There was a feeling, one that Tarphus was familiar with. It was that pulling sensation when he first visited the Emperor. It almost hurt him; he watched as his squad went into the dropship, and he was glad they were safe.
Then he found himself standing in the golden chamber. It still boggled his mind to see the splendor of this room. A voice then called to him, "You have done well for yourself, Tarphus." The pause was deafening as only the beating silence was found here in between the voice's speech. "In fact, you have exceeded my expectations… rewards shall be granted. Squad Captain, I hope you will continue to impress me. Now, go and rest because the powers are becoming active in your world; you will need to grow stronger."
Before Tarphus could react, he felt a force pushing against him; it was hard to go against it. No, it was impossible. Tarphus tried anyway because he had so many questions and needed to be answered. However, it was like going against a hurricane, more akin to a force of nature than a gust of wind.
Tarphus found himself standing where he was when he got into the challenge. Tarphus shook. He felt that his body was battered and bruised, and he could not see out of one eye, his left eye. He felt it when he blinked that the lids were there, but he could not… He raised his hand; scratches and bruises littered his arm. Tarphus felt sore and tired; it was as if all of the pain he experienced hit him at that moment.
Then reality sets in, Tarphus's knees shake, then give way under him. "I'm alive," he whispers to himself, tears and snot streak down his face, his complexion marred by the experience. Faces came to him, which he had sacrificed to save his squad; they looked at him in disgust. Almost as if to say, "Why did you get to live while we did not?" Tarphus could only sob, then everything went dark as he passed out.
In Lord Cullivan's office, two figures could be seen discussing. "I know how much that brat means to ye Tarbert. So I will do this for ye." A small yet wide man or rather dwarf said solemnly. The man was around one and a quarter meters tall, maybe shorter. However, he was broad, one meter from shoulder to shoulder, and quite muscular. But the dwarf seems to have gained more than just muscle over his long years, as his gaudy clothes were slightly stretched over his slight potbelly.
"You have my thanks, master Killigan. My son is a dependable sort, and I know he will do any task that you give him with his best effort." Lord Cullivan smiled warmly to his friend. He missed the misadventures that they went on oh so long ago.
The dwarf waved him away. "Such words are wasted on me, ye been there for men mine. Ye has even been me best man, hahaha. We are battle brothers, none of this "master Killigan" pansy stuff. Had Nuff o that with me clan." The look that the dwarf sent Tarbert spoke of how his friend hated formalities.
"Hahaha, my apologies, it has been so long, Werthine. The courts have not been kind to me, they… well I cannot… My son." Tirbert looks at his battle brother with a deep sense of loss and self-loathing on his face. The dwarf nods solemnly. "Aye, I remember ye helpen Lilian over that two-bit piece o wo-"
Tirbert waved dismissively at that. "No, it does not have to do with that time. The King has made it clear that the Federation has no place in the kingdom. If it was his father, then… No use thinking about what could have been. He will be taken to the front as Tarphus Lorne, yes or no, old friend."
The dwarf looked down. "Aye, yer son shall go to the front; he will be a new lad looken for work, as others be doing. The guild will receive a new novice, an I shall help yer brat, ye have me word on that." Tirbert nodded a smile on his face as he stood up and hugged his friend. They then got the alcohol out to reminisce over what they had been through.
After a few hours, the dwarf left with a smile on his face and a wobble to his steps. While the Lord sat at his desk, looking at the papers in his hands. He took a deep breath as he summoned the head butler.
"Here, these are all the letters of the misfortune of the late Tarphus Cullivan. I hope that they take it well." he winked to the butler, who smiled calmly. "It's a shame what happened to my lordship to think that he would-" Lord Cullivan just looked at the man who chuckled awkwardly. He then crept away with the promise of getting the messages to the proper people.
As Lord Cullivan was about to leave his office, he bumped into a servant that looked winded, like they had run a marathon. Lord Cullivan looked down at the servant with curiosity and slight annoyance.
"Why have you run to me? If it were something sim-" "Young Master Tarphus has been injured, Lord Cullivan!" The servant screamed with all his might, most likely scared of what he would do to him.
Lord Cullivan felt fear, "Is there anyone tending to him?" The boy nodded, "Ethira, she sent me while she helped the floating thing care for the young master." The floating thing picked Lord Cullivan's interest as he did not know it could heal people. However, the Skull did not matter now; what did was that his son was injured and in the care of… her.
Lord Cullivan came into the room that the boy led him to; he then made sure that the boy would keep quiet about his son. The guard needed recruits, and he needed his secrets kept, a win-win if he ever heard one. Inside was the one servant he did not want near his son. She had him on her lap as the Skull moved around her trying to stab a needle into Tarphus.
"Getaway, you infernal creature!" Ethira shouted, rage in her eyes as her hand started to form a magical symbol in the air in front of the Skull. A bolt of dark energy tried to hit the Skull, however much to Lord Cullivan's shock, the Skull dodged out of the way… It seems that the Skull had more abilities than previously shown.
Lord Cullivan then cleared his throat, alerting the two to his presence. Ethira turned her head and acknowledged him. The Skull flew toward him than behind him as a shadow bolt missed by a fraction of a millimeter.
Cullivan frowned at this, "Ethira, I can understand your shock; however, this thing is Tarphus's familiar; it cannot do him harm. Unless it is to heal him, now why are you near him when I said-" "But he was injured! I cannot stand by while my charge is in-"
Lord Cullivan raises his hand, silencing her, "Tarphus is officially dead. My son hanged himself yesterday afternoon when he learned that he was a one-star ranked being." He shifted and walked towards the window of this room, seeing the garden just outside.
"Tarphus will no longer be your responsibility, leave now, or I will forcibly remove you. If you go down that route, you will not see the next sunrise. I will give you five minutes. It is the most I can do for your mother's legacy; however, you will not hex him."
She looked horrified at the idea… good, Lord Cullivan then left with the floating Skull still behind him. He heard sobbing and muttering, he knew how hard it would be for her, but she never had a chance to begin with.
Tarphus had obligations. Though Tirbert hated it, his son needed to fulfill his duty, to protect others, so an arranged marriage was formed with a duke's fourth daughter. He believes that she is now an Ice Mage. He sighed as his plans were forcibly changed. He now had so much to do and so little time to do it.
Ethira left with reddened eyes and a bruised arm; as Herbert forced her away from his son, he then cast mage sight and searched for dark magics on his son. He nodded happily when he found none; she was a handful, but he could not complain as she did her job well.
He sat down next to his son, hand on his shoulder, waiting for the Skull to do its job. Instead, the Skull used the needle and stopped moving; its blue eyes turned green than blue instantly, repeating the process for several minutes. Until it turned green and a high-pitched whine came out of the machine, the syringe filled with a muddy green solution and injected it into Tarphus without hesitation.
Tarphus woke to a skull in his face; he almost screamed, then the memories hit him. Everything that he did, how he and his squad was butchered over and over again. He remembered the people he condemned to die. Guilt hit him like a wave, and he cried; rage hit him as he remembered those damned orcs that he would never forgive nor forget.
That is when he felt warmth wrap around him; he opened his eye and saw his father, a look of recognition in his eyes. "You do not have to tell me, but I am here." So softly spoken, this was not his father at all Tarphus was shocked and slightly scared. His father usually was the kind to take charge and show no emotion. However, the expression on his face, like he knew the pain Tarphus was going through, helped him.
So Tarphus told his father everything. "I ran like a coward and left my allies to die. I shot into melee and killed my fellow soldiers. I got my squad killed repeatedly. I left my fellows to die in trenches because I-" Tarphus felt pain on his cheek; he looked over to his father and saw something he had not seen in years.
Rage, pure rage stormed across his father's face. "Son, I told you to speak your mind, and I see that I was right; there was something wrong. Do you think that everything is your fault? What, you think that everyone is your responsibility? No, further than that, you believe that you could save everyone? What about the people we laud as heroes? They could not save everyone, hell they killed more than they saved, and you believe that you can outdo them?"
Tarphus was shocked, and before he could get a word to defend himself, his father continued. "Did you think that I never lost someone? Did you think for one second that I could save everyone, that my mere presence ensured that my soldiers live? No, the world is cruel; we live and die every day, but what we do with that sort of life counts. So, would they want you to commit suicide? Really, you? Are you so selfish to deem that you and you alone need to bear their sins?
Don't look at me like that. I see it in your eyes, boy. I know what you're going through. I have been there in your shoes, but I did not have my old man here with me. So now look me in the eye. It might hurt but never let that hurt go, alright." Tarphus looked at his father, confused.
"Never ever let go of the feeling of loss, for it will remind you of what can happen, but in that pain, there is still joy, the memories that were shared become much more important. The lessons become more prominent. It will allow you to be the best, for every time you lose someone, you will learn from it so that next time you won't lose anyone."
Tarphus tried to muster his voice but found he could not; all he could manage was a voiceless cry. His father embraced him, patting his back and holding him. Both said nothing but think about the shared pain that they both now have.
Meanwhile, in a dark room, the man in a robe is looking at a map of the town; he smiles coldly, his eyes brimming with magical energy. He is looking at a simple map made with pink leather, the map of Cullivan. Symbols on the map move randomly, but the town stays the same, though there are seven glowing points on this map.
The robed man lifts his head as the door opens, his smile becoming much more prominent; he beams at the person entering. "Lady witch, it is a pleasure to me-" the person steps fully into the room, interrupting him, "Stop blathering and get to the point."
This interruption does not disturb the good mood of the robed man. "Well, I would love it if you could let me and mine destroy the mansion; it will be to die for, during the blood moon, of course, the lord of slaughter would be amused by the slaughter in his name."
The woman thinks about it. "What do I get out of this?" The man smiled, "Whatever is in the mansion, my dear, and powerful artifacts from my master." The witch pauses, "And if this thing that I want is a person?" This aroused a chuckle from the robed individual. "I did say whatever, didn't I?"
