The Beginning of a Trillogy

The Beginning of the Trinity

By: Tyrin Ethrantos Ethril – Arcane Fist Alchemist, Writer of Darkmancer.

Prologue: The Darkness.

Day One:

Journal of General Tarce Tyrst Naerith

It was dark today. My people are dying. Something is blocked the sun’s light. My son, Tyrin, still lives, and is not affected by the loss of the sun. Kelra thinks he may be the one who will travel from this encampment one day, and defeat the darkness with darkness. I will not let them tell him. It would destroy him…

Which is why he must not find out. I will protect him for the current time. He’ll hate me in the future if he finds out from someone other than me.

Tarce Naerith.

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“Tarce, I told you he’s the bringer of this Darkness!” yelled out Kelra, one of the Filgaian elders.

“And I say this to you; He’s still my son!” countered Tarce Naerith, another of the Filgaian elders.

“Tarce, you aren’t acting rationally!” yelled out another Elder in a chair, who stood up. “You can always have another son!”

“My wife is dead!” He fell to his knees, the sword at his side falling from its scabbard, the clasp broken, probably from either lack of use or overuse. “Tyrin’s the only blood of hers and mine left! I’m not going to let you just simply kill him!”

“But Tarce.” A very Elderly man sat up. A scar ran down his face, all the way down his neck, and possibly farther, under the cloak he was wearing. “I don’t want him dead either. But we’re out numbered. Two to sixty-two. Not good odds.”

“Aerchaon…” (If you can’t pronounce it, it’s Arc-a-hone.) Tarce picked up the blade from the ground. “I’ll make a deal. Kelra, you’ll have to kill me to kill Tyrin.”

“Very well. Kelra, go with what he says.” Aerchon looked amused by what Tarce suggested. “Tarce, don’t kill the guy. It’d be impossible to get blood out of these hardwood floors.

“Wh-what!?” Kelra was aghast, seeing the shining rapier that Tarce was holding. “You’re going to go along with it?!”

“That I am.” Said Aerchon, smirking. “I have no reason not to. You can defend yourself well enough with those claws of yours.”

“If… If I must.” He placed his hands together, palm on palm, a blue light emanating from him. His arms changed, into an animalistic form. Claws grew from his human arms, dark brown fur with orange streaks growing where they once were. His bright yellow eyes narrowed and slit. He growled at Tarce.

“Bring it.” Tarce said calmly. “I don’t plan to die here.”

Growl. He quickly charged at Tarce, claws flashing in the torch light, blood splattering against the floor. It wasn’t Tarce’s blood, however. He dodged, the attack missing, his rapier in Kalra’s jugular. “Point, and win.”

Kelra collapsed, as Tarce pulled out the Rapier. “Therefore, Tyrin lives.”

The elders were aghast at the murder they had just witnessed. Pure bloodshed in front of the entire Filgaian council.

“B-Brother…” A man stuttered. Kalra, Kelra’s twin brother, came from the counsel seats, and kneeled to his brother, dead on the ground. “Y…you killed him…” Tears streamed down the man’s face.

“Stop crying.” Tarce said simply. He kneeled down to the dead man on the ground, and clapped his hands, a yellow light emanating from them. He put his hands over the wound, as it healed instantly. Kelra sat up straight up, screaming. "Get this disgrace out of my sight; the both of you."

“What… How did… I lost?” Kelra looked astonished at his loss.

“Kalra, take your brother to his home.” Aerchaon motioned to the door a few yards away. Kelra, being supported by his brother, walked out of the Council Hall. “Showing off your skills and saving your son at the same time, eh?” Aerchaon grinned.

Tarce stared at Aerchaon, amazed he actually commented on the battle. “It would seem so.” He pushed the rapier back into the scabbard, the snap still broken. The other councilmen stood up. “So is my son safe?”

“Yes, yes, very safe.” Aerchaon glanced at Tarce again. “Legally. I can’t guarantee the villagers won’t kill him anyway.”

Tarce’s eye widened and grimaced. “Don’t remind me. They’re already too superstitious as it is, let alone a child being a bringer of darkness.”

“Are you sure he isn’t?” The room had emptied. It was just Aerchaon and Tarce in the 40 by 30 room full of desks, tables, and chairs. “He might be. Just because he’s your son doesn’t mean he didn’t bring the darkness. It did start the fifteenth of the eighth month, (August 15th) when Tyrin was born.”

“He’s still my son; I can’t let them kill him in cold blood for their reasons.” Tarce heaved a sigh. “But he may be the bringer of the darkness still. I don’t know why, but he may be.”

“Everything is a maybe with you Tarce.” He laughed. “Then again, it always has been.” He ran his finger against the scar on his face. “You said this scar’s original wound ‘may be’ would kill me back then.”

“But that was a long time ago, old friend.” Tarce sat on the floor, as Aerchaon did the same.

“True, true.” He nodded, as he reached into the robes, as he pulled out a bottle. “One last drink, for the council?”

“Geh. I don’t see why not.” He pulled the sword off of his belt, and slumped. “We don’t have much time before the Arcanum come and kick me out though.”

“How long do you think it will take to drink this entire bottle?”

“About 15 seconds. 30 tops.” Tarce grinned.

“I had a feeling you would say that. That’s just like you.” Aerchaon grinned as well, as he handed the bottle to Tarce. “Try not to get too drunk. I don’t feel like dragging you home. You’re really… Well, drunk.”

“Can’t make any promises if you give me this Aerc.” He popped the cork top of the small bottle off. “Cheers.” He took a quick swig of the liquid, all of it gone in one swoop. “Ew.” He bent over and threw up. “Just, ew.”

“Right. Forgot.” He smirked. “You don’t like this ‘magic wine’ stuff.” He sighed. “Well, at least you got the throwing up out of the way, and you aren’t getting a hangover.”

“Gah, shut up Aerch.” He motioned to him to leave.

To Be Continued...