The Tarant Daily

Arcanum: of Love and Hate Obscura.

Prologue

was a crisp, early morning with the sun hanging low in the sky. Crimson rays of magnificent beauty radiated outward, reaching across the gently rolling hills. The clouds were a multitude of colors, fitting in well with the mid-summer warmth and the lush, due touched grass. It was merely a façade of beauty.

Lakros stood tall, his voluminous azure robes making him hard to distinguish from the like colored sky. He shook his head, sending his long, finely cut gray hair in disarray once more. He sighed softly as he smoothed it out, never breaking a stride. A flock of geese flew overhead, their squawking disturbing the otherwise silent hour. Lakros watched them through eyes as blue as his robes.

He stepped over the last hill onto a road, tugging the rope that he held. His mule, Buber, snorted pawing the earth. Lakros again tugged at the rope, pulling the stubborn animal on. With a grunt, Buber followed, the sack over his pack jingling slightly. The clip-clop of Buber’s hooves on the cobblestones drew the attention of the few that were out at such an enchanted hour. The people, humans mostly, tried to hide their sneers as he went by. Lakros almost sighed in disgust.

Taking the left fork on the road, houses began to sprout from the earth. Houses with thatched roves had a yard’s worth of distance between each other, and the smell of unwashed men was slightly appalling to Lakros. Elves, his brethren, were much cleaner than this. He did not complain though, nothing was perfect. The village, just two days south of Tarant, was dubbed Iraoh. It seemed a perpetual paradise; the soil was rich, the area was safe, a large, clear lake offered many activities, and the climate was wonderful. The most beautiful of mask often hide the most repulsive features.

He looked fitfully across the area where he heard gunshots. He couldn’t understand how people could ignore the age-old religion of magick, taking up the blasphemy of this wretched steamworks? It was all because of the bastard dwarf Hoaron. His lackeys had been tormenting the magick users into fleeing for the past few months. Now, the only ones left were Shoar and himself. It was disgusting.

He let out a breath of relief as he saw the thatched roof of his house. He slipped in the door. Shoar, his brother, was over one of his tomes of history, studying hard as always.

Lakros moved over to his bed, throwing his things off to the side, tugging at his boots. He fell lazily back onto his bed, pulling the thing sheet over himself. He ignored the sounds of gunfire, letting the exhaustion overtake him. He had traveled hard from Tarant since last night, and had not slept yet. He wanted to get home; he did not like leaving Shoar alone. He was young and innocent, perfect prey for Hoaron. But sleep was coming…

“Did the trip go well, brother?” Lakros could have thumped his head.

“Aye, I got the supplies. The wagon will be coming in three days to take us to Tarant. The deed to the house is hours. Soon we will be gone from here, in a place where your healing powers and my knowledge are welcomed. More importantly, no Hoaron.”

Shoar chuckles, peering over to his brother. They looked so much the same, but Shoar’s eyes showed innocence, Lakros’s showed wisdom. Shoar often wondered why his brother no longer held his innocence. Perhaps it had something to do with the wisdom, he thought mirthlessly.

“Well, that is just as well. I am sure your headaches will leave once we get away from here. You will see.”

His perkiness was almost saddening. “I am sure they will Shoar. Right now, I am also sure sleeping would.”

Shoar chuckled again, lifting himself to his feet. “I get the hint. I was prepared to go get a drink anyhow. Maybe I will go see Tom at the windmill. He promised he’d let me see his journals.”

Lakros grunted, waving him away. “Fine, fine. Just be careful out there. And don’t annoy Tom, he is an old man.”

Shoar smiled as he opened the door. “Don’t worry, he likes having company.” Lakros just grunted as the door closed.

Shoar walked along, whistling cheerfully. He paid no heed to the sound of gunshots. Hoaron’s gang was always firing them off. He also paid no heed when they stopped. He smiled happily as he stopped before The Flaming Inn, the local area’s tavern. He opened the door, greeted by singing and a few of the tavern’s more dedicated patrons. He closed the door, perfectly content with how things were working out. He knew things were going to get better, they always would.

Had he seen Hoaron turning the corner, loading a flintlock as he reached for the door handle, perhaps he would have thought differently.

Part I: The execution

Shoar smiled his thanks to the barmaid who set his drink down. He idly thought that she was very pretty for a human, when he almost blushed at the thought. He raised his mug to his lips, letting the warm mead slip down his throat. It was sweet, but tasted just right. As he lowered it, a dwarf walked in the door. A large half-ogre with an axe over his shoulder and a smaller man with a rifle over his flanked the dwarf. He had a long, grimy black beard, thick with smeared oil and grease. His unruly hair was just as filthy. He war black lather clothes, torn and tattered in several areas, with a dark brown cloak around his shoulders. His eyes squinted passed his dark, pock marked face. His nose had obviously been broken before.

Shoar was a bit shocked to see them, so he took another draw to hide his expression. Perhaps, he thought, they won’t notice me. They walked right over to him. The ogre who, surprisingly, smelled worse than the dwarf, who was none other than Hoaron, and the raggedy, humped man, growled threateningly. Shoar could smell the thick ale on their breaths. He took in each of the unfriendly face, and did the only thing he could do; he held his hand out in greeting.

Tears came to his face shortly after the rancid smell of their laughter. He could barely keep from gagging. Didn’t they ever clean themselves? He supposed not as Hoaron’s soot covered hand grasped his, squeezing almost painfully. The dwarf glared at him. “Ah, pointy ears, an’ jus’ what ‘n th’ world do ye be doing ‘ere?”

“I… ah, I came to have a drink. Will you please join me?”

Hoaron barked another laugh as he tugged a chair out, dropping into it. “’At I am, me frien’!” He took Shoar’s drink without permission, draining it. The healer tried to smile in his warmest, friendliest way. It seemed lost on his burly companion.

“Now, ye be a frien’ly feller, ain’t ye? I’d almost let ye be one ‘o us if’n you weren’t a freak, like ye are!” The dwarf roared at his own jest, pounding his fist against the table. The tavern slowly began to empty out.

Shoar cast a confused glance at Hoaron. “A freak, good sir? I am not sure what you mean. Surely you must be mistaken. Why, I …”

His words were cut short as ringing erupted in his ears. He almost swooned, wondering what hit him, when he realized Hoaron had smacked him. He felt if his head had just exploded, ringing filling his ears. He began to stutter as the half-ogres hand clasped around chest, pressing him against the table. His razor sharp ax was pressed against his throat.

“Don’t ye ‘good sir’ me, ye freak! Ye be know’n what ye are, ye wretch! A curse, a freak! Ye an’ ye vile spells, defiling the world! Don’t ye dare look me in the face!”

Shoar quickly looked away. He was trembling now, terrified to his core. He began to move his lips to speak again, when Hoaron’s fist exploded his lip. Shoar cried out; it felt like his teeth had just been shattered.

“Don’t ye speak, elf! I’m not fer hearing ye excuses! Ye are an abomination, a blight on the earth! Ye be a pest, and I be an exterminator!”

Shoar was crying now, he shook his head, trying to deny what was happening. He tried to speak again when a kick between his legs took his breath away. Hoaron was holding a flintlock against the poor healer’s forehead. His voice filled the whole inn, echoing back. “I told ye not ta’ speak, pest! Now ye pay!”

The enraged dwarf’s voice was soon followed by gunfire.

* *
Lakros groaned, lifting his head from his pillow. His head was killing him; he had to stop sleeping only every few days. As he lifted himself to a sitting position, he began tugging on his boots. He squinted through the light. It was just a few hours after noon and the sun was just parallel with his window. He shook his head to clear his mind, rising to his feet.

Absently moving over to the washstand, he splashed the cold water against his face. He sighed then, as he moved over to his dresser, brushing back his hair. He looked around for Shoar, worried that he was not there. He then remembered he went to the windmill, taking some comfort in that. He really wanted more than anything to sleep, but he needed food. Shoar always ate at the tavern so there was no fresh food in the house. Lakros opened the door, sighing as the fresh, clean air caressed his face.

Heading back up the road, he was at least content he didn’t here the gunfire anymore, improving his mode somewhat. The town was busier now, with its small population moving about. He got fewer stares at this time of the day, but enough to make him uncomfortable. Going back onto the main road, he took the other fork, a small clearing of people around him. That, he didn’t understand. They usually wouldn’t go so far as to avoid him in such a manner. Perhaps it was the scowl on his face. It was rare when he was angry, but last time he was, he left a house in little more than ruins. He was doing a job for the mayor then, but that made him no less frightening.

He licked his dry lips as he entered the market area, seeing merchants and hawkers selling their wares on both sides of the road. Walking along the right side, he smiled somewhat as he saw Oroara’s stand. She sold the best chicken he had ever tasted, and he had tasted quite a bit.

She smiled when she saw him. She was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman. “Good day Lord Lakros, the usual for you?”

Nodding, he took his food, handing her the money, more than was necessary, and murmured his thanks. He walked on without waiting her response. He went along the wine cart, slowly scanning through the different drinks. As he glanced down the row, he saw a woman holding a bottle. He took a sharp intake of breath. She was beautiful. That was not what attracted him to her though, he realized as he moved closer to her. Her eyes held intelligence uncommon in this town. She held herself with a manner of respect and honor. There was also something about her he couldn’t explain, something that made him want to stare at her besides the obviousness of such an action.

She had long, brown hair that hung down below her waist in a braid. He eyes were almond shaped and a soft brown as well. She was slender, moving with a grace to put a few of the fair folk to shame. When she smiled at the merchant, Lakros almost gasped again. She was about his height, well formed into a young woman. She was dressed in plain brown breeches and a tunic of matching color and grandeur. Before he realized it, he was standing by her. He quickly allocated his attention to the bottles, hoping to avoid noticed.

He silently berated himself for being attracted so easily by a pretty face. He had been too long gone from the Glimmering Forest. No matter how much he tried to think that was what it was, his thoughts kept going back to the woman.

A silky smooth voice sounded just besides him. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He could feel her warm breath on his neck.

He almost jumped, but managed to keep his calm composure as he turned to face her, “That it is, my dear lady. Are you new here? I do not recall seeing you before, though I am often considered absentminded at such things.”

She laughed softly, holding a hand over her mouth. “Yes, I am new here. I have just moved up from Tarant. I a Dae’nar Ikan, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir…?” Holding out her hand, she waited for his named. He blinked once before taking her hand in his, bowing slightly. “I am Lakros Nahere, and the pleasure is all mine.” He brushed his lips against her hand softly, almost unfelt. She smiled as she slowly took her hand back. “On behalf of all of all the occupants of Iraoh, I welcome you.” She smiled again as she tilted her head at him. “Everyone has been really nice to me. This is a nice town, it seems. I think I will like it here.”

“It is, for the most part. I think you will grow to like it. It has its flaws as all places, but it is better than some.”

“Well, I just arrived last night. I really don’t have anything with me yet, and I don’t know anyone, but I hope to soon. I should be getting a job here soon. It is already planned out.”

Lakros nodded, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If you ever need anything, you can come to my house. I, or my brother, will always be there if you need something. Do you have a place to stay yet? I can arrange for Gunt at the Flaming Inn to let you use some rooms for free.”

She looked up at him gratefully with a touch of hopefulness to her features. “Could you really? It’s not trouble is it?” “No trouble at all, my dear Dae’nar, it will be my honor.” She hugged him quickly, startling him a bit. At least she accepted he was an elf. “That will be wonderful then! I thank you so much, Lakros, you are a savior.” She grinned as she kissed his nose. “And cute to. Can you show me where to find a messenger first? I should tell my cousin where I am.”

He nodded, a bit stunned. It was nice for someone in this city to treat him on how he acted instead of how he was bred. “Of course, Lady Dae’nar. This way please.” Scrunching up her nose, which surprisingly gave her a mischievous look of a young girl, she wrapped her arm around his. “Just Dae’nar, please. And lead the way, my friend.”

She didn’t know how good those two words coming from someone in this town felt. He wandered what cruel fate waited to make her come when he finally was leaving

Part II: The Revelation

Part III: of Love and Hate Obscura.

It was a black, lifeless void. Nothing stirred; there was no sound, no movement, no air or sky, no ground. Nothing. He was a floating, disembodied soul, left to wander the ethereal oblivion of death for an eternity. There was no beginning nor end, no start nor finish. It was an infinite, hollow void. He tried to think back to what had happened. He remembered glorious fire and damnable heat. Damnable, condemning heat.

He could not remember much before that. Images flickered past his eye, an eye that did not exist. He saw a woman, and she loved him. He was lost to her. He saw another person, much like him. Lost to the flames of anger and the burning rage of prejudice. They slowly blurred into obscurity, fading away. He was sinking now, sinking into an omnipotent sense of misplacement. He was nothing and everything; few and many.

A pinprick of light pierced the darkness, making shadows flee like unwanted children. The light was growing distant though, and he was going to leave it. He stopped, thinking he had heard something familiar. He heard it again. Someone was saying ‘Lakros’. That name caused pain, though he did not know why. It came again. Some rude person was disturbing his rest. How uncaring of them. He moved toward the light, thinking to speak with them.

The pinprick widened, slowly taking place over the residing darkness. It became a tunnel as he pushed on, covering him from all sides. It took him in, a suction sucking him up and into the light. He burned all over, struggling to resist. The burning sensation became sheer torment as it tore him asunder.

He sat up violently, convulsing. The form, back in Lakros’s body, turned over heaving as he gasped for air. His lungs burnt as if they had not been used in a good while. A soft hand gently rubbed his bare back and an old gnarly man sitting across the room stared at him. Lakros, ever so slowly, moved to a sitting position. He put his hands to his temples softly, groaning. It felt like someone had placed his head on a rock, and then proceeded to beat it with a hammer. His head, not the rock.

“Are you going to live, then?” A gruff voice asked him, sending shards of glass into his mind. He winced as he slowly opened his eyes. The world was spinning in such a manner that he immediately closed his eyes, less he sick up again. He gently rested his head back against the wall. “Tom, is that you? What am I doing here? And why does my whole body hurt?”

“You died, my boy, that is what you are doing here. This fine young specimen of a lady, Dae’nar I believe, found you and brought you here. Considering you were dead, you should not over much complain about such slight inconveniences as cramps and the like.”

A soft voice spoke in a sob over his shoulder. He felt warm arms slipping around him as the one voice he thought he would never hear again sounded in his ears. “Oh, Lakros, I am so glad you are alive. I saw you and I thought… I thought… you were dead! Tom has been working on you for weeks! I read your note. How could you go off and do that?” A sob escaped her lips as she rested against him. Despite the pain, he opened his eyes to look at her face. He wiped her tears away with a thumb.

“I was doing what needed to be done, though unfortunately I did not complete my task. I had to do it for my brother. He had nothing against Hoaron and he was murdered for it. His soul cannot rest in peace until justice is had. I will try to come back for you, Dae’nar. I love you.”

She looked at him, pain in her wonderful eyes. She choked out the next words, a touch fearfully. “I am with your child, my love.”

He could not keep his jaw from slacking. She was pregnant with his child. He had never thought of such consequences to their actions. He did not particularly wish to warrant time to anything but their actions that night. He was going to have a child. He was not hesitant in his love for her anymore, and he would have indeed wanted her to bare his child, but he was going to die. He was almost positive. But what was done was done, and could not be undone. He would just have to come back alive for certain. For both Dae’nar and his unborn daughter, he somehow knew it would be a girl, he would have to come back alive.

He kissed her forehead softly, standing on wobbly legs. He ran his fingers through her hair, closing his eyes softly. “I am glad that is so. Perhaps if I fail, there will be a legacy of mine left. But I must do this, it is needed.”

She look frightened, then suddenly smiled, if a bit weakly. “I will go with you then, to make sure you come back alive. We will be careful and safe.” He began to think about abandoning this ordeal. Then it hit him like a stone; Hoaron would not let them leave alive. Either way he went, someone was going to die. He had to make sure it was not Dae’nar.

He quickly ran through all the ways to escape but he new Hoaron was having her watched. If she left with him and Tom, one of them would be dead. He could not allow that. Tom would do as Lakros asked. The old adventurer understood wisdom when he heard it. But Dae’nar was blinded by love and that would force her into a mistake. He would loose her and his unborn child. That could not happen, even if it meant the damnation of his soul. He had to do it quick, to make sure it all worked out. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she met his lips without protest. She dropped down into his arms limply, taken by a magic sleep.

“Tom, do my a favor my friend. Several moments after I leave, revive her and take her away with you. Please do not let her come after me. If all goes well, I will meet you in Tarant, at the place where we met. Do you remember that?” Tom’s old, winkled head bobbed that he did. “I will do as you ask, old friend. I do not believe she will be pleased with be, but on my honor as a necromancer of both schools, I promise to do as you ask. Take care and bag me a few of those techies while you’re at it?”

The elf grinned morbidly. “Aye, Tomas. I will.”

The old man spoke no further words as Lakros strode out, at a jog. Lakros did not bother to search down the assassin he knew to be in the hills. Soon, the assassin would be following him, he was sure. His confidence would have waned if he saw the group of men, carrying nets and the like, enter the windmill.

It was just before dusk as he reached Iraoh, slowing to a walk. He ignored the fatigue touching at the insides of his mouth, creeping down to the gray building with a bad shingle job. He crouched, focusing all the power he retained. He closed his eyes as his headache returned in earnest. Heat began to come from where his hands were cusped, facing the home. A small ball of fire, no larger than a marble, began to burn his flesh, though it was a good foot away. The marble of fire fell forward, landing on the building. It ignited in an explosion unsurpassed by magick users of even diving origin.

He finally let a true, happy smile onto his face as the burning ruins fell from the sky. It was done, and he had not even faced any danger. Hoaron could now rot in his own little hell, and Shoar had his justice. He could return to Dae’nar and help her raise his child. He truly felt bliss as he rose to his feet. It bubbled up into him, causing a joyous lightness in his chest.

A club caused burning agony to the back of his head. He fell limply, without a sound. A certain greasy dwarf standing overhead laughed oily.

* * Tomas Parma touched both forefingers to both of Dae’nar’s delicate temples. She was extremely beautiful, and perhaps just the thing that Lakros needed. If he returned alive. Oh, gods, how could he let Lakros go off alone, when he soon had a child coming? Not that he could stop Lakros, of course.
He heard a knock on his door, and looked up startled. The knock was too heavy to be the elf’s. It was the knock of a man. He quickly moved away as Dae’nar groggily awoke. The door was slammed open just as Tomas hid, preparing a spell. A lanky man followed by two half-orcs and two dwarves walked in. He looked down at Dae’nar, sneering. “Well, we found you, wrench. Hoaron was right, the elf and the old man took you. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, dazed. She was obviously (at least it was obvious to Tomas) going to protest when she thought better of it. “Yes… yes, they kidnapped me. And beat me. I am so glad you have come! We must go back to Hoaron immediately, I need to talk with him.”

Tomas grinned silently as he better hid himself. Of course Lakros wouldn’t just pick a girl because she was pretty. He could never live with one of those light-headed fools that were so popular with younger men. Lakros needed intelligence and cleverness in a woman. He just hoped she lived enough to continue to be that way in the future. Oh, nothing was ever easy.

Lakros growled as he was jabbed by the sharp sticks by people he had lived with for over half a decade. He idly wandered where Buber was. The explosion was large and deadly. He felt a pang of momentary grief that yet someone else had died. Many would not take such affection to a mule, but the elf had grown fond of him. His train of thought spun off course as a stone hit his head.
He was suspended in the air, his arms and legs tied off so tight that it held him above the ground. They were nailed into sides of houses, giving everyone a chance to torment the nude elf. Hoaron was across the road, telling a boastful lie of how he had, single-handedly of course, killed Lakros’s demon allies and valiantly beat the elf down bare handedly.

Oroara walked by, her rosy cheeks now red with indignation that she had been selling to an evil entity for the past six years. After she spit in his face, his jaw slacked. Humans would believe anything, given the ample opportunity. And he had thought better of her. His jaw could have touched the ground when he saw Dae’nar’s graceful form in the crowd.

He would have wet his pants had he any.

Dae’nar paled as she saw him, gasping. Hoaron walked over to her, patting her leg. Lakros struggled to make out the words.

“Ah, Danar!” he slurred with his usual unformed words. “It be good dat ye returned. We got ye elf that was buggin’ and takin’ ye without permishkin! Ye will have th’ ‘onors ‘o‘night lass!”

She stared at him blankly a moment before the hoarse words came from her lips. “What do you wish me to do?”

The dwarf roared with laughter, beating his mug against his chest. Ale sloshed over unto his hands and his stained clothes. “Why, kill ‘im o’ course!”

She took a sharp intake of breath, terror widening her eyes. She looked over at Lakros, her mouth agape. He looked at her warmly, nodding to her.

“Get ye a’goin’ then! ‘Urry it up, will ye? I wan’ this done ‘fore ‘nights celerberation!”

He shoved a small, odd gun into her hands, pushing her toward Lakros. With a sob so pain filled that it wrenched his heart, she stumbled up to him. She was several feet away. She dragged her feet as she went, approaching. She stared up at Lakros with tear filled eyes. “I… I will turn around and shoot Hoaron first. Then you can use your magick and ---“

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “You will shoot me, and make sure that I die. Otherwise, they will kill you, and that cannot happen.”

“Lakros, no!” She cried out, a touch to loudly for his sensitive caution. “I cannot… will not do such an atrocity! I will gladly die so you can go free. But this way we have a fighting chance. Don’t you understand? I love you! You are all I have. I don’t need or want anything when I am in your arms! Please, all I want is you. I have lost everything, but I would gladly give it away again if I could have you!”

Those words hurt him more than anything Hoaron could ever do to him. Even if he died, he would cause her great anguish. It was destroying her heart now. He closed his eyes, forcing his own tears back. He looked at her calmly. It took everything he had to keep from breaking down. “Do not be stupid, Dae’nar, it does not suite you. No matter what we do, I will be dead. The other way, you will also be dead. You have our child in you, born of a love I thought I never would hold. I would give anything if it could let us be together. But everything and more will not keep us together. I gladly give my life so that you may continue yours, and in that give birth to our child. Guard her well. She is the product of something more valuable than life itself. And you cannot let her die with you today.”

“But I thought I lost you when your house exploded…”

“This needs to be done, my love. Do it for me. Do it for our child.”

Her eyes were red now. She wiped away several tears as she slowly nodded. She kept blinking and licking her lips. Finally she looked over her shoulder, and barked out a command in a rugged and hurt tone. “Cut him down! I want to be face to face when I do this!”

A half-orc came over to do as she asked. Lakros stood before her, chin lifted proudly as she raised the gun. He whispered so that only she could here. “My life and love for you and our child. I will love you forever and always, Dae’nar.”

She cried out, tears running down her cheeks as she fire, straight into his heart. “I will always love you. Please wait for me in the afterlife!”

Lakros stumbled forward, slumping against her. Their limps met in a brief moment as his arms hugged her to him. Slowly, surely, he fell to the ground. She let herself collapse to her knees, laying by him. The half-orc dumbly said, “It hard kill the first time.”

She only cried, the pain in her soul tearing her breath away. She laid over him, holding his head to her breast as she heaved in uncontrollable sobs. She felt as if her life had ended.

Hoaron stood his distance, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He had known all along, and this pleased him greatly. The light and life in his eyes winked out as the hand of the necromancer previously having inhabited the windmill touched his shoulder, draining his life.

The greatest of justices and injustices, done in one night.