Path to Arcadia

Ash fell from the sky, falling to form drifts on the rock and withered tree limbs across the craggy landscape. It wasn't just ash, though it was hard to tell there were piles of white snow underneath. As if to remind them of that fact, a bitter wind gusted through the small camp, making their thick cloaks do very little to protect them from the cold. 

Thick tent fabric flapped in the wind, the small huddle of tents arrayed around them creating a small windbreak. The soft crackle of a fire filled the night air, doing very little to push back the chill. Four men sat on logs around the small fire, trying to stay warm in the bitter chill.

"Nether blasted ash. How is it raining volcanic ash in the middle of winter?" a barrel chested mercenary with a thick beard and ugly mug asked. 

Another of the four, a tall, thin, wiry man, flicked the ash off his cigar, inhaling deeply. A bright red ember lit up his face revealing cruel brown eyes. The grizzled man let out the breath, grey smoke blowing away on the bitter wind. 

"That's simple Parcival, the rift we entered must be volcanic," 

Parcival perked up, glancing around at the desolate landscape, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"You think so? This rift seems like another dud. We are bound to get frostbite, or black lung in here before we can find and destroy the nexus," Parcival said.

A large, heavyset man, flicked the haft of his morning star and grunted. 

"As long as this rift isn't connected to the Nether, we will be fine. We paid good silver for intel on this rift. If the intel is wrong, I know whose legs I need to break when we return," Tanur said. 

Parcival laughed mirthlessly. 

"If that happens, you only get to break one knee, I get the other. We can skin him alive while we are at it," Parcival said. The Two laughed darkly, clearly not joking about their idle threats. 

Swiveling, Parcival turned to their third member. "Hey, Arch, what are you going to spend your spoils on when we return? Carven has some of the best brothels, and gambling housed on the outer ring," Parcival said. 

 Archivauld gave Parcival a sidelong glance, humming as he took a sip of his piping hot tee, letting out a sigh of contentment.

"I have no interest in whore houses or wasting all my earnings in drug dens. We are all hunting rifts for essence and the chance to acquire an awakening stone," Archivauld replied. 

Taking a long drag on his cigar, Tanur pulled his thick cloak tighter around himself, shivering as a gust of wind blew through their campsite. 

"You are all crazy, blinded by greed. It's been two weeks of searching this damned place and nothing. Not even a single essence, much less an awakening stone. This must be a barren rift. At this rate, we are going to freeze to death," Tanur said. 

Parcival gave the man a decidedly rude gesture.

"If you want to back out, then do so now. Most of our combined wealth went into paying for information on this rift before those masks, or the guilds, could get it. If we just give up and head back, most of us will be broke," Parcival said.

"Being broke is better than freezing to death in this shit hole. Maybe I should just go back and be a carpenter like my father was," Tanur said. 

"Carpenter?" Parcival scoffed. "Like that will happen. The masks won't stop hunting us after all the caravans we have robbed. The adventurers' guilds aren't our friends either. Even the Cultists won't take us in with all those people we robbed and murdered," Parcival said with a dark grin. 

Their fourth member tapped the blade of a beautiful bearded axe giving the two a glare that could kill.

"How about you keep your mouth shut Parcival. Do you know how hard it is to find someone with a healing power? You might scare Archivauld away," the grizzled man said sternly. 

"Don't get so riled up Yurlan. We found him in the gutter, drinking his life away. Remember that guy he stabbed in that alley? A man of the cloth just doesn't do that. He is just as big of a criminal as we are," Parcival said dismissively.

Yurlan snorted.

"I know, I was there.. I know he isn't a saint, but people have limits. Ease off," Yurlan said warned.

Parcival leaned back on his log, hanging one hairy foot in front of the flickering fire, his boots steaming on a nearby rock.

Despite Yurlan's words, Parcival was clearly not deterred. He glanced back at Archivauld, who had been watching them bicker curiously. 

Parcival gave him head to toe, from his plain brown cloak, to his two handed battle axe at his side. It was an odd choice of weapon for someone with such a thin wiry body. 

"Archivauld, how did you get a healing power anyways? Given the gutter we found you in, I doubt you could afford to buy an awakening stone on the black market. Those things are incredibly scarce since the masks have a monopoly on them?" Parcival said. 

Archivauld's tea suddenly tasted bitter. He grimaced.

"Like I have told you the last five times you have asked, that is none of your business. But if it will get you to shut up, let's just say I fell out of favor with the clergy, and was kicked out," Archivauld said vaguely. As if to emphasize his dark mood, the biting wind bit at his skin as if his cloak wasn't even there. He shivered, clasping his mug tightly, as he took a long sip on his piping hot tea.

The tea was bland, a root tea not even worth being called leaf water, but it was better than nothing.

Parcival perked up at his words, his breath misting in the cold air. 

"I knew it! You really must be a scumbag to get thrown out of the clergy at such a young age. What are you, twenty, twenty one?" Parcival asked.

"Twenty two actually," Archivauld muttered. Annoyed at the prying questions, he dumped his tea into the snow. "I'm going to bed,"

With that, he left the meager comfort of the fire. Ignoring the curious stares of the group, Archivauld climbed into his tent, hearing that rat of a man muttering something behind him.

Parcival knew just what to say to get under his skin.

Getting thrown out of the clergy was a touchy subject for him. They say time heals all wounds, but did it really? Perhaps it hadn't been long enough for the pain to fade. He missed his little brother, and even some of the clergy, but that sentiment was likely not reciprocated.

Some of his friends and his little brother had bid him farewell, no doubt taking flak for the show of support.

He had been so angry back then, furious at the head priest. That paunchy, fat faced Nervin Cerque and hatred of Archivauld. That Zealot was the main reason Archivauld was in his current predicament. 

 After being thrown out on his collective ass with nothing more than the clothes on his back, things had only gone downhill from there. These days, his former friends would not condone his current company, nor some of the things he had done over the past two years. From an acolyte of the holy order of the divine mother, to traveling with a group of bandits. 

His former acolytes might even volunteer to light the pyre if he was caught by the holy inquisition. Or the masks, as these bandits called them. It was a sobering thought. Given his healing power, the rift walker guilds might forgive his crimes and take him in, but the order had a wide reach. 

Even if he accepted indentured service under one of the rift walker guilds, the inquisition might still seek retribution. Even if they took him in, his life would be hell, forced to serve until he died of old age. That outcome was not an option he cherished. And to be honest, he doubted the protection of the guilds would even save him. After all, the reason he was kicked out of the clergy wasn't something simple. 

Archivauld was a walking heretic. A stain on the holy order, his very existence a threat to their faith. Those were the exact words of Nervin, may he forever step in shit Cerque.

To make things more troublesome even the cult of the Nether prince wouldn't accept his existence if they discovered his secret. Archivauld removed the clasp at his neck and his cloak slid off his shoulders. He then tugged at his dirt stained, threadbare cotton shirt.. Despite the interior of his tent being dark, he could still see both of his emblems in all their glory. One was a blessing and the other a curse.

The left half of his torso was covered with a beautiful blue and white tattoo of the holy mother, her angelic wings splayed open wide, each tip of her wings reaching up as if to lift the heavens.

The tattoo was the gift of the holy mother, with nine nodes of power to hold an emblem and grant its user the gift. 

A divine halo floated above the divine mother's head, the holy crown having four slots for blessings. The tattoo was the gift that all the beloveds of the mother awakened. It was the gift the goddess gave humanity to stem the tides of the nether and defend humanity. 

Unlike emblems that could be collected, only a lucky few were born with divine blessings, those people rising rapidly to the heights of legend. The vast majority were not so lucky to be blessed upon awakening, with only a one in a million receiving even one divine blessings. 

There were, of course, ways to get other blessings, though they were not as good as the real thing. Acquiring a lesser blessing, as they were called, was a real pain in the ass. It was only possible through clearing certain extremely rare and powerful rifts. For most, entering one of said rifts without most of your nodes filled with emblems was a death sentence. 

Archivauld sadly wasn't lucky enough to be born with a divine blessing. To make things more sad, only of his nodes, right next to his collarbone, and the holy mother's head had an emblem, the node a vague copper sheen. It was his healing power, acquired from slotting an emblem he had been given upon graduating to an acolyte of the holy order.

He and his little brother had passed their acceptance trial on the same day, their small chapel lit up with celebration and good cheer for an entire week. Archivauld had been so proud, almost brought to tears as he was presented with an emblem. 

It had been a major accomplishment for the two orphans, a huge hurdle they had overcome together. Too bad the memories were clouded by anger and outrage. On the same day he accepted his first emblem, was the day his life fell apart. 

Even two years later, that day was still so clear in his mind. His fellow acolytes had all been gathered around with Nervin the priest overseeing the rites. The moment the emblem touched his skin, there had been incredible pain, and shouts of horror.

After all, the moment the emblem had been absorbed into one of his nodes, a second tattoo had awakened. Like yin and yang, the two tattoos were like diametric opposites. The vibrant colors of the holy mother were on the left, and the second crowding in on the right. . 

As if to diminish the holy emblem, a second tattoo, one of blood and darkness, was seemingly carved into the right side of his chest.

It was as if an artist inked the tattoo into his skin with a jagged bone, the tattoo of a hideous fiend from the depths of the Nether. Obsidian bat-like wings sprouted from its back, with six pitch black nodes on each side, the jagged the tips pointing down, each ending in jagged spikes. 

The abomination had its toothy maw open wide in a soundless screech, with six pools of nothingness open where its eyes should be. They say that the number of nodes you awaken was a sign of your future, but if so, Archivauld was forever damned. 

Six, by, Six by six. That unlucky number was the key to the gates of the Nether. Archivauld grimaced as he ran a finger over the grotesque tattoo, feeling the ridges between its jagged teeth. 

He wasn't lucky enough to be born with a blessing from the holy mother like his little brother, but he was born with not one, six from the dark god himself. Six divine curses from the Nether prince. Most people in this world would have been overjoyed with six divine blessings, but he wasn't.

So far, those so-called 'blessing' caused him nothing but grief. It had given him nothing, and taken away everything, making his fellow clergy look at him like he was a monster. It didn't even matter that Archivauld had no control in getting the second Tatoo.. All that mattered was he had it, and that was enough to see him thrown out, and shunned.

He was honestly lucky to not be burned alive for his supposed heresy. He sighed regretfully. It was a good thing that pastor Marnel had been present to save him from Nervin Cerque.

Sometimes he wondered if death would have been better than living on. Archivauld tugged on a semi clean shirt from his pack, slipping into his bedroll, his breath misting.

Getting thrown out wasn't his fault, but he couldn't blame all the things he had done after that on the clergy. Petty theft, and he had even killed a guy. It was a stupid squabble over a few silvers in a game of dice. 

The man had been a sore loser, and the guy pulled a knife. There had been a mad scramble, and the next thing he knew, the knife was buried in the man's chest, his hot blood leaking out on Archivauld's hands. He could still remember that look of shock and surprise on the man's face as he died. A couple of the other patrons in the tavern had seen him do the deed as well. With so many onlookers, his involvement in that man's death would get out sooner or later. 

By now, he was likely a wanted man. Running away essentially declared his guilt, but what else could he do. Perhaps he could have stayed and plead it was self defence, but was he willing to risk that? In the city of Jagdish, the clergy held a large presence, overseeing most disputes. There was no doubt in his mind that Nervin would have found a way to turn his self defence into cold blooded murder. He could still remember the Zealous hatred in the man's eyes before he was cast out.

Archivauld had no desire to be dragged back to his home city in chains, to have his fate decided by that pampas asshole. Archivauld still wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that one of Yurlan's crew was watching as well. 

Despite his efforts to lie low, rumors of his healing emblem had spread as he had been selling his services for the occasional coin. After a few days on the run, he had been approached by Yurlan and their little crew. It wasn't a hard sell. The promise of potential power, and a chance to leave his home city, away from anyone who could recognize him. If he helped them clear a single rift, Yurlan had promised forged documents from a scribe, a new credible identity. He could leave the outer reached, and head towards the inner bands of the continent, with none the wiser. 

It was a good deal. Perhaps too good. Archivauld had been more than eager to take them up on it, but he was starting to regret that decision. From what he had seen, these people were bad news. Would they even uphold their end of the bargain after they cleared the rift? Time would tell. In the meantime, Archivauld would bide his time and play the healer. No need for them to discover his second emblem, nor his six curses, not that he had dared activate them thus far anyways.

He would save those for if they decided to betray him, or they ran into trouble. Rift hunting was extremely dangerous, but that danger usually came with great reward. Essence, and in rare cases, emblems could appear.

Archivauld was incredibly excited at the prospect. He had never hunted rifts before, but he had trained inside the temples of the holy mother for nearly five years before awakening the holy mother's tattoo. 

Unlike his little brother, who awakened in his early teenage years, Archivauld was late to awaken the gift. Looking back, it might be because he was cursed with a second Tattoo. Considering the holy mother, and the nether prince were considered rival deities, it shouldn't be possible to have both, and yet here he was. 

Both deities had an enormous influence in the outer layer, and despite being of rival factions, they got along for the most part. The holy mother was the bringer of light, and the Nether prince the dark. Being blessed by either god was a good thing, but getting both was the real curse.

Both sides were extreme zealots, with an intense rivalry spurred on by an unyielding faith. You would think having the tattoo from both gods would make him a beacon, but it was the opposite. The disgusted reactions of his fellow clergy were still vivid in his mind. 

Archivauld pushed aside those unpleasant memories. 

He shouldn't complain too much. It wasn't all bad. Once they harvested the essence from this rift, and he took his cut, he should have a new chance at life. A new place, and a new identity. Next time, he would keep his dual Tattoos to himself.

Either dark or light, no one could know he had both. Plans for the future raced through his mind as he drifted off to sleep. Who knew that fateful encounter in the alley with a bandit crew just might be his salvation?

A whistling sound filled the frigid air, followed by the loud crunch of bones breaking. Tanur wrenched his morning star from the head of a rat the size of a small dog whirling to meet the next creature. Black blood spattered onto the dirty snow, steaming as it dripped from the rats shattered skull. Despite watching their fellow monsters be cut down, a swarm of the stupid creatures rushed at them, unheeding of their lives. 

"Hold your ground, boys! They are just unawakened monsters. Keep formation, and it will be a pile of easy essence for all of us," Yurlan shouted.

With his comforting words, the group held their ground, cutting down the monsters with practiced ease. They were outnumbered ten to one, but it was just as Yurlan promised.

The monsters were not very strong, but there were a lot of them. Archivauld stood near the back, occasionally using his rusted two-handed axe, his axe lodging deep into flesh and breaking bone with each swing. The rats were not particularly quick, nor did they even attempt to dodge as they charged, turning it into a massacre.

With their uncoordinated assault, the monsters were being mowed down like wheat. The rats only advantage seemed to be numbers.

 Parcival swore loudly, kicking one of the rat things in the face as it clawed a deep, bleeding gash in his forearm. With a wet gurgle, the monster died a second later, his long spear stabbing into its throat.

"Damnit, Archie, I need a heal over here," Parcival called. 

"On it," Gripping his gore covered axe in his right hand, light pooled in Archivauld's left. After only a second, his blessed orb of yellow light shot forward. 

The holy orb slammed into Parcivals back, fusing into his body. In moments, the bleeding wound on his arm glowed, and his wound began rapidly closing in seconds. One orb wasn't enough to completely heal the gash on the man's arm, but it was enough to at least stop the bleeding. 

Arch could feel the drain on his reservoir, his energy pool slowly depleting. Each use of his power was not all that costly, but the oversized rats seemed endless. They were weak, and only inflicted minor scratch or bite wounds, but those wounds began to pile up as the fight drew on. 

There was only so long they could keep swinging their weapons until they began to tire. Fatigue meant mistakes, and mistakes meant even more injuries. By the time the fight was over, they were all gasping for breath. They were covered in blood and gore, their bodies steaming from the hot blood soaking them. The biting cold was still there, turning the blood on the ground into treacherous ice.

Thankfully, the tide was not endless, and before things could get too dire, the monsters stopped coming. Parcival collapsed onto his butt, using one of the large rats as a chair as he gasped for breath. 

Leaning over the vile thing, he pulled out a knife, and thrust it into the monster's chest, laughing as he pulled something from it. There was a bright flash of copper light as Parcival crushed the essence in his fist.

Yurlan ripped his beautiful bearded ax from a different rat's skull, spitting to one side as blood streamed from a gash in his lip. He glowered. "Parcival, don't take more than your cut.. Let's harvest the bodies. Once we are done, we will divide them and split the essence," Yurlan ordered. 

They were all exhausted, but the promise of essence had everyone back on their feet in no time. It was grizzly work to tear out the essence from all the fallen monsters, but a necessary task. Once cleaned of gore, each stone had a copper sheen, a sign of their quality and value. The stones made up a glowing pile on a log; the glow making the eyes of each of the four gleam with greed.

Yurlan tapped the edge of the stump with a bony knuckle. 

"Split four ways. That's thirty for me, and twenty-three pieces for each of you. They are only copper tier essence stones, but this is a good haul," Yurlan said.

"Why do you get thirty? Belloc's balls. We did just as much work as you, ya Nether blasted pig?" Parcival swore.

Yurlan only grunted at the litany of colorful curses.

"That's because if I left the planning up to you idiots, we would be burned at the stake by the masks or sacrificed to the Nether prince within the month," Yurlan replied evenly, separating the essence stones into four pouches.

"The boss is right, Parcival. Stop bitching and take your cut,' Tanur said, scooping his pouch and tucking it under his cloak. 

Parcival scowled, but took the pouch anyway. "How come the new guy gets the same cut as the rest of us?" Parcival muttered. 

Yurlan huffed. "I would keep those complaints to yourself, unless you don't want to get healed next time," Yurlan said, taking the last pouch and tossing it to Archivauld.

Arch smiled as he caught it, giving Parcival a winning smile. 

"The boss is right. My reservoir is not bottomless. If I am short on essence, who knows I might run out of energy mid battle," Archivauld said. 

"Fair enough… I guess you are a lot more useful than some of the other assholes we have brought on," Parcival laughed, showing off a set of yellow broken teeth. 

"That's not a very high bar," Tanur muttered. "Remember the guy who got himself killed by falling into a nest of venomous insects?"

"What a stupid way to die," Parcival spat. 

"Not as humiliating as having your neck broken by falling down a flight of stairs," Tanur laughed amusedly. 

"You should know, you are the one who pushed him," Parcival said giving the bulky man a sidelong glance.

Tanur smirked.

"That asshole called my date a two-bit whore," Tanur said.

Parcival burst out laughing.

"Didn't you throw her out a window a week later after you caught her selling herself to another man?" Parcival asked. 

"Stupid bitch is lucky we weren't on the top floor," Tanur said, spitting a thick globule of something black into the gore-covered snow. 

As fun as this conversation is, I have essence to absorb," Archivauld said, his boots leaving bloody footprints in the snow as he strode away. 

"Come on Archie, have a little fun now and then. Let's start a campfire, and have some drinks," Parcival said.

Archivauld didn't turn, instead waving a hand dismissively as he walked away. "I'll pass, I'm going to clean this blood off and set my tent. Plus, we should probably be wary of a fire after running into rift monsters," Archivauld called back.

"What a downer," Parcival spat.

"Too good to have a drink with us I guess," Tanur taunted.

Archivauld ignored their comments as he headed for a nearby stream covered in ice. It would take some work to break through, but it would have fresh water. Considering his teammates were lighting a small fire despite his warning, he might as well use it to boil water and clean his clothes of all this gore.

He grimaced. They had collected a huge bounty, but even so, he really wasn't a fan of these people. They might be proficient killers, but they really were rotten to the core. Even Yurlan, who seemed fair as things went, was a vicious, cold-blooded killer. And a clever one at that. The worst kind, as far as he was concerned.

With each passing day, and with each story they told, his desire to leave towards the inner bands of the continent grew stronger.

But, before he made that journey, he needed more essence. Twenty-three essence stones were a good start, but not near enough to survive the trip inward.