Chapter 12

The forest city of Copperton was slightly smaller than the town of Gestalt. Unlike most villages which were circular in design, Copperton was laid out in a long rectangular shape by her founders. Copperton's main industries included mining and a small amount of forestry. Long ago travelers came across this area looking for gold mines and their fortunes. Instead what they found was a large copper vein nestled within a great pine forest. The town was quite hidden in her little secret spot, and most travelers didn't even know she existed.

While not as lucrative as gold, the copper they were able to pull from the ground ended up becoming the life blood of the town. The soft, amber tinted metal was easy to mine and quite useful. Copper goods from the city were distributed throughout the land and were well known for their quality. In order to protect the great copper vein, the town herself was built around the mineral deposit and massive walls were erupted around her borders.

Those who had come to the area, and were not able to stake a claim, deviated from their initial plans and turned to the great forests for their livelihood. Lumber and wood based goods began to become a side business for the town. The odd dual purpose for Copperton was born.

Due to her main fields of commerce, the town was built from a mishmash of golden metal and thick lumber. A majority of the buildings were made from tall planks of pine, topped with shiny auburn roofs. Its defensive walls consisted of heavy sheets of copper riveted together with thousands of tiny little bolts. The busy town of Copperton seemed to be full of life with all her workers attending to their tasks at all times of the day. Thick clouds of smoke billowed from the town's foundries during all hours.

The town seemed to shine with an orange luster in the morning light. As the young warrior approached the tall metal walls, he wondered if the occupants inside would welcome his recently discovered revelations. "Will they accept the information I bring? Or will they cast me down?"

It had been a full month since Donovan had left the town of Gestalt, and now he was finally returning to civilization. The warrior looked disheveled and wore a scruffy red beard. His Protectorate armor was covered in mud and rusting at the seams. Upon his back he carried a large sword of unknown origin. The warrior, fresh into his twenty-third year, followed a dusty path up to Copperton's southern gate.

A Protectorate member on top of the gate spoke, "Hello, what might your task in Copperton warrior?"

"I wish to speak with the parish, friend. I have news regarding our faith."

"Where is the rest of your group? Isn't it odd for a Protectorate member to travel alone?"

"I was on a mission for the Church. I have completed my task and wish to share my findings."

The guards behind the gate removed a latch, and opened the thick copper door. Donovan was led inside the city towards the main citadel by two Church soldiers. The Church grounds were located on the northern side of town; a distance away from the village's copper vein.

"Who might the high priest of this town be?" Donovan asked.

One of the guards replied, "Her name is Marqui. She has been with us for the past five years. From which town do you hail?"

Donovan thought for a moment before responding. "Gestalt."

"And where might have you come across that scar? With what did you fight?"

"A…," the warrior paused.

The questions were making him nervous. He wondered if the members of Copperton knew of his actions in Gestalt. If they did, then this visit would be very dangerous indeed. He decided to continue with his plan, and deal with any complications that may occur should they arise.

Donovan continued, "A Pontian attack on our town. I lost my eye… and my family, during the battle."

"Sorry to hear that. Where did you gather that sword? It doesn't look like any Church weapon I have ever seen."

Donovan turned to the man walking with him along the path. The soldier asking the questions was very young, likely still training at the Protectorate academy. He was almost the same age that Donovan was at on his first quest. His questions were the simple queries a curious mind would ask for days on end. The sight of this teenage soldier made Donovan feel quite a bit older.

Donovan responded, "Have you left this town yet young man?"

"No, not yet…"

"There is much outside of these walls that is not foretold in books. This sword upon my back is one of those mysterious things." Donovan was annoyed and frustrated by the questions, but understood the mentality of this young soldier.

The group of Protectorate soldiers arrived at their destination. The citadel they reached was built similarly to the other structures in the town, with its tall walls made from aged boards of pine. The small tower reached a mere four stories into the air, and had no balconies or adornments on its exterior. A single row of open windows could be seen upon the fourth floor.

Donovan was led up the wooden stairs to the high priest Marqui's quarters. The group climbed towards the fourth and final floor. The younger soldier knocked upon the chamber door.

"What business do you have?" a deep feminine voice asked from inside the room.

"A Protectorate member from Gestalt has news regarding his mission that he wishes to share," said the young soldier.

"I am busy at the moment, but I will allow his visit. Let him in."

Donovan and the two other guard members entered into the woman's office. Compared to most parish rooms, this one was strangely ornate. Trinkets and artifacts decorated the walls. Odd baubles and ancient texts lined the many bookcases and shelves. A deep dark red carpet with great swirls of color had been placed upon the floor. A large cherry-stained desk sat in the middle of the room surrounded by a trio of wooden chairs. There was a door in the back of the room that presumably led to more personal quarters.

Sitting in a tall chair behind the desk was a woman with long grey-silver hair tied into a bun. Wrinkles dotted the areas around her eyes and lips. Upon her stubby nose sat a thin pair of spectacles. She was a small woman, but also had plump cheeks. She wore simple white robes.

The sage glanced towards Donovan and peered at his scar with her right eye.

Marqui spoke with a deep throaty voice, "Thank you soldiers, you may now leave us be."

The two Protectorate left the room, closing the door behind them.

"Please sit young man. What news do you have for me?" said the high priest.

Donovan removed his satchel and sat down. From his pack he removed the cleric's journal. "I have brought news from Ternail Dae."

"Ternail Dae…? Where might that be?" asked Marqui. Her tone was neither inquisitive nor excited.

"It is a lost city of our forefathers. I have just come from there, with revelations about our history. This journal here includes the detailed findings of the cleric Cernus Wheldon."

"Lost city of Ternail Dae…? I only vaguely remember hearing that name… maybe once during my studies. Why might this news be important?" The high priest of Copperton continued to ask her questions in an aloof manner.

"The news is regarding the events and truths of the Holy Cataclysm."

Marqui's eyes went slightly wider, but her expression did not change. "And what, young sir, do you know of this 'Holy Cataclysm'?"

"I have learned that it was the battle in which the world of man revolted against those in Heaven. It was the time in which Heaven's second generation was born."

The sage was now a bit more concerned. "And you say that this journal contains evidence of this?"

"Aye, this journal along with the existence of Ternail Dae seem to support these theories."

"Interesting… and what do you hope to do with these findings?"

"I wish to share the truths of our history, and because the author of this journal was unable. These are pieces of our heritage that must be told."

"And where is this Cernus Wheldon, the cleric behind this written record? Was he part of your mission's party?"

"The cleric of which you speak has long since been dead. I assume that this journal was written many years ago."

"And how did you come across this 'Ternail Dae'? Were you sent to find it?"

Donovan thought about his response. He didn't want to lie, but it appeared that his ruse of being on a mission for the Church might be failing. He carefully chose his words, "It was the will of God that I came across the city."

"I see…" Marqui still had not showed any emotion during their speech. During the conversation she continued to scan the brooding figure in front of her. Here before her was a single lost Protectorate soldier who was dirty and unkempt. His once shining armor was now dented, muddy, and rusting. The information he had come across was also strange for a warrior to be privy to. As they spoke, she occasionally would glance back up at Donovan's great scar.

The woman spoke, "I will need to verify the quality of this information. I am going to take this journal back into my personal quarters to check its validity. It will take but a few moments, but I need to be in private. Please wait here."

Marqui got up from her chair and went into the room at the back of the room. Once inside she locked the door. Quiet chanting could be heard though the cracks in the wooden walls.

Donovan sat for several moments and started to become impatient. He unsheathed the sword from his back and held it in his hands. The warrior had already spent many hours scanning the many intricacies of the strange weapon, and he began to search it again.

The blade was almost certainly a form of silver and seemed to reflect all that was around it. A multitude of nicks littered the edges of the ridge, but the wide blade was still incredibly sharp. The deep groove on the center of the blade still intrigued him. The inch-wide depression ran from the hilt to the tip, and a single golden line crisscrossed the strange shaft in a wavelike design. Thin scratches could be seen running up the interior of the channel. "For what purpose does this channel serve?"

The thick hilt felt good in his hands; both comfortable and light. The crossguard was made from a golden metal, with many silver swirls inlayed into its design. The extending quillions of the crossguard curled downward in order to help protect the wielder's wrists. The pommel was made from the same silvery metal as the blade and drooped from the hilt in a teardrop shape. The sword could either be wielded with a single hand for quick swipes, or with both hands for stronger more powerful attacks.

A distinct symbol could also be located on the grip. On the long portion of the handhold, lay the design of a single coiled feather. The design resembled a feather falling through the wind which had been twisted into very loose braid.

With the weapon still in his arms, he lifted up his head and began to scan the room. A multitude of strange pieces could be located throughout the chamber. Items such as deformed skulls, ancient tomes, and bottles of glittering dust decorated the area. Standard books of prayer and satchels of magic components also littered the tables. While investigating the room's contents, his single eye was caught by a set of vials upon the wall.

He stood up and walked over to the artifacts; the sword still in his hand. Fastened to the wall was a wooden holder containing four empty glass cylinders. One of the vials was cracked and broken at the base. Roughly twice the length of a thumb, each of them was corked with a metal stopper. Upon the stoppers lay the same design as the hilt of Donovan's sword; a single coiled feather.

The warrior pulled one of the vials from the wooden display. He scanned the vial with his single eye. "Things are becoming stranger. Is this container related to this sword?"

The warrior's ears perked. The distinct noise of armored men climbing the stairs outside echoed through the wooden walls. He quickly pocketed the glass vial and backed away from the door.

Bursting through the door came three Protectorate soldiers. This included the young man from earlier who was now leading the charge. Without thinking, Donovan made a quick swipe at the lead soldier.

The blade cut through the armor with little effort. A large cut was made in the young man's chest and blood spewed forth into the air. With the attack, the young Protectorate fell back with a cry onto the office floor. Red began to stain the wooden floor around the rug. The two other soldiers temporarily paused.

Donovan quickly leapt behind the wooden desk and began to cast a spell. By motioning his hand in the air, the desk in front of him began to wobble. Almost instantaneously it quickly rotated forward onto its face. The desk then twisted onto its short end so that it stood tall into the air like a wooden wall. With a quick word from the defending warrior, the wooden object flew forward with great force towards the door.

The speeding object slammed into the two stunned soldiers standing in the entryway. Contact between the desk and entryway caused the doorway to splinter and crack, and the two Protectorate were flung backwards out of the room. The sounds of two armored men falling down stairs could be heard.

The flying wooden wall had also pinned the midsection of the young fallen soldier. He lay writhing upon the ground with only half of his crumpled form still within the room. Great tears fell down his face as he cried in agony.

Donovan did not take any time to consul the ailing soldier. He quickly barged into the personal quarters of Marqui. With a short rush, he knocked down the once locked door. The priest was standing at the back of the room with her face in a book, chanting. To her left was an open window. The sage was obviously worried about her new visitor.

"Stay back! More soldiers will be here in any moment!" she cried.

"All I wanted to do was share this information. Why have you called upon the Protectorate?" Donovan asked.

"You know what you did! You know what you did, you hideous monster!" The priest pointed to the center of the room.

Where the priest was pointing lay a poster upon a small table. Upon the poster lay a drawn portrait of Donovan. The image showed a great scar running down the left side of his face. A single large word ran across the top of the curled parchment, "Murderer".

Donovan went cold.

He paused, obviously distraught. "Yes, I did kill the high priest Darria… But I wish to redeem myself with this glorious information I have found!"

"We will not listen to the words of a man lost to God! You have forsaken your soul with your actions!"

"Isn't what I have brought to you the truth? It must be shared and taught!"

Marqui's crying stopped and a stern look came over her face. She paused for a moment. "Of course it is true. But of what use does it have for the Church? What benefit do these truths bring to our faith?"

Donovan was taken aback. "Did she know about the history of the Precursors this entire time?" he asked himself.

"What do you know of the Precusors!?!" Donovan demanded.

"That is no concern of yours murderer. Not all truths need to be known and shared. It is not for everyone to know the truth!" The priest had a single hand tucked behind her back. With her hidden wrist, she began to make subtle swirling motions.

The ever-constant temper of Donovan began to grow. He hated all these secrets, all of these lies. History and knowledge should be shared, and if it was already known by the upper parish then why wasn't it shared? He tensed his grip on the ancient sword.

Marqui flicked her fingers and a bluish wall appeared directly in front of her. She began to make other motions with her hands.

Seeing the defensive maneuver, Donovan charged. Using both of his clenched hands, he made a high horizontal swipe with the ancient sword. The blade passed through the magic barrier and the high priest's head was sheared from her body. A fountain of blood spouted from her headless form and her body fell to the ground.

Not taking much time to think, Donovan quickly retrieved the cleric's journal from the room and placed it in his satchel. With an exit via the stairs out of the question, he would have to make another escape via a window.

The warrior backed out of the office's window and leapt towards the ground. His heavy form began to fall quickly.

Still descending with the sword in his hands, he forced the tip into the blade into the wooden walls. The silvered edge began to cut into the wood and his fall was suddenly slowed. Splintered pieces of pine flew into the air. The force of the cut created a large groove that traced down the citadel's eastern wall. The warrior landed on the soft ground with a thud.

Like before, he was certain that more Protectorate would be sent and he had to flee immediately. The southern gate would most certainly be guarded and his bloodied sword would not make it easy to gain passage through. He would have to think of another way out of Copperton.

He spied the area looking for any escape route. Along the northern edge of the town lay a single large building the bordered the great copper walls. He made a quick dash towards it.

The tall wooden building ended up being a barn owned by a local blacksmith. The smith was toiling away near a furnace along the far side of the building. The top portion of the structure contained a hay loft, and more importantly a roped pulley. As luck would have it, a bundle of hay hung from up top with the base of the rope tied to an iron anvil on the ground.

Not having much time to think, the warrior ran at the thick rope with his sword out to his side. As he ran past the hanging rope, he grabbed hold of it with his left hand and swung his sword. The rope snapped in two and the hay from above came barreling down. The rope was pulled quickly up through the pulley and Donovan was thrown through the air.

The momentum of his short run caused his flight to arc out over the amber wall, as if he had used a great swing. The armored man floated in the air for a moment and predictably came crashing down onto a bush on the other side of the great wall. His form crushed the plant into several pieces, and thorns from the braches scraped across his face. He tumbled out of the bush and rolled onto the ground.

Taking only a moment to catch his breath, he made a quick dash for the outlying forest, leaving the town of Copperton behind. The warrior's mission had failed miserably. Worse yet he had killed members of the Cloth yet again. Donovan continued to run deep into the woods, not taking a moment to look back, until he could run no more.

Continue to Chapter 13