Survival

Survival is one of the Tales of Arkain.

## Synopsis

Sir Praxeus Braelon, survived the onslaught of the Ironfist, tries to survive in the aftermath, and an Angelic assitance, he renewed his objective.

## Story

A group of riders left the fortress and slowly rode through the area before it. Mud and blood, death and destruction, stench and flame. Only a few hours ago, this had been the field of a massive battle. Many dead on both sides, yet the ones who lost the battle had lost much more than their enemies. The Golden Guard, once powerful, proud and arrogant, now laying in the mud, dirty, broken and dead. The carrion was everywhere. Scavengers looking for food, necromancers and undead collecting dead bodies, soldiers giving the badly hurt a coup de grace and burning corpses while arguing about it with necromancers. There would be no funeral for the dead, they were doomed to be the victim of the carrion and there was nothing that the riders could have done about it. A heavy sigh. Lord Marin looked over his shoulder on the few soldiers who had survived the battle. The few remaining members of the once powerful Golden Guard. Then he gazed upon the dead. He had failed his friend Renald. The war machines should have prevented this, yet their power had not been enough. Hell, even Marin's most powerful airships had not been able to defeat Bloodclaw and his accursed allies. It had been a mistake to follow the orders of the Emperor, but Marin had to focus on the cannon, there was nothing he could have done even if he had wanted to. He looked at the worse right next to him. Renald's lifeless body lay on it, showing no sign of life. The body of a dead man, a few soldiers and his own life, that was all he had been able to save. Most of his machines were now either destroyed or used by the Ironfist. They were alone now, on a continent where everyone hated them, where they would find no shelter. He closed his eyes as the horses left the battlefield. Past mistakes would not be repeated. From now on, he would be in charge of the Golden Guard, even if only a tiny bit of them remained, and he would not bow to anyone again. He never had served the Emperor out of loyalty, he had served because he had considered it the only logical thing to do if he wanted to ensure the survival of the Empire - and later, he only stayed in active service because of his friendship with Renald. Was it Renald's fault that he followed his orders thoroughly, as he had done for decades? Was it Gardon's fault that he retaliated when he was under attack? Could the conflict between Renald and Gardon have been settled peacefully? Maybe, but that was no longer relevant. At the moment, nothing was relevant. The person who had truly started this conflict that served only to weaken all who were involved, Emperor Theodor the Second, was beyond anyone's reach. Marin rode over a bridge to leave the entire scenery behind. His time was not over yet. The Master Engineer had no idea that several miles away, another member of the Golden Guard had survived and lay unconscious on the ground.

It was a massive figure that laid on the ground, next to a waterfall. It was of enormous size and wore an armor so heavy that only the strongest would be able to walk or run with it. The man who forged it was also the one who now wore it. He opened his eyes, the light of the sun blinded him, so he quickly closed his eyes again, opening them slowly to get used to it. His helmet was lying next to his head. Had he lost it during the battle? No, that was not possible. It must have been removed after someone had carefully opened the mechanism that kept it in its place.
The massive man tried to stand up, but he felt too weak. Whatever had occurred, it had weakened his strong body, maybe wounds? He could not feel any pain. He tried to look around and find out, where he was. This was nowhere close to the fortress, that much was for certain. His horse was gone too. He tried to remember. He had been surrounded by the soldiers of the Ironfist who had managed to defeat the paladins under heavy losses. Praxeus remembered his horse suddenly behaving strangely and running away after the magic of the foul Undead had almost torn him apart alive... The battle! How long had it been? He had to return to the fortress and find out- He stopped thinking. Something came closer, he could hear it. A noise. A... bark? He looked to his right and saw a black direwolf coming closer! It looked familiar to... an old.... acquaintance. "...Zed? Is that you?" Praxeus whispered, feeling too weak to speak louder. He had never felt like this before. In this weakened state, he would not be able to defend himself or even move anything but his head. The direwolf just looked at him, its face was now almost touching Praxeus' face. It crooked its head and sniffed. No, this wasn't Gardon's direwolf Zed, though Praxeus was sure the animal looked very similar to him. Younger, but still adult for a direwolf Maybe a.... whelp of Zed? Praxeus had heard that some Bloodfangs trained by Gardon were direct descendants of Zed, after all. If this was a Bloodfang, then it would be only a matter of time until it tore Praxeus apart. His thoughts were going fast. What should he do? Try to fight his weakness and fight the animal before it decided to try to eat him? Then suddenly, the direwolf licked over his face. Praxeus gazed at it in surprise, but he found the creature looking at him with a familiarity he had not seen since... The nose of the direwolf touched Praxeus' forehead. "She feels that you are not her enemy. She knows that you wouldn't harm her even if your body wasn't in its current state." he heard a gentle, female voice on the other side. He turned around, finding nothing but emptiness. "You want to return to the battle, Sir Praxeus, but you are too late. It is already over. The Golden Guard has lost. Your high lord is dead, his armies scattered." the voice continued. Praxeus tried to stand up again, now he felt pain and sighed, but he finally succeded and managed to stand up, even if on shaky legs. The direwolf looked at him, concerned. "Show yourself, whoever you are! What have you done with me?!" Praxeus demanded to know. He looked around. Suddenly, there stood a woman and he paused. She was beautiful and appeared young, she had similarity with the Angelics, yet Praxeus had never seen one like her. Her hair was completely white and he was not sure if she had actual wings or if there was a ray of light behind her. She opened her arms welcoming. "I mean you no harm, Sir Praxeus Braelon. I have healed your wounds. You have been unconscious for weeks. The war is over. Much has happened in your absence." she explained. The direwolf pressed its head against Praxeus' leg. Praxeus looked on the animal. "He... is dead? The High Lord Inquisitor has been killed?" he asked toneless. "I am sorry, but yes. Gardon has slain his uncle and forced Lord Marin to surrender so that the Demons would not be able to destroy humanity." she explained, her voice still sounded friendly. Praxeus' right hand formed a fist. "Then... I have failed. My liege is dead, my comrades fallen, now the powers of evil and darkness rule the land." he said bitterly. His left hand petted the head of the direwolf. "How could this have happened.... How could he let this happen..." he mumbled. "You are refering to Gardon, are you not? You not only knew his direwolf, you also knew himself. Did you not?" the woman asked, though she already seemed to know the answer. Praxeus closed his eyes. He remembered his childhood and his teenage years. He and Gardon had known each other, they had been close friends once. That was before... Praxeus opened his eyes.
"The past doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that I have to purge the evil from this land and-" "Your paladins and templars don't exist anymore, Praxeus. You have a new mission, one that goes beyond simple purging and killing. By trying to fight the evil that you think to see everywhere, you will get yourself killed- You want to make up for past mistakes, do you not? You wish to restore what has been lost?" she interrupted him friendly. Praxeus looked at her, she still smiled at him. "What do you mean? What do you suggest I do?" he asked puzzled by her words. "When your high lord died, the relic he carried with him, disappeared. It was brought into safety by the divine powers that had once allowed him to find it. Now it is up to you to find it again. You have to find it again. It will play a great role in the future of this continent - and it may give you the redemption you seek. You are the only one who can find it. You have made mistakes and I can feel doubt clouding your judgement, but you are pure of heart. This is your task to fulfil, I see that. The search will help you finding the answers that you seek. That many seek." she explained and gave Praxeus a soft, warm smile. "The grail..." Praxeus muttered. This artifact lost... It was a noble mission, indeed, and maybe... Just maybe... There was a chance he could find the answers he was looking for. Slowly, he nodded. "A wise choice, Praxeus." the woman said. The direwolf barked and the woman laughed. "Tanara will accompany you. I don't think I could stop her if I wanted to - and I would not want to. She might be a child of the direwolf you remember from your childhood, but she has not been trained by the Ironfist like others of her kind, she has grown up in the forest. Yet I am sure she will help you survive on your journey." she explained. She whistled and a horse carrying several bags came out of the forest. It was Praxeus' horse!
"In the bags you can find everything you need, your equipment, some food and money. It is all I can give you. Apart from this..." she said and gave Praxeus a map. "This map is magical, it will direct your way towards the relic you are looking for. It will help you in your mission. You should also use an alias on your travels and try to stay out of trouble. It will take a while until your body fully recovers its wounds, even when combined with your holy magic." "I thank you for your generous support, angelic. Before I go, may I ask your name?" Praxeus asked as he mounted his horse. "Call me Nysara. And there is no need to thank me, I have seen in the holy light that you are more than a warrior of light. Your destiny has yet to unfold itself. Now go, Sir Praxeus Braelon, and find the relic of your high lord."

As Praxeus rode away with Tanara besides him, Nysara stood there, waving and smiling for a long time, until he was not visible anymore. Then she stopped waving and her face changed - literally. Two horns came out of it and the entire angelic appearance changed into that of a demoness. She didn't smile anymore, she looked mournful instead. She would have prefered not to have fooled the knight with her appearance, but he would never have listened to a demoness and have attacked her instead, even in his weakened form. Her mistress, Ebira, had ordered her to watch the battle between the Humans from afar several weeks ago. Nysara had not cared much for most of the battle but this particular knight had somehow managed to gain her interest. Nysara never had have much contact with mortals who had not been slaves, she had not participated in any of the battles. She was no warrior, she was an agent. Yet, what she was doing now, was no part of any mission of hers. It was her actively trying to keep the knight alive. The horse suddenly riding off was her doing, she made sure that Praxeus would survive the battle - he would have thrown himself into death without her intervention. Her attempts to heal him had been... not very successful, on the contrary, it had harmed him and prolonged his regeneration process instead - his holy magic seemed to fight her attempts to heal him with her demonic magic. Therefore she had been forced to rely on nature and some other means of healing magic, taking more time. In the meantime, the war had ended. She did not know what had sparkled her interest, maybe it was because something deep inside told her that he really would have a role to play in events to come or maybe it was her instinct, she was not sure about that herself. She only felt that this was the right thing to do. That is, if there was such a thing as the "right thing". She turned around and left the waterfall. It was time to return home. She would monitor the progress of the templar from afar. She felt herself hoping that he would succeed - and not kill himself.