Sacrificing Oath- Chapters 1 (REWRITTEN)

Sigil, the Sanguine Sea

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Blood, blood, blood.

Hot, burning, swelling.

Red, crimson, darkness.

Puddles, rivers and the sea.

Death.

With one last blow of Sigil's fist, the crackle of his knuckles and sound of broken cartilage filled the room with echoes.The guard was dead. His sweet, crooked smile gurgled blood as well as his shattered nose. The smell of the blood surged through Sigil's body. He couldn't think of anything, it was as if his eyes were cloaked and blinded by it. A smirk etched into his face as he wiped as much blood as he could with a handkerchief. Sigil would have to savor this for later. Reaper would be back to interrogate the remaining guard at any moment.

The crunching moss and summer leaves from the gutters above indicated someone was approaching from the east entrance. After soaking up the juices, he rung the rag in to a small vial and shoved it back into a vest pocket. The chambers were quiet, except for the other guard muffling in terror through the ragged rope. No one would hear them, or see them this deep underground. Thick cobblestone walls lined with moss and magic runestones made sounds impenetrable for passers even with the sewer grates near.

The turgid of sewage was enough to keep any sane mind away regardless. It was a prime position for their groups' temporary gathering spot. In the summer rotation, it was odd though, for the sewer to not be brimming with a plague of rats and homeless. Sigil shuttered at the mere thought of coming in contact with vermin. Most did not venture deep into the web of tunnels beneath the city. Sigil's interrogation took place on the outskirts of town by some unused guard towers. Eavesdropping came naturally with the layers of cover while lurking below, using the sewer system to slither manhole to manhole.

The clanking of a ladder rattled his bones. Sigil was unassumed. Why must he be rushed? Click! The door sprung open, its hinges jingling about. Some hitting against the cobblestone wall. It was an unwanted guest. How unfortunate.

Distorted and confused, Reaper rushed to the slain guard, examining the injuries he had subdued. The room became uneasy as the excitement of the savory nectar and adrenaline washed away from Sigil's body. His discontent showed through even in the dimly lit chamber. His cloak had been pulled down onto his shoulders, and bags of supplies slung about his back. Sigil was frightened of what he might do, but he stood to await backlash. Staring down at the remaining guard made Sigil realize how annoying this was turning out to be. Ermenegilde would surely be informed of this.

“There you go putting more weight on everyone else,” fizzled Reaper as he tilted the remaining guards' chair back pulling it towards the back of the chamber.

"As if you're one to talk," Sigil quacked back mimicking Reaper's frazzled face.

They are all burdens in the eyes of their kingdom, not one of them better than the other. Euryalia, the gorgon witch took control of surrounding territories with her marriage to the old king. The witch seduction overruled the king’s better judgment and now his lascivious eye turns blind towards us. Most gorgons lived semi-peaceful in the Southlands, near the desert. They were polite to travelers, but all was just worldly courtship. Their medical knowledge was impressive compared to the capital's vast knowledge. The witch’s power seemed unmatched when it came to sorcery and alchemy even when compared to Reaper or their other companions. Sigil gathered most of this in Tyradin's inn, which was located in this town. Gossip was heavy in the packed tavern. It was almost mind-blowing how loose-lipped people were. Those who upset the balance are punished for their ambitions.

"The smuggle unit flanked nearby guards on their night patrol," Reaper rolled his eyes, changing the subject.

"Are these gagged, and shackled men, that they brought down to the Den?" Reaper continued to examine the maimed guard.

Supplies scattered the room in many different sized crates. Tablets of deactivated magic runes were stacked on a rotted bookshelf. Only Reaper could activate their sound dampening. Sigil's paperwork tousled onto the table with a large map of the continent. Torch scones were spread along the walls, but only a few had been kindled. They wanted just enough light to work, but not enough to draw any attention. Most of the garbage debris was cleared out and tidied. It was no means homey or liveable conditions but space to work. It was only a start.

The wrinkles in the stone played as amusement for his hands. Reaper finished moving the slain guard and began to unload the new supplies.

"Some grand revolt if we can't even punish these scumbags for protecting those snakes," Sigil kicked a corner of a box, jarring the metal armors inside. A flash of fury wiped across Reapers face as he slammed down scrolls of collected information and books of minor medicines. Before Sigil could look up, the smell hit him.

Blood

The guard reeked as he continued to now decay in the corner. Reaper dared not criticize him for the first fatality. Sigil couldn't help himself with such a mouthy, useless guardsman who refused to give them any straight answers.

"But, why? Why not kill the other guard now?" Sigil muttered while crumbling a piece of cobble between his fingertips.

“Before you mutilated your subject, did you happen to find any information as to wear Euryalia will strike next?” Reaper snapped as he hunched over a map dispersed across the dank, moist floor. It startled Sigil, he thought he was unheard. He shot up straight-backed and positioned himself over the rough vellum map laid upright on the wall.

“Of course, I'm not useless. I'd like to thank myself after doing such a spectacular job!” Sigil grinned as my finger pointed down towards the Sunspire Tithe, to the west of Aurna. The remaining gagged guard frozen in terror spilled his guts and was rewarded with temporary life.

The Sunspire was a town where most crops for the nation were grown. Vast fields of grain blanketed the valleys. Many creeks and small rivers were weaved into the land as well, which made it viable for many crop types. An unfortunate attacking position for them. They were small in numbers still and the land offered little cover for their stealth. If the witch controlled this area, it would lead the masses to be controlled by starvation.

“Except you killed the first guard, instead of allowing me to wipe his memory. I cannot just send one guard back without the other. The patrol leader will become suspicious and have more guards on the watch to find us,” he replied with his nose up in the air.

Reaper slipped a finger width container from under his baggy cloak. He poured the contents of the vial onto both guards. Without a failing second, they burst into deep flames. Their flesh melting immediately into puddles of charred goo. Sigil's heart skipped a beat. "What just happened? How did this happen!?" Sigil pondered astonished and mortified.

He never knew Reaper had such weaponry. Sigil was unsure of most magics and potions. His choice was stealth, not fighting. As much as he hated Reaper, now he was sure he never wanted to pick a fight.

Before Sigil could continue his line of questioning Reaper's tall, slender body disappeared through the same door he entered. Leaving only a glimpse of his dulled yellow hair trailing behind him. All that was left of the guards were their shackles and chairs. Sigil was left perplexed. He kicked the restraints from the middle of the room. Not only confused but irritated that Reaper scolded him and treated him like a child. They were supposed to be a team, he didn't need to be babysat.

The goo on the chair was far less pleasant than the blood he recovered from them before. Tilting it back and forth a bit until most of the sludge slide off, Sigil sat down at the table with their map. His fingers brushing along the regions of what felt like such a small world to him. All the names of countries, cities, barely known villages scrawled about this map, yet he didn't know where home was. Sigil had been taking care of himself since before he could remember. He was like any other street urchin, stealing for survival, causing mischief. To be fair, he still did those things now, but not just for himself. He would have wasted away in the darkness. That day, even with its miracles, has its nightmares.

The memories buried deep of that night still burned like hot coals. They were repressed and unable to be remembered. Sigil wanted to remember, he wanted to know why this blood excites him so. Why does it bring him relief? "Am I a monster?" he thought. Sweat poured down his body when waking from the nightmares. All that could be heard were faint speech and sounds of steps. He could never visualize anything. The burning would get deeper and more intense with every second spent in hell.

Mother?

The sweet aromatic smell of comfort and tranquility. Her voice eludes but still, the mutters are familiar. That's all Sigil could remember. The screams and gurgles of his mother. The burning is back. His body was hot and stomach in knots. Even closing his eyes now it all would rush at him.

His legs shot up, wobbling the chair back. A haze of dizziness clouded his sight for a moment. He braced himself against the table's edge and shook his head as if he were a mutt shaking mud from its coat. He needed to escape into a tankard if he wanted a restful night. Reaper had said they were relieved. It was a perfect time to now enjoy the scenery of their new headquarters rather than scouting and eavesdropping. The bones in his body felt almost as slimy as the guardsmen on the floor. Disgust twisted about his face. He wasn't going to clean that one.

The den was secure enough until one of their other companions would arrive to organize and decipher Reaper's newfound wears. The ladder outside the door rattled like a snake as each foot found its way. Half expected, one of the rails snapped underfoot and Sigil lost his balance. Clinging to the ladder for dear life, he managed to steady himself. After his grand adventure up the ladder of doom, Sigil shimmied up the remaining rails and pushed his way out of the sewer grate.

“Boo!” shrieked someone.

Sigil nearly pissed himself. His fists shot up ready to duel. A booming laugh crackled through the night air as Sigil found himself quickly planted in soil and shrubbery. Ermenegilde stood broad and efficacious as he reached his calloused, tanned hand out to lift Sigil. He smiled and dusted the dirt from Sigil's backside. Sigil shooed his hands away and ruffled about.

Ermenegilde had a way with words that weaseled them even out of anything. Dumb luck. It was hard to stay mad for long at him. He envied him. No man dare disrespect him, even if they weren't acquainted. His appearance was almost like a noble. Well, if nobleman wore leather and traveled on foot.

With a swift hand, Ermengilde slapped his shoulders.

"Little mouse, little mouse, what do you bring today?" he grinned and ruffled Sigil's hair all in different directions. He was not little! Sigil snorted and brushed him off and began to walk towards the inner city wall.

The few commodities this wretched labyrinth of a city had to comfort his mind were the inn and women. There was constantly a gateway to pass through, and archways of stone and wood funneling the masses about the ringed city. Ermenegilde followed quietly behind him. It was dusk, and slightly busy. Nothing compared to the early morning, but merchants doing their last shipments and children on dates before their curfews played. Some even tapped their shoulders to advertise.

Ermenegilde stopped once to flirt with a slender, busty woman who was selling jerked rabbit. He gladly bought half a dozen strips. The girl batted her eyelashes wildly and swooned as he handed her a fat purse of coins, obviously overpaying. He rolled his eyes and made a gagging motion towards him. She wasn’t Sigil’s type, and he cared much more about his money than to give it away to some tramp.

Through another archway, they went on as if going in an endless loop until the loud commotion of the inn was in range. Finally, he could grab a meal and kickback he thought. As they approached, the nightly chatter rose to an ungodly volume. The clanking of plates and bowls rang in his ears. He was greeted kindly from a bar maiden in between her duties. It was packed.

Ermenegilde tried flagging down the keeper. He barely caught a glance at them. His hands filled with orders of food and ale. Empty dishes stacked on the counter high. They'd seen places like this active but never to this degree. Sigil looked over at Ermen and gave him a worried look. It wouldn't be wise for them to stay here even if there was room. Looking around guards were drinking and chattering. The less they interacted with the local authority the better. Especially Sigil himself. It was his job to be unseen and unnoticed. A curse and blessing. Without further consultation, Sigil slid back out the heavy oak doors and to the night veiled street.

The patrols were lighting the public torch centers and everyone began to settle into their nightly routine. Houses were dimly lit by a flickering candle or two. The windows cracked for a breeze to calm the summer's heat. The city was dense with structures and lacked greenery aside from the occasional floral garden.

"Little mouse, any idea where this old man will find some rest and company tonight?" Ermenegilde sighed. He was weary of his daily tasks. Sigil huffed and shrugged his shoulders. They had just arrived days ago and with the interrogation so sudden, he didn't have time to go looking for entertainment.

"You grimy bastard, you should have found a place for us before stationing here!" Sigil was annoyed.

Ermenegilde chuckled and slung his arm around him. His grin quickly changed and he grabbed his nose. Sigil raised a brow.

"Maybe instead of a mouse, you're a rat. Should have asked the stables for a bed, you'd fit right in," Ermen teased. Sigil swatted his arm away and kicked his shin. He just laughed and hopped around acting wounded.

"You're the one who wanted us in that slew, shouldn't you be down there?" shot his elbow into Ermen's rib cage. Ermenegilde grunted and pouted his lip. Sigil wondered what he was always up to when he and the others were doing other things. He just seemed to pop in and check on them just to disappear again. Ermen ignored his question. Sigil didn't expect a real answer from him anyways. He was there when needed and trustworthy.

"Each star, a tear of a fallen," Ermen stopped and tucked his hands under his sides. His gaze was unbreakable. The night air had cooled drastically. Small critters now rustled about the streets. They were almost exiting back towards the den. There was no way they'd sleep there Sigil thought but the areas surrounding were peaceful enough and dense with forest.

"The dead can't cry," he scoffed and continued while his captain stood fixated on the sky. Sigil didn't understand his sentiments on the dead. They were dead and were useless to waste effort reminiscing about them. He had no one to miss because he simply had no one, to begin with. There were no parents, or even any kin to hold him back from all he ever wanted. He would never be here if the events never played their cards out like this. Sigil had the freedom people dreams of, even in their adulthood. He took whatever he wanted, when he wanted, with no intervention. Even Ermenegilde held his tongue. Reaper played as the older brother, always pestering him, lecturing him, whatever bothersome things he could think of, Reaper did to annoy Sigil. Just thinking about him made his heart race with anger.

Sigil stopped for a moment, before another thought, and turned to realize his companion had still not been following him. He sighed, he’d have to walk back just to drag Ermenegilde along out of his metaphorical stupor.

Rustle

It wasn’t the wind dancing between the loose twigs, or a street cat chasing supper. He listened, crouching low, in the open. The road turned to dirt, unfinished walking out of the cities perimeter.

Snap

Something broke a branch underfoot. He listened even closer, his shortsword’s hilt unsnapped from its sheath.

Rustle, snap, snap, rustle, snap

Silence.

Must have been a deer or something foraging for berries he thought until his knees buckled, sending him crashing down into the dirt. His face scraped against some pebbles before he was able to catch himself with his arms. The ground hit him so hard, the air escaped his lungs. The weight of an attacking was perched on the knee that was digging into his spine. Sigil tried to squirm out, still dazed.

A boot of another slammed down into his head, sending his cheek crashing down even harder than the fall before. His brain rattled and pain shot everywhere. Someone’s hand jerked itself into his pouch and rummaged about for items of value. The air hadn’t returned to his lungs, he couldn’t yell out.

Sigil’s arms were pinned underneath himself, unable to reach for his blade. They were just common thieves stalking the pathway for travelers or merchants on their way out. The area was not currently being controlled and he ended up stumbling on an ambush. If he stayed still long enough, they would plunder what they wanted and let him be. They hadn’t drawn a weapon, maybe they thought he was too weak? Surely they had seen his shortsword on his hip.

The weight on his back lightened for a moment, quickly Sigil rolled out from under the body. “What the hell?” he thought. Looking up from the ground, still unable to quite get to his knees, a head bounced and tumbled around on the soil. A whimpering scream from the other thief was brief then his head rolled about with his partners. Sigil blinked furiously trying to adjust to the darkness and clear the mental fog.

Ermenegilde stood with both his longswords drawn, covered in red. His blonde hair shining in the dim moonlight against the night sky. There were even a few stars in the backdrop. Even now Sigil didn’t know why tears streamed down his face at this moment. All he remembered was the embrace of his companion, and the hours of mummed tears buried deep, now escaping.