Enough rambling though.  Once I go off on a tangent, it’s hard for me to stop, as many of you are sure to know!  Instead, let’s get right to it. This is the third and final part of Blessings and Curses, where we see what Conrad plans to do with his new-found ability.  Enjoy!

Blessings and Curses
-Part Three-

Silence had returned to the rear of the temple, and the paladin remained in good health after some brief healing attention.  Though Robert hadn’t spoken again, his inquisitive stares left Conrad uneasy indeed.

“You don’t remember anything before coming to the kitchen?” the cleric asked.

Robert shook his head but scanned the room as if searching for pieces of that puzzle.  He blinked away his bewilderment and rubbed the back of his head.

“Perhaps it is for the best.  It would only serve to confuse you more, I’m afraid.  Can I get you anything?  Something to drink?”

Waving away the offer, the paladin climbed to his feet.  When he arrived there, the door to the western hall swung open.  His father was there, a hefty tome cradled in the crook of his arm.

“Robert,” the priest said.  “What are you still doing here?”  He waved his own question away then.  “Why do I even bother?  You wouldn’t break your vow of silence but for something truly shocking.”

Both of the other men passed knowing glances to each other.  Robert clapped his father on the shoulder and nodded to his friend before slipping through the open door, shutting it behind him.

“I have news of our friend’s curse,” Richard said.  “There were a few that came close to what you described, but one is nearly perfect.”  He slammed the tome down on the table and flipped it open to a dog-eared page.  Richard prodded at an entry with his finger, a proud display of his triumph.

Conrad spun the book about and scanned the entry.  “Kaikano’s vengeance?”

While the cleric read through the details of the curse, Richard took a step back and leaned against the wall, offering up a satisfied grin.  “It’s a curse that’s particular to a remote tribe in the south seas, the Sadori.  Apparently, Kaikano is one of the gods they worship, a great kraken who drags whole ships to the bottom of the ocean and into the underworld.

“The Sadori are a tribe of great hunters and fishermen,” Richard went on.  “Apparently, when they would capture a squid or octopus, they would sacrifice it in the name of Kaikano, knowing he would be happy for the weak or foolish creature to be removed from the sea.  The tribe eats the squid, but they use the ink in various rituals.  One of these is Kaikano’s vengeance.  It’s supposed to make the tribesmen better hunters… Power through pain and all that.

“But this man is from Blacklehn,” the priest continued.  “He’s a long way from the south seas.  If it wasn’t for those tattoos, I would discount that particular curse.”

Conrad moved to the sleeping captive.  Sure enough, the man’s tattoos had resurfaced.  The cleric felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Richard’s sympathetic gaze pointed his way.

“There’s more,” he said.  “Turn the page.”  As Conrad did what he was instructed, Richard continued to reveal his findings.  “The Sadori medicine men and hunters knew Kaikano’s vengeance was not without its drawbacks.  If a hunter underwent the ritual, he understood he could no longer depend on the medicine men for healing.  The medicine men were not meant to endure Kaikano’s vengeance.  If they healed the hunter – if they drew that darkness out of them – they would be forced to live with the curse as well.”

Conrad’s jaw locked and moisture made its way to the rims of his eyes.

“Your secret is safe with me, child,” Richard said.

“I hurt Robert,” the cleric confessed.  “The only way to expel the pain is to release the dark energy.  It seems no matter where I am, it travels to the next closest person.  I only pray there will be no lasting effects.”

“My son seemed no worse for wear.”

“He spoke,” Conrad informed.

The priest let out an incredulous laugh.  “I must admit, I’m glad to hear he hasn’t forgotten how.”

“You’re not angry?  He broke his vow of silence.”

“My child, he takes that far too seriously.  Most men of the clergy will invoke a silence during the day out of piety.  My boy is a… He’s a rare case.”  He shook his head.  “Let’s return to talk of you.  This curse… It seems it may not have taken you completely.  As you said, Robert was hurt, but not so bad that I noticed.  My suspicion is you healed him.  Let’s be thankful you still can.  And though you must endure your fair share of pain now, perhaps it is a boon you can now inflict it upon others.  You are in the rare position to do even more good for this city.”

“I fear the darkness I release will lead to terror.”

“I have no doubt you’ll learn to disguise it well,” Richard returned.

*          *          *          *          *

His eyes opened, and the first thing he saw was the cracked ceiling.  He felt the pain that persisted in his body.  He tasted the lingering flavor of dried blood that coated the back of his throat.

The Blacklehnian shot up, his eyes wide.  In the corner, another man stirred, yawning and blinking away his fatigue.

“Who are you?” the large captive said.  “What am I doing here?”

Conrad stretched and groaned.  “You couldn’t let me have these last few moments, could you?” he mumbled.

“You…” the captive soldier said.  “You are the healer from the alley.  I… I thought that was all a dream.”

“Afraid not.  Everything happened just as you remembered.  You left the Bravado, you got into a fight, we nearly killed each other, and then I took the darkness from you.”

The Blacklehnian squared his jaw and shook his head.  “It was supposed to be me.  I was the only one who should have to endure such agony.”

“Well, at least you’re not alone.  You won’t even spend time with the other soldiers we captured.”

“War was never my desire.  I’d sooner stay away from them than be reminded of the atrocities I’ve seen committed.”  A deep sigh pressed from his lungs.  “I should know who I share my curse with.”

The cleric extended his arm and shook hands with the hulking fellow.  “They used to call me Conrad the Blessed.  After what happened last night, who knows what they’ll call me.”

“I don’t know whether to loathe you or thank you, Conrad,” the Blacklehnian said.  “I am Ruslan Ananto.  You may have given me another chance to seek redemption.”

“And what is it you seek redemption for?”

Ruslan harrumphed and bowed his head.  “I’ve heard of your kind.  There are healers aplenty in Blacklehn, but only in Carthis do we have clerics who ask questions like that.  I have committed foul deeds, and though they were not by my will, they were by my hand.”

“Kaikano’s vengeance,” Conrad said.  “You did not ask for it, did you?”

The Blacklehnian’s eyebrows arched at the mention of the curse.  “How do you know of Sadori rituals?”

“We have a vast library in Atalatha.  Perhaps the greatest in Tellest.  It’s more astounding that anyone should have found the answer in any of those tomes.  But there are more studious minds here – ones that love to solve a mystery.

“You and I share a common bond, Ruslan.  If you aren’t opposed to telling the tale, I’d be interested in finding out how an islander ended up fighting alongside Blacklehn and how he found himself enduring a curse against his will.”

Another bellowing sigh erupted from the hulking man like the tremble of a far off quake.  “Very well,” he said.  “My people have always been hunters.  Not quite seafarers, but accustomed to the water in ways others could only dream.  The Sadori are attuned to the sea, and it is known Kaikano grows angry.  For decades, we’ve seen what disrespect is cast to the ocean.  My family knew better than to tempt fate.

“Half a century ago, a sect of the Sadori left the islands.  They landed upon Gandarst, a place equally famed for its hunters and not without worthy trophies.  My mother was one of the Sadori who found her way there.  She met one of the warriors of the southern wastes, and they began a family.

“Two brothers preceded me, each as violent and reckless as our father.  But when I was born, they knew the beast had come.  We traveled to Blacklehn to pledge fealty to the warlord king, Galen Fowler.  My father promised him three great champions.  As I grew older, though, I turned from the fighting and even the hunt.  My father was ashamed of me.  I was the biggest – the strongest – of his sons, and I had forsaken my birthright.”

“So your father afflicted you with Kaikano’s vengeance?”

“One day, while my father was hunting, my brothers and I were called to supper.  Before the meal was finished, I was thrown to the floor.  While my brothers held me down, my mother stood over me, dagger in hand.

“I don’t remember much of that day,” Ruslan said.  “But when I woke, I had these awful tattoos – the blood of Kaikano – already bound to my flesh.”

“And you’ve never found a cure?”

“I haven’t really been afforded the time to look for one.  Old Sadori scriptures speak of Kaikano’s brother, the volcano, but they too were lost to the sea.  Kaikano does not want to see his blessings purged.

“Blacklehn has made good use of it too.  A warrior that yearns for battle from his deepest inner being… It’s perfect for them – so long as there is a battle to be had.”

“Well, now you’re a guest of Atalatha.  You’ll have to find a way to placate the darkness as best you can.  These aren’t soldiers here.  They’re laborers and merchants, citizens who wouldn’t be able to defend against you even if you didn’t have the blood of an angry god flowing through your veins.”

“When you find out how to suppress it, let me know.”  A pronounced sigh shook even Ruslan’s large frame.  “What are you going to do?  You suffer the same fate as I, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps, but not without direction,” Conrad replied.  “If I must cast out the darkness, let it be toward someone deserving of the pain.  There are people who are far worse than those two drunks that cornered you in that alley.”

The Blacklehnian hummed as he considered that truth.

“Come now,” Conrad said. “There’s no sense wasting this day any more than we have.  Let’s get you off that cot and into the light.”

The cleric led Ruslan to the rear door and swept it open.  Both men stepped outside, casting their gazes upon the rolling hills of the temple district.

“Did you mean what you said?” the hulking man asked.

Conrad arched an eyebrow.  “About what?”

“Do you truly think you’ll be seeking out evildoers in the middle of the night?  Are you thinking of taking justice into your own hands?”

“I don’t see any other choice.”

Ruslan squared his jaw and nodded.  “You’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Though he was weary, Conrad allowed a grin to stretch across his face.

The post Blessings and Curses, Part Three appeared first on Tellest.

Blessings and Curses
-Part Two-

The sun was still far beyond the horizon, but the tinges of fire opal and cerulean in the sky heralded its arrival.  The cleric had labored for some time to reach the temple district of Atalatha, made all the more difficult by the burden he bore.

Conrad had borrowed a cart from the front of one merchant’s shop and stretched hide from another, all under the cloak of night.  Even with the wooden wheels lending their aid, the weight of the transport made for a tiresome task.  Conrad dragged his forearm across his sweaty brow and noticed the prominence of his veins once more.  He tried to dismiss the dull pain as mere weariness, his muscles protesting his labors.  That sight of the blackness returning to his body proved he was deceiving himself.

He pulled on the hide, making sure the feet that dangled off the edge of the cart were properly concealed.  Conrad fought past the pain and fatigue, lifting the cart once more.  He set to work, pressing forward, the path before him familiar.  While the main entrance to the temple of Mathias was much closer, it was also prominently displayed before all.  And while Eltan Mane, the duke of the city, had declared the Blacklehnian prisoners were in fact “guests,” he wasn’t so sure the sight of the violet band would be accepted by the other parishioners.

Instead, Conrad opted for a more discrete route.  The temple complex in northeastern Atalatha encompassed each of the major gods, though some, like that to Nerot, were relegated to smaller places of worship.  Each of them celebrated their dead, those tried and true heroes of a particular craft or designation.  Craftsman, clerics, farmers, and soldiers were all given respects – unless there was no coin to see them safely into the ground.

Atalatha’s dead had been piling up for some time.  With the recent attacks by Blacklehn laying waste to much of the city’s defenses, whole families had been removed in a manner most permanent.  With no one able to pay for a funeral or construct a box, they were placed atop the pile.

Conrad held his arm over his mouth and nose, for that pile, far to the north of the cemetery, had grown large and fetid.  The corpses were left to rot in the summer sun, and there were not enough gravediggers in the city to properly bury them.  Conrad recalled his last visit to the temples, where a more respected member of the clergy had suggested the clerics and healers exercise some humility and pick up a shovel.  He was dejected when he was reminded the injured still outnumbered the dead.

The pile was useful for one thing:  None of the gravediggers batted an eye when he drove his cart through the area, a lifeless body doing little to raise suspicion.  The foul stench chased most other folk away, but it left the path to the rear of the temple of Mathias clear and uninhabited.  Still, the journey was long and arduous.  By the time he arrived at the discrete back door of the grand stone building, the sun had lifted over the side of Atalatha’s walls.  The dull pain had grown fierce, like solitary pin pricks in random parts of his body.  His veins were more prominent then as well.

As he studied his strange metamorphosis, the door swung open, and a set of chainmail rattled.  Conrad lowered his arm and shook his head, taking account of the man who filled the doorframe.  He let show a weary grin when he saw the familiar paladin, who appeared as tired as he.  A vow of silence meant no complaints would be heard, even when his labors became too strenuous.

“Hello, Robert,” Conrad said.

The paladin bowed and flashed a polite smile to his friend.  He moved forward and extended his arm, but before he reached Conrad, he noticed the cart and the odd contents of it.  He tugged the hide away, revealing the hulking Blacklehnian.

Conrad was already nodding before his friend narrowed his eyes.  “It’s been an interesting few hours.”

*          *          *          *          *

The man from Blacklehn was laid out on the cot, breathing steady once more, but still unconscious.  Beside him, the cleric sat in a plush chair, a far-off stare helping him to endure the agonizing thrum pulsing through his body.  Caught in that reflection, he didn’t hear the tapping of boots coming down the adjoining hallway.  When the door swung open, he nearly flung himself from his seat.

Two other members of the clergy entered, though Robert lingered at the door for a moment.  He gave a nod and a grin and pulled the way shut once more.  The second fellow, much older and renowned, sent a cursory glance in Conrad’s direction but turned his attention to the Blacklehnian.  After a brief inspection, he poked and prodded at the large captive and finally shrugged.

“He seems no worse for wear.  I assume he had injuries before this which you tended to?”

“Yes, sir,” Conrad said, wincing as he rose from his seat.  “There were efforts made to rouse him as well, but no such luck, I’m afraid.  His injuries were sustained several hours ago, and since then, he’s done naught but breathe.”

“Hmm.”  The priest leaned forward, tracing his finger along the Blacklehnian’s body, locating scars and blemishes.  When he arrived at his neck, he saw the more recent injury.  He swung about and furled his brow.  “This wound he has, he incurred this last night?  I shouldn’t have to remind you such injuries will sap one’s energy, especially a patient as massive as this one.”

“Of course, Master Lener.  It’s just that –”

“I have the utmost respect for you, my boy,” Richard said, trying to placate the healer.  “And after what you’ve done for one of my dearest friends…  They say Randall’s recovery is going well, and we can thank you for that.  I wouldn’t dare to question your motives in bringing this man here, though I must say my curiosity is piqued.  You’ve done well, and this man would survive in any bed you placed him in.  So why here?”

Conrad cleared his throat and braced himself against the chair.  “This man was pursued last night, much to his chagrin.  Two patrons from the Bravado attacked him in an alley, and he retaliated.  But I don’t think he planned on it.”

“You think he was fearful of his life?” Richard’s tone dripped of incredulity.

Shaking his head, Conrad approached the slumbering Blacklehnian.  He opened his eyelids, observing the unresponsive pupils.  “He badly hurt his aggressors.  But he came back several moments later, set on killing them.”

“I wouldn’t expect much else from a barbarian of the north.”

“No,” Conrad said, shocked straight by the sting of the darkness.  “This was different, though.  His eyes glowed green, and he seemed somewhat…”

“What is it, child?”

“I know I don’t know this man, but he seemed to be under duress, like he wasn’t in control of himself.  After I healed him, he was conscious for but a moment.  In that time, he grabbed my wrist and warned me of a curse – one he believed he had been afflicted with.”

Richard folded his arms across his chest.  “Damn it all.  You told Robert about this?”  Faced with a nod from the healer, the priest expelled a weary sigh.  “That blasted vow of silence… You’d think people in our profession might need the use of their voice more than many.  I’m tired of trying to translate my son’s wordless antics, but he did attempt to discuss this curse with me.  Your account made things much easier to understand, though, thank you.”

“So what do we do with him?”

Richard chortled.  “If I were not a man of the cloth, I’d say we put him in the pile out there.  Seeing as Eltan has pardoned all the Blacklehnians, though, I suppose we should do our best to treat him like a citizen of Atalatha.  Green eyes and what almost sounds like possession, you say?  I’ll consult with some of the tomes in the Great Library.  I’m sure the clerics have conducted some manor of research on such an affliction.  I’ll return within a few hours, if we’re lucky.”

“What should we do with our guest in the meantime?”

Another laugh shook Richard’s narrow frame.  “If he’s been unresponsive so far, I doubt we’ll have to watch him too closely.  He won’t be wandering off.  In any case, I’ll send Robert this way to observe him while I study.”

“Thank you, Master Lener,” Conrad said.  Richard waved away the compliment and proceeded into the temple.

Once a considerable time had passed, the cleric shut the door.  In solitude but for the man who shared his secret, he finally allowed himself a powerful gasp.  Gone was the pulsing pain, replaced instead by a constant hum beneath his skin like shards of glass had replaced the blood in his veins.  He tensed his muscles and scratched at his limbs until bright red lines were prominent above the blackened colors of his veins.  Growling away the horrible discomfort, he wasted little time racing toward an antechamber, ripping the door open there.

Past a narrow hallway, Conrad saw a kitchen gone unused for some time.  Inside, dust covered much of the counter space, and cobwebs clung to the cooking utensils hung on the nearest wall.  Crates and barrels were lined against a side wall, rotten from misuse and water damage.

He wasted little time identifying the sink in the room and made his way to it.  When he adjusted the tap, clear water did not pour from the spigot.  Instead, grimy, murky brown liquid oozed into the basin.  Conrad braced himself against the counter, his brow marred by sweat.  The sting and itch beneath his skin had him seeing spots.  Through that difficulty though, his vision settled on a rack of utensils before him.  Reaching out, he grabbed a wooden meat tenderizer and took a deep breath.  He peered through the dirt caked window and laid his left hand flat across the counter.

Conrad lifted the mallet high and smashed it against his hand.  The initial shock of that rush of pain washed over him like a cool breeze.  The discomfort and sting from the curse he had inherited could no longer be felt, disguised beneath the hefty blow he had delivered to himself.

He breathed easier then, even as he pulled his newly injured hand close to his chest.  Unable to squeeze his fingers into a fist, he rested it there upon curled knuckles.

Spinning back toward the door, he nearly jumped backward.  Robert stood there, his eyebrow arched.  He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at his friend.

“How much of that did you see?” Conrad asked.

*          *          *          *          *

The cleric sat against the wall, his head lying against dust and cobwebs.  Though his agony had been compartmentalized for some time, the confusion had run its course.  The darkness was circulating through his body like toxic sludge, like poison through his veins.  Worse still, the injury he had inflicted on himself was no longer a distraction, simply adding to his woes instead.

Robert’s footsteps resonated in the antechamber, and Conrad lifted his head, waiting for what felt like an eternity for his friend to arrive.  The paladin entered the room with a large burlap sack in his hands and sat it down beside his weary companion.

Without missing a beat, Conrad swept the bag in front of him and rooted through it.  When he pulled out a bottle marked “essence of mandrake,” he uncorked it and quaffed it in an instant.  He let his shoulders sink and closed his eyes, happy for the reprieve.  At once, it felt like he was drifting to sleep.

Though the pain had been dulled, he still felt the powerful thrum of the darkness as it worked through his veins.  He rotated his arms and observed his wrists, prominent black veins before him.

“This relief is only temporary,” he said, dejected.  “Whatever this curse truly is, it cannot be wished away by a drink or potion.”  He sat in silence for a moment before a new clarity washed over him.  “It can be expelled,” the cleric said.

Robert arched one eyebrow while the other lowered.  As his friend struggled to climb to his feet, he offered a hand.

“After I healed the Blacklehnian and siphoned his curse, the men who attacked him came after me.  All I did was raise my hand to placate them and a… a darkness, like a fireball made of smoke… It flung from my hand.  Maybe all I have to do is release this energy.”

The paladin held out his hands and shook his head at his friend.

“It’s been a long night,” Conrad protested.  “But if this is possible, all I would have to do is find a safe place and let go of this darkness.”  He glanced about the kitchen – through the windows, behind the barrels, out the door – until his vision settled on the small metal panel on the far side of the room.  “No one’s used this kitchen in some time, correct?”  He didn’t turn to see his silent companion’s response.  Conrad moved forward and pulled down on the affixed handle.  A creak echoed into the room and through the furnace.  “This’ll do,” the cleric said.

He stepped back and wiped his brow with his forearm before extending his arm toward the furnace.  Like nails tumbling through his muscles, he felt the darkness surging through him.  A crackle echoed in the room, like the sky before a booming thunder.  The darkness – a ball of black, smoky plasma – shot forth, and in that instant, Conrad felt relief.

Though his pain subsided, his fear would not dissipate, for the ebon projectile did not obey his command.  Before it reached the furnace, it spun about in a narrow arc.  Neither of the men had enough time to react before the dark magic collided into Robert.  A powerful black aura flashed out for a moment as the paladin was struck and heaved backward through the open door.

With wide eyes and renewed energy, Conrad ran to his friend’s side.  Robert was still conscious, but he was unable to focus on anything.  He blinked away his confusion and looked to the cleric.  “What happened?” Robert asked.

Conrad covered his mouth in shock.

The post Blessings and Curses, Part Two appeared first on Tellest.

The last time we saw Conrad the Blessed, he had done some remarkable things to the benefit of Randall Hart.  He brought the knight out of a terrible coma (much to his chagrin), and has since seen some celebration.  Still, life in Atalatha after the countless battles that have breached their walls has been… unstable.  Conrad is weary, and would rather not have to pick up the pieces of other people’s adventures.  He might soon find out that it’s better to keep your wishes to yourself.

Today we’re unveiling the first part of the new story, Blessings and Curses on Tellest.com – I hope you enjoy it!

Blessings and Curses
-Part One-

Even from the darkened corners of the tavern, he could see the crowd was growing rambunctious.  While all of Atalatha’s drinking holes were known for their fair shares of spontaneous violence, Conrad frequented the Bravado because he could sip ale in relative peace.  That was not to be the case that night.

Weeks before, Blacklehn had attacked the city, and they had failed.  The prisons were filled, and the duke had made his intentions clear:  They were not executing soldiers who had surrendered.  Rather, one of Atalatha’s premier wizards had magically branded the Blacklehnians.  Purple bands circled their wrists, leaving them to stand out in any crowd.

So it was that night at the Bravado.  A violet strip circled the wrist of the man that sat at the bar.  When he reached for his ale, he did little to disguise his markings.

Most people around him gave a wide berth.  The soldier seemed bred for fighting, his muscles stacked upon each other in a way that made other tavern-goers gaze in awe.

“He’s a son of Nerot,” Conrad heard whispered beside him.

“The god of war?” another man returned.  “Nerot would never allow his son to be captured.  It’s too shameful.”

“Unless it was intended.  What if he was meant to end up with a purple band on his wrist just so he could get behind the walls of Atalatha and wreak havoc?”

The second man scoffed.  “A likely story.”

“Fine then.  What say you we put a friendly wager on it?  He’s been coming in here nigh on a fortnight.  How’s he making the money to earn his keep?  My guess is he’s waiting until some poor, miserable fool stumbles out of here at night, and then he pounces on him.”

“A lad like that works the coliseum for sure,” his friend argued.

“Then put some coin on the table!  When I’m right, you’ll be buying my mead for a month.”

Conrad smirked as he listened to them prattle on.  Stories like that would persist on until the end of time, and he was happy for the respite, however brief it was.  Truly, it was a boon to be able to hear of some adventurous tales, for all he endured was the sight of the injured and dying.  It was becoming all too common those days.  With his healing touch, it seemed he was destined to patch up those who had fallen to battle.  He wouldn’t ever be a part of one – or an adventure.  After a fretful sigh he raised his mug and downed the rest of his frothy drink.

Many patrons had come and gone, but Conrad still nursed one last drink.  The Blacklehnian fellow remained at the bar as well, and if the cleric watching had to guess, he would have thought the prisoner was keeping the Bravado in business.

Finally, that large man stood, nearly tipping the cushioned stool to the floor.  For the first time, Conrad was able to see the man more clearly.  Long dark hair hung down past his shoulders, just catching the flicker of the tavern’s lantern light.  Distant eyes peered at the mug which sat empty on the counter, and as the bartender snatched that cup, the Blacklehnian looked at him almost pleadingly.  The man behind the bar paid him no heed, so the captive spun away.  Before he faced the door, he met the stare of the cleric in the dark corner.

Conrad felt the piercing strength of that glare.  He remained focused on the imposing man, in awe at his size but sensing something else there as well.  The Blacklehnian scoffed, a snarl framed by a thick beard and mustache.  As he continued toward the door, Conrad noticed one more peculiar aspect of his appearance:  A series of tattoos were strewn across his right arm, disappearing beneath a black vest.  Intricately crafted faces stared at the cleric, though the Blacklehnian was focused on the door.  Then, at once, they were gone, disappearing into the street, along with the large captive.

Slapping down the last of his drink and a silver coin beside it, Conrad rose and made his way to the exit.  He was halfway across the room before the door shut.

Out on the main road, the cleric was surprised by how barren the city was.  A glance toward the tower in the center of the city alerted him to the late hour of night.  A half-filled fiery orb meant it was half past one.  “Too afraid to tell him it was last call, eh, Phinius?”

There would be time to reflect later, he reasoned.  Though only a moment had passed, the large fellow had vanished.  The street was not altogether empty, however.  The two patrons who had wagered against the Blacklehnian’s position and whereabouts snuck from the darkness of an alley across the street.  They hadn’t noticed Conrad, too concerned with something else.  And the cleric was sure he knew what it was.

He pursued them, as quiet as their shadows, to the north.  Though he had been in Atalatha for some time, he had been more familiar with the main roads than side alleys and dark corners.  Before long, the men were out of sight, their footsteps leading the way in some arbitrary direction.

Conrad’s shoulders slumped, and he braced himself against the stone wall of a derelict building.  A disappointed yawn snuck to him, and he shook his head.  As he was turning back toward familiar roads, though, he heard the sounds of a struggle.  Incoherent protests transformed into shouts and screams.  A loud thud and an even louder crash echoed out.  Bowing his head, the cleric continued his pursuit.

After rounding a few corners, the sounds of violence ceased, and Conrad wondered if he would find the men at all.  He nearly passed by the alley where the two patrons from the Bravado lay bruised and battered on the ground and raced down that lane, falling to his knees beside the men, who rasped for breath and moaned in agony.  The alley, where only the faint starlight provided any illumination, disguised their injuries.  Conrad diagnosed the men’s wounds on instinct: a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder, and some battered ribs.  The prisoner from Blacklehn was strong indeed.

Conrad scowled then, for he realized the captive was nowhere to be seen.  He set to work, placing his hand above the nearest man’s body.  The cleric’s palm radiated with healing light, brighter than any beacon that could be seen from that location.  The groaning and the labored breathing ceased, but certain injuries would persist until they could find a medic.  He noticed the one farther fellow still clung to a small dagger.  The silver was stained crimson as well.  They hadn’t just followed the Blacklehnian; they had attacked him.

“This is about what you fools deserve,” he whispered.

As he finished speaking, he noticed the alley had grown even darker.  When he cast a glance down the end of the lane, he saw the towering Blacklehnian there.  Though he held a tremendous hunk of stone beneath one arm, it was his bright green eyes Conrad fixated on.

“Be gone, you fool,” he said, in spite of the trepidation he felt building inside of him.  “Can’t you see the damage has been done?”

If the Blacklehnian was concerned with that request, it didn’t show.  He began forward, lifting the debris above his head.  “Blood must be bought with blood,” his deep voice resonated.  “Stand aside or stand in my way.  It makes no difference.”

Conrad reached down and plucked the dagger from the man’s grasp, brandishing it in a trembling hand.  “Stay back.  I’m warning you!”

The Blacklehnian drew closer, and the healer saw the stone he held was a hunk of remnants from a nearby derelict building.  A myriad of wounds also separated his flesh.  Another dagger still remained in his waist.

“Last chance,” Conrad bade.

He didn’t wait, heaving the blade end over end as the lumbering warrior began his throw.  Against all odds, and surprising even Conrad, the dagger plunged into the man’s throat.  He lurched backward, dropping the stone with an echoing thump.  As he clutched the hilt of the dagger, Conrad reached out.  It was all in vain, though, for the Blacklehnian ripped the blade from his neck, a vigorous burst of blood spilling from the injury.  He growled as he cast his gaze upon his newest aggressor.

His eyes fluttered then, and he collapsed to the ground.

Before him, Conrad blew out a sigh of relief and leaned back upon a wobbly arm.  He only allowed himself a moment of respite, however.  The Blacklehnian’s life force pooled beneath him, and hesitation would mean his death.

The cleric moved with haste, hovering above the hulking brute.  Though he was a tremendous force to be reckoned with, he was also not the one who had initiated the fight, as best Conrad understood.  The damage was much more extensive to him—and not only due to the severity of that final attack.  Cuts and slashes he endured beforehand were spread across his body.  Steadying himself, Conrad set his hands above the large man, summoning that holy light once more.

Sweat poured from the healer’s brow, his body shaking as he set to work on the task.  One by one, the cuts closed, leaving little scars in their place.  Finally, even that deadly puncture in his throat mended.  Conrad’s face had gone pale, and he tipped forward, leaning on the Blacklehnian with one hand.

Though the man was tended to, Conrad felt how fragile his life force was.  He sat back and took a deep breath.  “Worry not, stranger,” he said.  “I will pull the darkness from you and release it into the world.  Tellest will cleanse it, and you’ll be no worse for wear.”  He dragged his forearm across his brow, wiping the perspiration away.  Exhaling sharply, he set to work again.

The light returned to Conrad’s hand, and he closed his eyes while he rejuvenated the injured fellow.  For a moment, the cleric fluttered near unconsciousness, his body swaying in the light breeze that travelled down the alleyway.  A newfound strength came to him, though, when he felt the Blacklehnian’s inner wounds mending.

Color returned to the man’s skin, and his body relaxed.  Something else changed, though – something lost to the cleric’s closed eyes.  The captured soldier’s tattoos faded from his body, until they appeared as nothing but long forgotten scars.

Conrad felt a sudden sting in the palm of his hand.  Before he realized it, that prodding agony circulated through his body.  He gasped in shock and opened his eyes.  To his surprise, his veins were visible even in that darkness.  Pronounced and throbbing, those vessels were black as night and travelled all the way up his arm.

A firm grip caught his wrist, and he looked at the fallen Blacklehnian.  “What have you done?” the hulking captive asked.  “It was my curse to bear.”

Weak and weary, the man succumbed to his fatigue again.  His eyelids remained open, and an emerald tincture faded from those orbs.  The cleric couldn’t focus on that queer sight for long, as the pain thrummed through his body with every beat of his heart.

A groan to his side alerted him to another problem.  The patrons from the Bravado were stirring, the closest sitting up.  With a hand on his head, he uttered a profanity while he squeezed a tear through tightly shut eyes.  When he blinked away that humming pain, though, he knew he wouldn’t be permitted to focus on it for long.

“Hey, what are you doing there?” he spat.  “Are you helping that bastard from Blacklehn?”

Conrad hesitated for only a moment.  “Aye, and if I hadn’t tended to you, you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

“That monster tried to kill us.”

“Which is no worse than what you tried to do to him.”  Even as he spoke, the drunk approached with his fingers clenched into fists.  Conrad leaned back, reaching for the discarded dagger.  With no such luck apprehending it as the man drew near, he made one more impassioned plea.  “Stop!”  He thrust out his hand and was surprised when a dark energy seeped from his palm, shooting out from him like a bolt of fire stripped of flame and replaced with only smoke.  Only a dark purple haze gave it any other context, and even that was only visible for a moment before it struck the drunk.  He flew back several feet, unconscious once more before he even struck the ground.

Beleaguered, Conrad hung his head.  Setting a rhythm to his breathing, he blinked away his fatigue and found himself staring at his hand once more.  The clouded darkness that flowed through his veins diminished, and he felt the stinging in his body subsiding.

“Well, I was looking for a change of pace,” Conrad said.  He reached down for the fallen Blacklehnian.  “Come on.  Let’s get you somewhere safer than here.”

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