team on the word of a boy, with no proof. Adventurers don't work for free, you know. Without concrete evidence of a threat, I'd be wasting valuable time and resources."
"But the students-"
"Will be fine," she cut him off. "The roads are well-patrolled, especially this time of year. And no bandit worth his salt would be foolish enough to attack such a high-profile target.”
Darian shook his head stubbornly. "You're wrong," he said, hating the way his voice shook. "I know what I heard. Please, you have to believe me."
The woman's face softened a fraction, something like pity in her eyes. "I'm sorry, lad. Really I am. But without proof, my hands are tied. Unless..." She eyed him speculatively. "Unless you can afford to hire them yourself. A gold per head, that's the going rate. But I don't reckon you have that kind of coin, do you lad?"
Darian felt his heart plummet. A gold piece. It might as well have been a thousand. He had never even seen that much money in one place, let alone possessed it himself. With trembling hands, he reached into his satchel, pulling out the small leather pouch that held all the coin he had in the world.
A few coppers clinked together as he placed it on the counter. "Please," he whispered, hating the tears that burned in his eyes. "It's all I have."
The woman sighed again, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she said, and she sounded like she almost meant it. "I really am. But I can't help you."
Darian squeezed his eyes shut, fighting desperately against the tightness in his chest. It wasn't fair. He was trying so hard to do the right thing, to save innocent lives. And yet no one believed him.
For a moment, he let the despair wash over him, cold and suffocating. What was the point of even trying, when the world was so set against him? When nothing he did seemed to make a difference?
But then, as it always did, his resolve hardened into something sharp and bitter and unbreakable. No. He would not give up. Not while there was still breath in his body. If the Adventurers' Guild wouldn't help him, he'd find another way. There had to be someone in this city who would listen, who would care enough to act.
Wordlessly, Darian swept the coins back into his pouch and turned away from the counter. He could feel the woman's eyes on him as he pushed his way towards the doors, but he didn't look back. He had nothing left to say to her.
As Darian left, a young man at a nearby table watched him go. The youth, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with a mop of sandy hair and a scar across his brow, drained his tankard in one swift gulp. He slammed the vessel down, tossed a few coins on the table, and walked out after Darian.
Darian barely noticed, too lost in his own bleak thoughts. He wandered the city streets in a daze, aimless and hopeless. He kept seeing flashes of memory - bandit arrows thudding into Kara's father, the cruel laughter of their leader as he cut her down, Breck's blood warm on his hands as he died. He might be able to convince Breck not to go, but no one else would listen to him. They would ride out and die all over agai--
His hands started shaking at the thought. No, he couldn't just stand by, couldn't let it happen! Even if no one believed him, even if he had no coin, he had to keep trying. If he didn't do everything in his power to stop this, then their blood would be on his hands too. He'd be no better than the bandits, a monster who let innocent people die.
Think, think!
There had to be someone in this city who would help, who wouldn't turn him away. Someone the bandits feared, someone who fought for justice rather than profit...
The answer hit him like a thunderbolt. The Church of Light. Their priests were righteous warriors, blessed by the God of Light himself to stand against the dark. A lone priest could defeat a dozen bandits, the stories said. And the Church didn't care about earthly wealth - they fought for souls, not gold.
"Excuse me, sir?" Darian caught the sleeve of a passing adventurer. The man paused, glancing down with a frown. "Could you tell me the way to the nearest temple of Light?"
The adventurer scratched his chin, looking Darian up and down. "The Great Cathedral is about six streets north of here," he said at last, pointing. "Big white building, can't miss it. But what's a boy like you want with those nutters?"
"I have a message for them. A matter of life and death." Darian drew himself up, trying to project confidence he didn't feel. "Thank you for your help."
He took off at a run down the street, not waiting to hear if the man had a reply. The Cathedral spire soon came into view, gleaming like a lance of pure sunlight against the grey city sky.
Darian slowed as he reached the steps, awed despite himself. The massive dome seemed to capture the sun and throw it back twice as bright, making him squint against the glare.
Darian paused at the bottom of the steps, his hands trembling slightly. He wasn't used to praying, not really. The only times he could remember doing it was when Talia got sick, and he'd begged Kreya not to take her. And then once again before the exam, he'd sent a clumsy prayer to the Goddess of Wisdom asking her to help him.
Darian glanced around self-consciously, then clasped his hands together, feeling a bit foolish.
"Um, God of Light? It's me, Darian. From Brookhaven." He cringed at how uncertain he sounded. "I know I'm not great at this whole praying thing. And I'm sorry I haven't done it much before. But I really, really need your help."
He took a shaky breath, trying to organize his thoughts. "There's these bandits, see. They're going to attack innocent students and their family. And no one believes me or wants to do anything. Please make your priests listen. People are going to die if they don't."
Darian's throat felt tight, he blinked rapidly. "That's...that's it, I guess. I don't have anything to offer except myself. But I'll do anything, just...please help me save them. Amen."
The last word came out in a rush and Darian let out a long breath. There. He'd done it. Maybe not the most elegant prayer, but hopefully the God of Light would understand.
Squaring his shoulders, Darian marched up the steps, determined to make the priests hear him out, one way or another. He had to save his friends.
There was no other choice.
Author's Note
Incoming Vent Warning!
Most readers are genuinely nice people, they may not be vocal but their silent support is appreciated by us authors. However, the small vocal minority is what makes writing such a difficult hobby, it is like they enjoy putting us down.
I got a 2.5 star review on Royal Road that doesn't even make sense, it was not the rating that frustrated me (people can rate it whatever they want to) but the content. It stated that Darian had books on time-travel, Idek where they got that from. It then claims because Darian is from a "piss poor family" that he shouldn't have good critical thinking skills. I don't know how that makes sense, it just sounds discriminatory and stereotypical to me, it reminds me of how the city boys look down on Darian for his poor background. Also, my synopsis states that Darian is from a "small village" and to expect a "smart protagonist", why read the story if you believe that a person from a poor background being smart was a contradiction?
I know most of you patrons are silent readers, your financial support has already been a great help to me. I am not sure how many of my patrons are reading MoftheH but if you are and you have enjoyed it, I would greatly appreciate a review on Royal Road. The story is only a few days old and these toxic reviews can push potential readers away and kill the story. I wrote the story as a side project that helps me de-stress from my main series (DSE). I didn't and don't expect it to do as well on RR as DSE considering it isn't Xianxia or LitRPG but I was still hoping those that enjoy The Last Orellen and MoL would enjoy it. It seems most are enjoying as its rating is quite higher than DSE was at 400 ish followers but the toxic negativity is getting to me and making it hard for me to want to write. Don't worry, I plan to soldier through, I just hope you can help me.
Anyways, sorry for the venting, I know you didn't sign up for this. I thought I would be honest on how I am feeling and also tell you readers who actually enjoy MoftheH that its continuation does depend on its performance on RR.
Please let me know you're a patron in the review, it always brings a smile to my face seeing that it's from one of you.
Thanks for hearing me out :)
Comments
Kalzar
Thanks man, yeah I'm going to keep pushing forward and focus more on chapters than those types of readers 🙏
Matthew Bernardin
You know MoftheH heading always confuses me. it wasn't until I was like hmm must have forgotten what this story is about that I reread chappie 1 of DSE and was like OHHH Demonic Sect Elder and was like....confused unga bunga. Hey man, chin up. fuck them guys, remember always before you take anything onboard Gabe Newell's greater internet fuckwad theory. Anonymity + Audience = Fuckwad
