The Whispers Concept

The Whispers – Chapter Ten

Voting Instructions

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers is a story that takes place within the Tellest universe.  It’s a story that is written by Michael DeAngelo, but it’s told with help from the readers.  The Whispers follows Declan, a young man who was recently evicted from the temple where he grew up.  When he was younger, he used to hear voices, and the clergy interpreted those voices in ways that they thought brought them closer to divinity.  But with the whispers growing quiet, Declan was no longer needed at the temple, and he was instead shipped off to a nearby adventurers’ guild.  The voices have recently returned in his time of need, and have offered him advice on what to do in order to survive.

If you haven’t already figured it out, you are one of those potential whispers!  At the end of every chapter, Declan is given a choice.  Every reader has the chance to vote and influence Declan’s decision, as long as you’re a member of the Tellest newsletter.  Every time you vote, your voice holds more sway as well.  Everyone who casts their vote in earlier chapters will now have a stronger voice, and Declan will hear them a little clearer.  So for your voice to be heard best, you should get in on this story early.  There is another way to gain additional voting power, but that will be described in the voting instructions at the end of this post.

First thing is first: you’ve got to read the story (starting with chapter one, if you prefer).  Then if you’re not already a member of the newsletter, go ahead and sign up!  Tellest has awesome freebies that we give out right away at sign-up, and more that come along every few weeks.

Without much further adieu, let’s continue our tale, and find out the most recent choice Declan made with the help of our Council of Whispers…

Chapter Ten:
Getting Your Bell Rung

For once, it sounded as though the whispers were second to another noise resonating in Declan’s mind.  Though it had been some time since the intruders had taken the bell and fled with it, the former resident of the temple still heard the tone of the clapper striking the mouth of the mighty instrument.

When he opened his eyes, he expected some semblance of serenity.  As exhausted as battle had made him, he believed he was waking from a nightmare—rather than living one, as he and his allies did.

He did not know when he had succumbed to weariness and pain, nor did he know how long it had lasted.  Fires still crackled in the building, and the groans from those who were injured, as well as the death rattles from those who would not last the night, still filled the hallowed chambers of Fespar Temple.

Despite the wave of stimulation that came over Declan, he fought to sit up.  Strange shadows danced on the walls of the building, for half of the flames of the candelabras had been snuffed out, and large chunks of stone from the temple’s steeple had been ripped out, let to fall on the once-beautiful floor of the building.

Declan tried to listen for advice from the voices that often assailed his mind, but he could not detect them.  It was just as it was before he had been shipped off to the Adventurers of Eladia.  He considered for a moment that perhaps there was something about the temple that limited his ability to confer with the otherworldly whispers.

No, it was not that, he knew.  His ears rung from the noise of the bell, the volume of the screams, the sound of the explosions that roared into the night.  It was bad enough that he could barely hear the groan escaping his own lips as he struggled to his feet.

Though he didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, he knew that it was long enough for the patrons of the temple to risk exiting the building.  Melara and Jarayas and the rest of the highwaymen must have escaped quite some time before.

As his vision settled, Declan watched the horrors continue to unfold around him, even in the absence of the villains who had set the temple ablaze.  The charred remains of more than one patron lay on the ground nearby, and the scent of their burning flesh made it feel as though Declan’s sense of smell was the first that was fighting to return to him.  But he could taste the bile rise to the back of his throat as he watched one of the patrons tug on the arm of a friend or family member who was stuck beneath a large chunk of rubble.  The trapped person offered no assistance, and as their torso separated from their lower body, their companion seemed unable to make peace with the loss.

Fear crept into Declan’s mind then, for he could not see his guildmates nearby.  As he tried to recall the details of the battle they had lost, he could not remember what befell them.  And in the darkness of the place, he could not easily find his fallen companions.

As he took his first step forward, his foot brushed against a sturdy object, and it filled him with some hope to see it there.  The staff he had grown accustomed to was still in good shape and seemed like a beacon amidst the dreariness of the place.  He reached down and plucked it from the floor, and upon standing upright once more, he felt steadier, and more in control of his senses.

He could feel the whispers far in the back of his mind, as though they were scratching to get inside and reveal unspoken secrets to him.  But he didn’t have the capacity to open whatever door had been shut to them.  Instead, he focused on what he could accomplish there in the temple.

Close by, he saw someone wearing an outfit that looked at first like something Ilayeth would have worn.  But the debris that had fallen from the ceiling had coated everything in thin layers of grey and brown, and he soon realized that he was mistaking his ally for someone else.  He helped the patron to her feet regardless and pointed her toward the exit.  Declan would not leave—not until he found his friends.

While he scoured the temple floor looking for Tornig and Ilayeth, he peered into one of the antechambers, and his heart dropped.  His legs grew weak enough that he was at risk of falling to the floor again, and his senses seemed to withdraw once more.

Benedictus, the closest thing he had to a father figure since serving at the temple, lay in a heap against the far wall of the chamber, his blood staining the once immaculate wall behind him.

Declan felt a fire within him though, for he watched the man shift a bit, his eyes twinkling in the faded light that scattered throughout the temple.

Rushing inside, Declan slid along the floor as he dropped to his knees beside his friend.  He helped to prop Benedictus up against the wall, ignoring the agonized growl from the cleric.  Despite the pain surging through him, Benedictus looked upon the young fellow with warmth, as though seeing him again made all the tragedy of that day worth it.

“I did not expect to see you again this day,” the cleric said through gasps and gurgles.  “Yet even now, I can tell you aren’t the same young man who left our care.”

“Save your strength, Benedictus,” Declan said.  “I’ll get you out of here, and—”

Though it took effort, the older fellow shook his head.  “It will not keep,” he insisted.  “I am too far gone.  Magic would not restore me—only delay the inevitable.”

Declan’s jaw dropped to hear such words.

“Do not,” Benedictus said as he looked upon the young man before him.  “Do not fret.  My body may be failing me, but my spirit is full.  I see a man before me filled with purpose.”

Tears filled Declan’s eyes, but as he watched his old friend’s conviction steady him, he sniffed away the emotion running rampant in him, and rubbed his face with the heels of his hands.

“You’re hurt,” Benedictus said, spotting the injuries upon Declan.  Queryn’s talons had raked lines into Declan’s skin, and the blood stained the young man’s outfit.

He couldn’t believe that the cleric spared a thought of him when he was in such a sorry state.  Declan took a moment to look over Benedictus’s wounds, and realized at once that his injuries were just like his.  The harpy’s talons had left the man’s robes in tatters, but there were also deeper wounds, and Declan knew that they had been inflicted by Queryn’s daggers.

For a moment, Declan wondered if Benedictus had incurred her wrath before the Adventurers of Eladia had arrived.  If she had attacked the cleric after Declan had been downed in the fight…

He was pulled from his thoughts then, for a light emanated from his old friend’s body.  Benedictus held his hands up, shaking as they were, and gave shape to the light, a small ball of energy hovering above his wounds.

“What are you doing?” Declan asked.

The cleric answered not with his words, but with his actions, sending the light toward Declan.  Awash in the divine power, the young man who once lived at the temple felt energized, and he looked down to see his wounds close.  There wouldn’t even be a scar from where Queryn’s claws had torn open his flesh.

“I cannot do more,” Benedictus said, and his voice sounded weaker and wearier than it had before he called upon the holy power.  “I am sorry, Declan.  But I am glad that yours is the last face my vision will fall upon.  I have always been proud of you.”

Declan reached out and grabbed a shivering hand.  Benedictus had clammy skin, and a weak grip, and even then, it grew weaker by the second.

“Seek out Brother Carlo…if he yet lives,” the priest said, his voice losing strength, and with a sizable pause present.  “He knows about the bell, and where it came from before it arrived here…and he can tell you…”

He waited for his old friend to give him further instruction, but he realized soon after that Benedictus had expelled his last breath.  The fellow’s chest deflated, and even propped up against the wall, he seemed to shrink, and become less substantial.

Declan’s throat grew raw, and he thought to scream into the temple with all his might, but he could not bring himself to.  He twisted, and fell back against the wall, sitting aside the dearest friend he had made in all the time that he had lived in the building.  Falling apart as it was, it was as though the pieces of his life lay scattered, wind and flames ready to turn them to ash and cast them into the distance.  Tears could no longer be fought back, and as he cried them out, he sobbed hard enough to rattle Benedictus’s body.  He gave his friend’s hand one more squeeze, and gently placed it on his chest, all while croaking groans left his lips.

Though there were screams in the distance, it felt strangely silent, and lonely where he was.

But then, he knew that he was not alone.  The scratching in the back of his mind was still there, and as he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, Declan felt as if he was ready to open the door.

“You have to go after them,” he heard first, and the darkness that wrapped around his heart at the loss of his friend seemed to compel the same thoughts in him.

“They must pay for what they’ve done,” another voice came through the open door.  “Who knows what other mayhem they will unleash if they remain unchecked?”

“Take your allies and hunt them down.”

Declan’s brow furrowed, and he lurched forward, climbing to one knee.  He could feel rage enveloping him, and wanted nothing more than to give in to the dark temptations that the voices promised him.

One voice, however, seemed to permeate those that insisted that he keep the blood flowing.

“Do not lose yourself to the darkness, Declan.”

He wobbled at the sound of the voice that came through.  Though he was not sure of it, the voice sounded like it belonged to the old man who had breathed his last beside him.  As the echo of it in his mind persisted, he knew that it did not belong to Benedictus, but it was close enough that he remained frozen where he was.  His features softened, and the heat in his face seemed to cool, and his ragged breathing steadied.

“Take your time,” another voice pressed.  “Be patient, and when the time is right, you can see that justice is done.”

That was enough to steady him.  Declan bowed his head, breathing out the growls that fought to escape his lungs.  Despite the unnatural heat in the temple, he took in a cool gasp of air, and looked back to his fallen friend.  He reached over, and grabbed the far hand of the dead cleric, and folded both hands across his chest.

Declan knew that he could not mourn for long.  A loud crash echoed out in the main chamber, and he watched as a plume of dust swept across the floor.

His allies were out there, and he could not delay—not when their fates were in the balance.

Rushing out into the main chamber of the temple, he could see that other pieces of the steeple had come crashing down.  Luckily it seemed as though no one had been struck by the latest debris, but there was no telling when the next chunk would fall, or even if the entire foundation of the building would falter.

Some brave souls helped the weak and wounded out of the building, while other weary patrons fought with all their strength to escape of their own volition.  Among the group, Declan watched as a half-elf, covered in dirt and dust, did her best to hold up a bulky fellow who had a terrible gash upon his leg.

“Ilayeth!” Declan cried.  He hurried in her direction, a wave of relief washing over him.

The mage waved on another patron, directing them to take on the burden of helping the wounded man.  As Declan hurried toward her, she opened her arms and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“When I didn’t see you, I feared the worst,” she said.  “I worried you were beneath one of these pieces of stone.”

“Not yet,” Declan said.  “But if we don’t move quickly, we might still be flattened.”  He looked above, realizing that he could faintly see the stars in the gap within the steeple.  Shaking his head, he returned to the moment, knowing he did not have time to admire the view.  “Have you seen Tornig?”

Ilayeth’s brow furrowed, and her lips twisted to display her fears had not been completely abated.  “Perhaps he shuffled out of the building.  He fought hard against the bandits.”

Declan nodded, allowing himself to hope again.  But he knew better than to allow optimism to keep him from making sure.

“I’m going to take a quick pass around the room—just to be sure.”

“I will help you,” Ilayeth said.

Declan shook his head.  “If he is outside, as you considered, you might be able to find him there.  I know this temple inside and out.  There are some strange hallways that an injured person might venture down.  I need to make sure Tornig didn’t head anywhere else thinking it was the exit.”

The half-elf squared her jaw, looking a bit nervous to allow such reckless behavior.  “Do not take any risks you do not need to,” she said.  “If anything happens to you, I will never forgive myself.”

The newest member of the guild blew out an uneasy breath.  Without wasting any more time, he turned to face the smoky corner of the room and ventured into the darkness.

Beyond the haze and the clouds of dust that lifted into the room, fires burned, leaving an unsettling glow here and there.  Declan knew that irreplaceable pieces of history would smolder to ashes—from ancient tapestries to religious artifacts—but he knew there were more important things to focus on.

Before long, he couldn’t see far enough in front of him, and he shuffled a few steps at a time, trying to remember the long hallway that ran alongside one of the antechambers.  As he reached out his hand to find the stonework that would lead him there, he heard a groan nearby.

As obscured as his vision was, he couldn’t see anything nearby to indicate where the voice had come from.  He closed his eyes though, and tried to see if he could hear another bout of that tragic sound.

The whispers were too ready to fill whatever silence Declan tried to find, and he shook his head, knowing that they were too discordant to gather advice from in that moment.  Grumbling, he tapped his staff against the floor as if to chide them and silence them like children.

He arched his eyebrow then, however, and looked up at the headpiece of his magical implement.

Channeling his energy into it, he could feel a breeze rise up from his feet.  As it rose, it cast the dust away in circular motions, until it reached the apex of the staff.  Then, all at once, the gust spun back around to the bottom of the staff once more, the spell concluding with a powerful burst that sent the haze barreling away from the aspiring mage.

Not so far away, Declan spotted a pile of wood and stone, and he took a few careful steps toward it.

Another groan reached his ears, but that time, he also heard the words of someone outside of his head.

“That you lad?” the weak voice queried.

Declan knew that it was the dwarf, then.  He hurried ahead, setting his staff down so that he could pluck the hunks of stone and broken pieces of wood away.  After a short while, he could see Tornig’s helmet, and soon after, his dirtied face and tangled beard.

With a little less weight on him, the squat warrior groaned a little more loudly.  “I thought I was on me way to see Gulspire,” he said, invoking his brother’s name in a way that sounded as somber as it was humorous.

“Are you hurt?” Declan asked as he continued to pluck away debris from his companion.

“Only me pride,” the dwarf replied, his lungs able to fill with more air again as he began to squirm out of the mound of stone.  “I stood my own against a troll and a lagano, and instead it was this durned temple that was out to get me.”

As Declan parted his lips to offer up a sly remark, a loud blast resounded behind him.  He ducked down, and hid his face on reflex alone, and he narrowed his eyes as he heard the jingling of glass.

“The gnoll must have left some of her explosives here,” Declan said, realizing that he spoke louder than normal as he contended with the ringing in his ears.

Tornig nodded as he climbed to his feet.  “We need to get out of here,” he shouted, ensuring the young member of his guild could hear him.

It took a few moments for the dwarf to find his footing again.  Whether he had a cramp, or a worse injury hidden beneath his armor, Declan could not tell, but he still moved with urgency.

The explosion left the integrity of the temple worse than ever, and streams of smaller stones fell from the ceiling.  Those bits of debris bounced off Tornig’s helmet, echoing out loud enough that Declan could hear it despite the ringing in his ears.  He lifted his free hand then, covering his head as he ran forward.  It seemed that most of the patrons had cleared out, with the only ones left inside being those who had fallen to the highwaymen, or to the calamity unfolding as the building fell apart.

Declan and Tornig emerged into the cool night and heard a tremendous crash behind them.  Neither had to turn to see what happened, as a cloud of dust swept out of the damaged entryway of the temple.  The patrons that could ran a bit farther back from the building as another explosion rang out inside.

Ilayeth, however, ran toward her two companions.

“You’re both safe,” she said, breathing out a sigh of relief once she stood before them.

“Aye, but things certainly didn’t go as planned,” Tornig said.  “Even with a surprise attack, we couldn’t hold our own against them.”

“They were powerful adversaries,” Ilayeth agreed.  “And they outnumbered us by a great deal.”

Though she spoke of the members who had descended from the steeple, Ilayeth’s words had also reminded Declan of another who had been added to the highwaymen’s numbers.  He reached up and rubbed the back of his head.

“Gorik betrayed us,” he said.  “I could have held fast against them, but—”

Ilayeth shook her head.  “It matters not.  If you stood, they would have seen you cut down.  Tornig and I had already faltered, so the blame is not on you.”

“Bah,” the dwarf said.  “We may not have found victory yet, but we will by the end of this.  As achy as me bones are, I’m ready to hunt them down again.”

“We’re in worse shape than we started, my friend,” the half-elf said.  “And we don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“They’ve got a huge bell on their wagon,” Tornig argued.  “I’m sure they’ll be leaving tracks of some sort.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Declan said.  “We’re too weak to fight them in our state, and we don’t understand why they attacked the temple.  They could have slaughtered everyone and taken any treasures they might have had.  People go to the temple to tithe—there was more money to be found.”

“So, what are ye saying?” the dwarf grumbled.  “We just let them go off?”

“It’s better to come at things with a clear head,” Ilayeth suggested.  “If we know why they came here, we might be able to figure out what is next in their plan, and work to thwart them.”

Declan squared his jaw and blew out an emotional breath.  “Before I found you both in the temple, I discovered a friend of mine who lived here.  Brother Benedictus told me that the bell wasn’t originally a part of the temple, and that another of the cloth—Brother Carlo—would know more about it.  We should seek him out if he survived.”

Ilayeth placed her hand on Declan’s shoulder.  “We will look for him while we steady the people.  And we should also move everyone back a fair distance.  We may have seen the worst of the damage, but the building is weakened, and its walls may crumble further.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Tornig snorted.  “Well, when it finally steadies, I’ve got an axe to find.”

*          *          *

As the sun came up, Declan could feel weariness tugging on the back of his mind.  Even the whispers seemed to drift off to sleep, the scratching he sometimes felt behind his skull subsiding for a time.

Shaking off his growing stupor, Declan reached down and offered a waterskin to an injured temple patron.  The fellow, dirtied by the dust and grime that caked his perspiration, would have guzzled the water down to the last drop, but Declan politely stopped the greedy behavior.

“We’ll get you some more soon,” he said.  “There are some others who haven’t had their first sip.”

The former member of the temple recalled that people with far lesser injuries would come to the temple to pray for healing.  He wondered if anyone who had been in the temple at the time of the attack was there for such a thing.  Were they far worse off for the trip?

As he searched for anyone else who lay in the grass in need of a drink, he spotted Ilayeth venturing his way.

“I was able to convince the clerics to use their healing magic on a few of the younger patrons who were not injured too badly,” the half-elf said.  “I sent them off to alert the members of our guild, so they know what to expect before they come here.  If the group that went to Grey Arches have potions to spare, they could make sure they bring them this way.”

“That is a good idea,” Declan said.  “I sent some of the people who were healthy enough to refill the empty waterskins.  There is a creek nearby.  It won’t have been sanctified by the priests, but it will sate a thirst for sure.”  Just that thought made the dry, scratchy feeling in his throat that much worse.  He turned around, away from the fellow he denied earlier, and took a quick sip.  When he turned back, he had a new question on his mind.  “Where is Tornig?”

“I’ve got him guarding the entrance to the temple,” Ilayeth replied.  “I figure, if the walls crumble and fall on him, he’s got that hard helmet, and that harder skull to protect him.”

Declan could tell she was trying to offer some levity to the situation, but he could barely crack a weary grin.  He bowed his head.  “I haven’t seen Brother Carlo.  I’m afraid he might be among those lost.”

“Don’t give up hope yet,” the half-elf said.  “Let’s go speak to Tornig and see if he’s learned anything that might point us in the right direction.”

Returning a weary nod her way, Declan spun around to face the damaged entrance of the temple.  Before he took a step though, he looked at his waterskin, and tossed it to the thirsty fellow.  Through everything they had experienced, for some reason, that lifted his spirits just a bit.

Together, the pair hurried to the entrance, and they spotted the dwarf leaning upon the handle of his weapon.

“Found your axe then, did you?” Declan wondered.

The dwarf tilted his head back, looking at his two companions through sleepy eyes.  “Truth be told, I’m not certain this is my axe,” he said.  “I don’t know me own hands in front of me for how tired I am.”

“We’ll rest soon,” Ilayeth said.  “But did you see Brother Carlo while you’ve been guarding the entrance?”

Tornig shook his head.  “No one has come in or out since I’ve been keeping watch, heavy eyes or not.”  His brow furrowed then, and he sent an inquisitive look toward his pair of companions.  “Though, that’s not for lack of trying.  An older fellow did come this way, and when I sent him off, he went grumbling into the dark.  Come to think of it, he went around this way,” he said, lifting his axe off the ground and pointing it toward the north end of the temple.”

“Wait a minute,” Declan said.  “That could be it.  That could be Brother Carlo.”  When he was met with curious glances, he held his hand out as though the answer was so simple.  “The clergy of the temple only want to be close to their gods.  Especially in a time such as this, they would be looking for guidance, and for blessings.  If it was Brother Carlo who was barred access to the temple, he might have gone around to the back, where the shrine to one of the gods he holds in high esteem is located.  He might not see the statue, but he would be close to the divine power.”

“Let us head after him,” Ilayeth said.  “Perhaps he has not yet made his way around the building.”

Declan nodded, and even though it was subtle, he found his balance was a bit shaky.  He knew that it would not be long before he would succumb to fatigue, but as long as he had strength in him, he would try to carry on with the advice that Benedictus had given him.

Ilayeth led the way, the half-elf seeming as though she had never been more alive and alert.  If the previous night’s encounter had left her even the slightest bit winded, it did not show.  After a few moments, Declan realized that he fell into step beside his companion as if in a trance, and as he blinked out a few tired tears, he looked over his shoulder and realized they had already rounded one of the corners.  When he turned to continue on ahead, Ilayeth turned again, heading back south around the back of the temple.

At once, Declan knew that they had found who they were looking for.  One of the clerics of the temple sat upon his knees, holding a hand against the back wall of the building.  His eyes were closed, yet he tilted his head as he heard the approach of the pair.

“Brother Carlo?” Declan asked, though he already remembered him by his appearance.  He was certain that they had found the right person.  “We apologize for interrupting your prayer, but—”

“I’d say you’ve more than made up for it, Declan,” the old cleric said, furrowing his brow as he opened his eyes.  He looked at the two who approached, and though his gaze was stern, there still seemed to be some appreciation there.  “After all, you were the answer to our prayers last evening.”

Though darkness still firmly gripped the west side of the temple, the sunlight coming from the east spilled around the building, almost looking as though it was ready to grip it in a sympathetic embrace.

Declan could see the features of the old fellow in the dawn’s light.  Though they had not had very meaningful conversations when he lived at the temple, he could tell that Carlo knew who he was.  There might have even been some semblance of regret peeking out from his features.

“I didn’t do anything,” the young man protested.  “You’ve seen the state of this place.”

“Ah,” Carlo said, looking back at the brickwork at the rear of the building.  “But the temple is not as important as the people inside it.  And while many lives were lost last night, how many more would have been if not for the arrival of you and your companions?”

He let the question linger in the air for a moment, but he did not simply wish to hear himself speak.  “You’ve never come to me for counsel before, child, and I don’t imagine many people asked you to determine my whereabouts.  Is there something that you need from me?”

A twinge of shame came to Declan then, and that subtle shift in his mental state had him a bit more aware of himself.  He felt more awake then as well, and though there was just a moment where he felt more energized, he could feel the whispers beginning to pierce through the veil again.  He knew that he needed to push them out of his mind in order to get to the truth with Brother Carlo.

“Before Brother Benedictus passed, he told me that the bell wasn’t originally a part of the temple,” Declan said.  “It seems as if the bandits weren’t after riches—they were after the bell.  Brother Benedictus seemed to think that you might have had more knowledge as to why that might be.”

“Well, that’s true,” Carlo said.  “To some extent, anyway.  When I was younger, before I was called to the gods, I wanted to be an architect.  By itself, the temple was an impressive construction.  But the bell was something else altogether.  It wasn’t cast here, that much was certain.  So, getting it up to the temple’s steeple was a feat that was one I was interested in.

“Mind you, I was more impressed and concerned with how the bell was brought up to the steeple,” Carlo went on.  “But I do remember reading details about its purchase.”

The cleric hummed then, bringing his hand up to the wisps of grey growing from his chin.  “Declan, did you spend much time in the temple cellars?”

“Only to fetch wine for the services from time to time.”

Carlo rose then, grumbling from the aching his old bones had to acclimate to after the attack.  “There are more chambers there than just for wine.  We have a room for our records down there as well, and I spent a good amount of time there performing research on the construction of the temple throughout the years.  I know that I read something about the bell in one of the documents, but I was more concerned about the construction.  But if you could find it, perhaps you would be able to gather a clue as to why the bandits were so concerned with it.”

Ilayeth bowed, and Declan followed suit, though enough of his weariness remained that he had to fight against gravity to remain standing.

“Thank you, Brother Carlo,” he said.  “I hope that we can find some answers to why these good people had to endure this terrible attack.”

He followed his companion again when Ilayeth spun around, and headed back the way they came.  As they rounded the north corner of the building, Declan reached out to the half-elf.

“Hey, slow down.  I don’t have the kind of energy that you do.”

“I know you’re tired, Declan,” she said.  “But if the bandits were willing to risk an attack on this many people, there had to be an important reason.  And I can only imagine the chaos they are willing to sew now that they have the bell.  But we won’t have to imagine for long if we find out the instrument’s history.”  She hurried along then, making her way to the front of the temple.

But before she could venture too far, she was stopped in her tracks.

There, ahead of her, in the clearing ahead of the building, she saw a group of familiar faces.  The members of the guild who had gone to Grey Arches had arrived.

While Ilayeth knew at once upon seeing the newest arrivals, it took Declan a moment to understand what transpired.  It was only upon seeing a man upon a powerful steed with a shield upon his arm that he realized they were his new allies.  The sigil of the guild, a sword beside a staff upon a teal field, sat emblazoned upon the shield, and for some reason, in that moment, Declan felt a sigh of relief leave his lungs.

He noticed other faces that didn’t look like those who had been in the temple when it had been attacked.  A priest with more formidable attire—chainmail sitting atop his robes—went from one injured person to another, summoning the divine arts to close wounds and offer reprieve from pain.  A woman wearing a striking blue muffin hat, along with feathers that looked as teal as the sigil of the guild, strummed a lute as she gathered up some of the weariest people in the clearing.  Just hearing her song for a moment left Declan feeling a bit less fatigued.

Declan also spotted a figure who stood out from the predominantly human and dwarven patrons of the temple.  An avarian, one of Tellest’s anthropomorphic birdfolk, looked to the broken entryway of the building, speaking with Tornig about what had occurred during and since the attack.  Declan even recognized a familiar face among the recent arrivals.  Erik, the man who had brought him to the guild, was his usual gruff self, barking orders at those in the clearing who were healthy enough to take them.

The man on the horse spotted Ilayeth as she seemed to glide across the ground.  “There you are,” he said, his voice powerful and stern.  “We had heard from those behind at the guild that you had come this way.  When we spotted the damage and the injured, we feared the worst until Tornig came forward.”

“It was still a travesty, Mason,” Ilayeth said.  “We came here hoping we could put a stop to the carnage, and instead we were only here to witness it firsthand.”  She sighed, and bowed her head, but as Declan walked up beside her, her features seemed to light up.  “Ah.  Mason, please allow me to introduce you to the newest member of our guild.  This is Declan.”  She paused, as though she was trying to recall the young fellow’s surname, but after allowing the silence to sit in the air for long enough, she turned to the man on the horse.  “Declan, this is Mason Gwynne.”

Offering up a polite bow, Declan kept himself propped up that time with his staff.  “I’ve heard your name mentioned quite a lot since I’ve met everyone.  Are you the leader of the guild?”

Mason chortled, allowing a one-sided grin to stretch across his face.  “Not the leader, no.  Just someone left in charge while our more storied members pursue riches and glory across Aeratul.”

“We wish to hear all about Grey Arches,” Ilayeth said then, “but I believe that tale must wait until after we do our best to track down the people who attacked the temple.  We believe that the theft of the bell has greater meaning, and therefore greater repercussions for our corner of the world.  We’ve discovered that the bell wasn’t built here, and we’re planning on doing a bit more research in the—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mason said.  “Once we’ve done our part here, and healed the sick and injured, those of us who just arrived will be on our way after the bandits.  We’ll hunt them down and make them pay for what they did here.  You three, on the other hand… I want you to head back to the guild house and rest.  You survived two attacks by these bandits, and from what I understand, in both cases it was by the skin of your teeth.  I’ll not allow a third risk.”

“But we know the highwaymen better than anyone,” Ilayeth protested.  “And with greater numbers, your group won’t have as much to worry about.”

“My decision is final,” Mason insisted.  The man did not even seem to pass a single consideration to the newest member of the guild, though Declan looked to Ilayeth for guidance rather than who appeared to be the more senior member of the guild.

Her cheeks gone rosy, Ilayeth turned, using a gentle touch to steer Declan toward the temple.  “Come on.  We shall fetch Tornig and then be on our way.”

The half-elf stepped across the clearing, drawing nearer to their other companion.  When Tornig saw them coming, he turned to acknowledge them, and that had the avarian turning as well.

“Ilayeth!” the avarian said.  “I am so glad that the lot of you survived.  We expected risk and ruin when we went to Grey Arches, but we were not expecting to have to worry about you.  I hear that things could have gone a lot worse during both of these attacks, and that, aside from some time to heal, our guild mates will all be right as rain.”

“Yes, well… We’re being rewarded for our job well done by being sent back to recover with the rest of them,” the sorceress said.

The avarian’s brow arched.  “Mason is not allowing you to join us in pursuit of the bandits?”

Ilayeth shook her head.  She sighed, but then took a step to her side, sweeping her hands out toward the man who remained a stranger to the birdfolk.  “Ezra, this is Declan, our newest member.”

The avarian looked to the young man, and his eyes widened.  “And yet, in spite of how new he is to the guild, he wields the Staff of Ciminorn.”

Declan couldn’t tell whether Ezra’s tone was one of amazement or indignation.  The lad could feel his face growing warm, and he was sure that his cheeks had grown flush.  “When the bandits attacked the guildhouse, the only thing I could think to do was grab a weapon.  The staff was what called to me.”

Ezra hummed a note that almost sounded like a whistle.  “Well, no one has truly been able to utilize that staff since the eldest members of the guild have passed.  I should like to discuss more with you at length upon our return.”

Feeling as though he was not a target of the avarian’s wrath, Declan breathed out a discreet sigh of relief.  Following that, he took a moment to size up the strange being.  Ezra, the guild’s artificer, looked more like a scholar than an adventurer.  He wore ornate robes, with inlaid gold sat upon shades of teal and purple—a color that almost looked identical to that of Ilayeth’s cloak.  The feathers atop his head began as a snowy white, but as they descended closer to his neck, they appeared as mottled gold.  That same pattern extended to the wings that protruded from the carefully sewn holes in the robes, as well as the fellow’s hands.  Ezra held onto a staff of his own, it seemed.

“Adventurers of Eladia,” the small group heard then.  As Declan turned around, he could see that Mason had removed his sword from the scabbard on his hip, and he lifted it high into the air.  “Gather up and prepare.  We ride after the fiends who dared to attack the good people of Novistrus.”

Ezra took a deep breath and fluttered his wings.  “I suppose I better prepare for another flight.  We shall reconvene soon if fortune favors us.”

As the avarian stepped away, Declan noticed that the others in the guild, including those he had not yet met, returned to their horses behind Mason.

Before Mason had flicked the reins of his powerful steed, Declan could feel the scratching of the first voices rising from deep within his mind.

“The other members of the guild do not know the danger they risk by leaving you behind,” the first whisper to break through the pack rasped.  “You need to follow them.”

“If there is strength in numbers, returning to the guild to recruit more to this dangerous cause could mean the difference between victory and defeat,” another voice supposed.  

“It does not matter how many people intend to fight the bandits,” yet another voice interjected.  “If you do not know why the bell was stolen, you are missing a part of an important puzzle.  And the answers may be lost to you if this temple cannot remain standing.”

“Declan,” Ilayeth said, placing her hand upon the man’s shoulder.  “Declan, what are the voices trying to tell you?”

“Follow the others.”

“Return to the guildhouse at once.”

“Pursue knowledge.”

Declan gnashed his teeth together as he forced his eyes shut.  He did not realize it, but he relinquished hold of the staff then, bringing both of his hands to his temples.

“There are too many of them,” he growled.

Voting Instructions

Another new chapter means another new choice to make, which you can influence.  You have until May 31st to safely join the Tellest Newsletter in time to cast your vote.  I’ll be sending out newsletter emails to my readers, with the two choices prepared for Declan.  Then, on June 1st, I’ll interpret the votes and see how the whispers influenced Declan.

Remember, there are two ways for you to accumulate voting power in The Whispers:

• First, when you vote through the newsletter, you get an extra voting point for every chapter you’ve voted on.  If you voted in each of the previous chapters, your vote this month would be worth a whopping nine points!
• Second—and this one is for the Tellest superfans—if you are a Tellest patron on Patreon, you get an additional voting point for every $1 you pledge per month.  And that is in addition to any of the other rewards you would receive at the specified pledge level.  So, if you pledged at the $3 level, you would get 3 votes on Patreon, in addition to your votes on the newsletter responses.  That’s a lot of sway over Declan!  But it’s another way for me to thank you for helping me keep the lights on.

That wraps up how to vote for this month.  Remember, sign up for the Tellest newsletter if you’re not a member already, and prepare for the follow-up poll later this month in order to cast your vote.  Then we’ll see next month what Declan does in his current situation!

The post The Whispers – Chapter Ten appeared first on Tellest.

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers – Chapter Nine

Voting Instructions

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers is a story that takes place within the Tellest universe.  It’s a story that is written by Michael DeAngelo, but it’s told with help from the readers.  The Whispers follows Declan, a young man who was recently evicted from the temple where he grew up.  When he was younger, he used to hear voices, and the clergy interpreted those voices in ways that they thought brought them closer to divinity.  But with the whispers growing quiet, Declan was no longer needed at the temple, and he was instead shipped off to a nearby adventurers’ guild.  The voices have recently returned in his time of need, and have offered him advice on what to do in order to survive.

If you haven’t already figured it out, you are one of those potential whispers!  At the end of every chapter, Declan is given a choice.  Every reader has the chance to vote and influence Declan’s decision, as long as you’re a member of the Tellest newsletter.  Every time you vote, your voice holds more sway as well.  Everyone who casts their vote in earlier chapters will now have a stronger voice, and Declan will hear them a little clearer.  So for your voice to be heard best, you should get in on this story early.  There is another way to gain additional voting power, but that will be described in the voting instructions at the end of this post.

First thing is first: you’ve got to read the story (starting with chapter one, if you prefer).  Then if you’re not already a member of the newsletter, go ahead and sign up!  Tellest has awesome freebies that we give out right away at sign-up, and more that come along every few weeks.

Without much further adieu, let’s continue our tale, and find out the most recent choice Declan made with the help of our Council of Whispers…

Chapter Nine:
Chasing Shadows

Declan kept his eyes closed as he listened to the voices compete for prominence in his mind.  His wish seemed to be coming true, for a volley of whispers joined the one that warned a cautious approach.  None seemed to join in suggesting a race to the front doors of the temple, and Declan reached forward before long.

Draping one hand on Gorik’s shoulder, Declan gestured away from their destination with the other.  “Let’s get off the road,” he told the goblin.  “If they see us coming, we’ve lost the element of surprise.”

As he spoke the word of advice, another feminine cry echoed out from the temple, prompting a cringe to appear on the man’s face.

“Good on ye, lad,” Tornig said as they steered onto the grass before the crossroads.  “These trees will keep us hidden.  And as callous as this’ll sound, if they’re still screaming in there, they’re still alive.”

“But no one can tell how long that will continue on,” Ilayeth spoke, taking a quiet hop out of the back of the wagon.  “This way.  We didn’t come this far to linger just out of reach of helping those in need.

As the half-elf finished speaking, she moved through the copse as though she was familiar with it.  While the others joined her on the ground, hunched low, and moved quickly, Ilayeth seemed to float across the ground, placing a gentle hand on the trees as she passed them.

The light of the temple cast out through the opened doors onto the finely hewn stone path leading toward the road.  Any extra scatterings from the windows faintly illuminated the grass on the outer courtyard.

Though it was dark beyond that, the shadows did not obscure everything outside the reach of the building’s torchlight.  Ilayeth held up her hand as she reached the last tree before the roadside.

Declan was the first to reach her, and despite the tremendous beating of his heart, he retained enough calm to halt beside her.  Though his eyes were not as sharp as hers, he noticed what had caught her attention then as well.

Waiting alongside the grass on the opposite side of the road, a huge cart that diminished the size of the one they had traveled in blocked some of the light through the tall, wide doors of the temple.  The guildmates spotted the silhouette of someone leaning against it, every few moments lifting their head to consider the terrible noises erupting from inside the building.

“What is that?” Declan whispered to his companion.  “It’s like no carriage I’ve ever seen.”

True to his words, the vehicle seemed unnaturally large.  A third wheel was fastened to the vehicle, and the bed stretched on until it was nearly twice the length of the cart they had liberated from the highwaymen.  A team of horses stamped against the road and snorted, as though they knew they were being studied.

“I’m not certain,” Ilayeth returned.  “But I’m also not sure if that’s the part I’m worried about.”  When she caught Declan’s sideways glance, she pointed at the person waiting with her chin.  “That’s not a gnoll or goblin—that’s a man, listening while his people are being tortured inside.”

Before Declan could think of a response, their other two companions arrived behind them.  Gorik dropped to a knee while Tornig huddled up against the same tree Ilayeth hid behind.

“Friend of yours?” Declan asked Gorik then.

In the darkness, the goblin couldn’t make much out, but when Ilayeth looked at him and whispered the word ‘human’, he arched his eyebrow in confusion.

“That’s not Tanissa,” he said.  “If it was, we’d be seeing flames or lightning or some other foul magic lighting up the sky.”

“What about the carriage?” Declan wondered.

Gorik shook his head.  “She must have had some other ally that she called up on.  She never mentioned anything like that when I was around.”

“Bah,” Tornig said, a little too loud for his companions’ comfort.  “All that matters is that he’s standing atween us n’ the temple.  If he raises the alarm, all this sneaking is for nothing.”

While he finished speaking, a loud ringing filled the air.  The massive bell atop the temple’s parapet began chiming a pleading melody.  The clerics of Fespar temple must have been desperate to play such a chorus at that dark, early morning hour.

“What do yer whispers say about this situation?” Tornig asked.  “Are we ta go up there and clock him, or try to sneak by?”

Declan furrowed his brow as he tried to concentrate.  As silent as the world was outside, the temple was a flurry of noise and energy.  He couldn’t hear himself think enough to invite any of the whispers into his mind.

“There’s no time,” he said, stepping out from the trees.  Though Ilayeth reached for him to stop his assertive approach, she couldn’t hold him back, her fingers fluttering through the creases of his shirt.

No longer did Declan skulk in the shadows.  He crossed the road and came up along the huge cart, surveying the watchman as he stamped on the grass and muttered to himself.  As the lad stepped forth, better hearing the scared inhabitants of the temple between bell tolls, his emotions intensified.  The heat on his brow brought about a sheen of perspiration, and he sensed sweat on his palms as well.  He clenched his fingers around the staff and shuddered as the magic within swelled.  Any moment, a blast of wind would be ready to shoot forth from the circular headpiece.  But as Declan thought of all the people he cared about in the temple—even those who might not care about him—he grew angrier.  The darkness flickered away every few seconds as a light seemed to spark to life within the staff’s magical influence.  Declan looked up and saw the crackle of electricity and hesitated a step, surprised by what he was summoning from the aether.

The fellow guarding the cart looked to the opened doors of the temple, and up at the windows alternately.  He knew that some flicker of light was there but couldn’t place it.

All Declan needed to do was reach him before he…

The mule which the Adventurers of Eladia left with the cart whinnied, his nicker sounding like a large, out-of-tune trumpet.  The bell must have left it uneasy, but whatever the cause, its sound was not lost to the watchman.  He turned about, and his eyes went wide at the sight of Declan and his illuminated staff.

His failed prowl apparent, Declan pushed his magical implement forward, but even the wind from the staff head collapsed into a mere puff of air.

“Who the blazes are—”

Another figure pushed past Declan on his right, rising into the air.  Tornig used one of the spokes of a carriage wheel for a lift, and as he launched himself off the ground, a resounding crack reported a break under the dwarf’s weight.  It mattered not, for he was already airborne, swinging across with a balled fist.

Before the guard could complete his sentence, he tasted blood filling his mouth from when he gnashed through his tongue.  Tornig’s punch was fierce, and it sent him to the ground like a sack of discarded potatoes.  Though he stood upon a thick patch of grass, his head still landed with a thud.

Though he loitered on the precipice of unconsciousness, Tornig landed atop his chest with his knee, and struck him again while he gasped for air.  That second blow caught him in the crown, and at once he was caught somewhere in oblivion, his breath cut short.

“Ye can’t hesitate,” Tornig snapped as he looked back to his guild mate.

Declan parted his lips to offer up some form of protest, but he couldn’t produce anything meaningful.  His heightening magical power took him by surprise as much as it did the watchman, and he couldn’t shake that knowledge.

The dwarf didn’t offer up any other words of wisdom or encouragement.  Rather, he ducked low, scurrying through the grass to reach the wall of the temple.  Gorik walked by him as well, tapping him on the shoulder as he went.

Ilayeth was the only one who stopped beside him.  “I know you’re new to it,” she said.  “Without proper studies, this is a difficult path ahead of you.  But you’ve also been able to learn new spells without any assistance from a mentor—only the staff.  You have tremendous potential, Declan.  Don’t shy away from your power.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said.  Before she could walk away, he reached out to her.  “Ilayeth, after we stop them, will you be my mentor?  I know that we haven’t had time to really consider any of what’s happening, but if anyone can teach me, it’s you.”

The half-elf maiden shot him a weary grin.  “It would be my honor.  Assuming we survive this night.”

Declan nodded emphatically.  Tornig’s words rang in his mind as surely as the bell’s loud, deep chime did, and he wasted no further time lingering by the carriage.

The four recent arrivals to the temple peered inside the building, scanning the carnage.  Candelabras had been overturned, tapestries of the gods and of the country of Novistrus lay charred on the ground, or doggedly clinging to the walls in scraps, and old artifacts had toppled from their plinths, shattered to pieces.  Bodies were strewn on the ground, though it was unclear who was clinging to life, and who was beyond salvation.

A tall, green-skinned fellow walked across the floor, surveying those who had fallen.  Long black hair fell and rested on his shoulders, his pointed ears protruding through the greasy strands.  Every few moments, as he scrutinized the clerics and patrons of Fespar Temple, the rings in his ears caught the glimmer of a nearby sconce or candelabra.  The flames reflected in his broadsword too, which he kept face down in one hand, ready to strike out at any who dared to challenge him.  Even from that distance, Declan could see the rounded scales upon his moss-colored skin.  He had never seen a troll before, but he’d heard of their scaly appearance.  Descended from dragons, they liked to claim—and from where Declan was standing, he wasn’t sure if the tales were untrue.

He hid back behind the outer stone walls of the temple façade once more.  “That’s Jarayas, isn’t it?  He’s the leader of your pack?” he asked the goblin.

Gorik squared his jaw and nodded.  “And he’s not alone.  Further back there’s two others,” he whispered.

Together, they leaned around the corner, and peered deeper into the temple.

Sure enough, there were two others there.  One, a broad and tall fellow was posted at the rear of the temple, standing sentinel with his back toward the statues of the gods that seemed to look on from a dais a few steps higher.  It was another being that Declan had only heard of in stories, though he had of course never doubted their existence.  The lagano—a lizardman, they were sometimes called—wore a tremendous shield on one arm, and he clung tight to a thin, steel javelin in the other—taller than even he.  His scaled skin was a paler color green than the troll’s, except for the orange crest that protruded from the top of his head and ran back to where his neck met his torso.  He studied the pacing troll, but kept his position, standing like a statue—perhaps why Declan had missed sight of him at first.

The other member of Gorik’s pack, and hidden in plain sight almost as well, sat perched atop the stone beam that ran across the temple, separating the main foyer and the dais.  With her wings draped across before her, she looked like she had been fashioned out of stone to guard the patrons of the temple, not to attack them.

She moved about more than her grounded ally.  From her post, she cast her gaze from one fallen congregant to the next, and if she saw one move, she screeched out to the troll.

“You could help a little here, Skren,” Jarayas suddenly bellowed, his voice sounding deeper than Declan was expecting.  “Whenever Queryn points out one of these worms trying to wriggle away, you could throw them into one of the other chambers and stand guard there instead of in front of those steps.”

The lagano grew rigid at that comment.  “I’ve already told you my stance on the matter.  This is sacrilegious, whether it’s to my gods, yours, or theirs.  I’m here to protect you and the enchantress.  I will see no harm done to these people beyond what you’ve inflicted, just as I would see no harm done to you.”

Jarayas growled, but pushed no further, knowing that the devout follower of the salamander god would be found unmoving.

That didn’t stop the harpy above from screeching in dismay.  “You’d better hope that no one sneaks to the belfry,” her squawk echoed out.  “If anything happens to Tanissa, it’ll be your head.”

Skren didn’t budge at the statement, though coming from the harpy’s lips it sounded more like a threat.  One thing was certain: whoever Tanissa was, she seemed to have a captivating grip on those she traveled with.

Declan pulled away from the open doors and looked again to Gorik.  “Is that all of your allies?”

Gorik shook his head.  “I don’t see any signs of Tanissa, or Deprak, or Melara, or Ig…” He shook his head as he recalled his friend left behind at the guild hall.  When he steadied himself, his newest companions could see the fatigue on his face.

“It’s alright,” Ilayeth said.  “We had a bit of a rest.  You didn’t.”

“What can you tell us about them?” Declan wondered.

Standing up straighter, Gorik nodded.  “The three in there are the ones who you might think of as warriors.  Jarayas is as strong as they come, and quick too.  But Queryn is as quick as a bolt of lightning.  She’s as deadly with her talons as she is her daggers.  Don’t take your eyes off her, or it might be the last thing you do.  Skren is sturdy and tough.  He might be stronger than Jarayas even, but it’s like he keeps it all inside of him.  And he’s the closest thing after me to a healer.  If he sees the others getting hurt, he might bring them back into the fight even stronger.”

“And the others you mentioned?” Tornig asked, forcing himself to speak quieter than normal.

“Deprak is another goblin, though Jarayas swears up and down that he’s got gremlin blood in him.  He’s small and wiry, but his mind is incredible.  He’s developed all kinds of gadgets in the past—if I had to guess, this massive cart might have even been his doing.  But if he’s with Tanissa, he’s important to her plans.  I’m just not sure why.

“Melara is the gnoll who…” he paused as he considered how to explain the dire actions that nearly tore the guild hall apart.  “She’s the one who concocted the firebombs that brought us so much bloodshed.  Tanissa has been growing fond of her for some time, and it’s for the best that she’s with the witch.  If she was out there with the rest of them, I don’t know that anyone would still be alive.

“And that leaves Tanissa,” the goblin said, a scowl fixed on his face for a moment as he thought of how she had changed the structure of their group.  “She’s as much a siren as a witch.  It’s her fault that Jarayas has come about with all these ambitions.  He would never have done such a thing before, and its her hold over people that should truly frighten you.  Wherever she is, she’s hatching some foul plan, I’m sure.”

“It sounds like she is in the tower,” Ilayeth reminded, having heard the harpy’s words better than anyone else.

“What’s she doing up there?” Tornig wondered.

“Whatever it is, she’s made our job a little easier,” Declan said.  An unfamiliar confidence seemed apparent in his voice, and he looked toward the doorway to the temple with determination.  “She’s left us with just the three of them in there.  We can take them.”

“Aye, lad,” Tornig said.  “I’ll take four to three odds any day.”

Even Ilayeth seemed eager for battle then, arcane energy flickering into existence between her fingers.

Declan saw the apprehension in Gorik’s gaze then, though.  Though he didn’t agree with them, the goblin had no desire to square up against his crew.  It was true that he and Tanissa didn’t see eye to eye, but he still felt indebted to Jarayas, even if he had been blinded by infatuation.

“Wait out here,” Declan said, easing his friend’s tension.  “We’ll take care of everything inside.”

Gorik said nothing further, but his eyes revealed his gratitude.

“Wait,” Ilayeth said before she and the other guild members crossed the threshold.  “Declan, do you think you can control your staff’s wind across the distance of the temple floor?”

He stood straighter at hearing that request.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never tried to focus it like that.”

“What are you thinking, lass?” Tornig wondered.

“If we extinguish the lights closest to us, we’ll gain an advantage.  I can distract them with flames of my own while you two keep to the shadows and surprise them.”

“As soon as I see a lick of fire upon yer fingers, my axe is going for a wee flight,” Tornig assured.

“Declan,” Ilayeth began, “if you see an opportunity to get innocent folk out of the building, leave the fighting to us.  They’re the reason we’re here, after all.”

An understanding nod was all the agreement Declan would give.  As he gripped his staff a little tighter, wisps of air could be seen flittering around the headpiece of his staff.

He was as ready as he would be, Ilayeth knew.  She took another step forward, and turned to her side, casting out her own magical spell then.  Like a raindrop shot forth from a longbow, it whistled through the air, slipping across the wicks of the lit and upright candelabras.  Ilayeth wove her hands as though she were solving some puzzle that only she could see, and the raindrop danced in the air at her behest.  The quiet sound of the flames extinguishing could barely be heard, but the trio of highwaymen inside turned their attention toward them anyway.

Declan moved forth as well, turning in the opposite direction as the half-elf had.  One after another, he blew gusts of wind toward the fallen candles on his side of the building.  Each time it sounded like a fretful sigh cutting through the circular crown of the staff.  More than one pair of eyes landed on the lad, as those who had been forced to the ground dared to look up.

Ilayeth was already in motion once more, choosing a sconce along that side of the building.  A large ball of ice seemed to take shape between her and the object, already gaining speed as she willed it into being.  It encased the sconce a moment later, dimming that part of the temple.

“What is that?” Jarayas demanded, his focus only on the sphere of ice and the trails of smoke that lifted into the air.

Almost as soon as he spoke, the bell reported above them, a loud, resonating sound of bronze on bronze ringing out into the building.

That worked well enough, Tornig reasoned, and he charged forth into the building.  His boots didn’t allow him the same quiet as his companions’ spells—neither did it help when one of the temple patrons cried out in shock when the dwarf accidentally strode across his back.  It mattered not.  By the time Jarayas turned again, Tornig knew that he had covered enough distance.  He gripped his axe in both hands and flung it forward as the bell above rattled again.

Jarayas’s agonizing scream was not lost beneath the deep ringing.  He teetered back a few steps while he pieced together what great pain had been inflicted.  Before he could bring his hand up to touch the axe, a set of stubby dwarven fingers wrapped around the handle, tearing it from the wound.

Upon seeing his enemy, Skren leaned forward into a fighting stance, his plated armor creaking as he fell into place.  Up above, Queryn sent her wings out wide, and she leapt off the crossbeam.  Her eyes locked onto Tornig, who ducked out of the way of a frantic swipe of the troll’s sword.

The harpy drew her wings back, diving toward the unexpected aggressor.

But as surprising as Tornig’s appearance had been, so too was the flame that ignited at the center of the floor.  Ilayeth’s palm cradled a lick of fire that grew larger and brighter with every passed moment, and with a twist of her wrist she flung it forth.  Her fiery arrow missed Queryn, but it distracted her enough to pull her attention from the dwarf.

Without the flame to illuminate her presence, the half-elf disappeared amidst the crowd once more.

Behind her, she could hear Declan’s words of encouragement.

“Go now, while they’re distracted,” he said.  “We’ll take care of them, but you need to get to safety.”

Even in the darkness, Ilayeth could see those closest to the opened doors rise from their prone position and run or skitter forth.

In the thick of battle, though, she knew she couldn’t focus on them for long.  When she turned back, Queryn was diving at a new target.  She heard Declan’s words as well and stretched her talons out toward him.

“Declan!” Ilayeth warned.

On reflex alone, the man swung out with his staff, catching Queryn in her stomach.  It was enough to sway her balance, and she twisted as she collided with Declan.  They fell apart then, both wincing and gasping at the sudden pain they both endured.  A cool sensation washed over Declan’s arm, and he knew even in the darkness that she had raked his arm as she’d fallen away.

Ilayeth’s quick, soft footsteps carried her there in an instant.  While the harpy struggled upright, a new flame came into being beside her.  She only had a moment to see it out of the corner of her eye before the fire dissipated, and a quiet rumble was heard instead.

The air erupted with a blistering explosion that sent Queryn flying against her will toward the northern wall of the temple.  With such force, the blast nearly knocked its caster from her feet as well, but Ilayeth held fast, gnashing her teeth against the sheer power of the magic.

“Enough of this,” Skren bellowed from near the stairs.  He gripped his spear, and smashed his balled hand against his shield, almost in cadence with the echo of the temple’s mighty bell.  As he pulled his weapon away, a bright sphere of light emerged from the hefty shield.  Once it was free of him, it floated into the air like a bubble filled with daylight, and he pushed it forth with his divine powers.  Higher and higher it rose, until the temple was illuminated once more.

He could see—as could his allies—that the patrons they had frightened into submission there could no longer be subdued.  The people nearest to Declan had made a mad dash toward the exit, and those who had surrounded them found the courage to move next.

Skren didn’t seem concerned with the fleeting people, but eager eyes did fall upon the dwarf who had found the injured troll’s attention.

Even against those odds, Tornig would have felt confident.  He’d already dealt a vicious blow to Jarayas, and he was itching for a fight with the towering, broad, armored lagano.

But as he awaited the approach of the lizardfolk paladin, he watched as Jarayas’s wound closed before his eyes, as though his axe had never penetrated his flesh.

“Queen’s beard,” Tornig muttered as Jarayas gnashed his teeth together in bloodhungry fervor.

He was fortunate to have the watchful eyes of his own companion studying the battlefield then.  Ilayeth turned toward him when the globe of radiance entered the air, and she saw the approach of the hulking lagano.  She saw, too, as Jarayas clenched his fingers around his sword’s hilt and rushed in.  Knowing that even Tornig couldn’t stand against those odds for long, she set to work, weaving another spell together.

The troll’s sword fell upon the dwarf, who brought up his axe in the nick of time.  Tornig’s weapon was miniscule compared to the troll-forged greatsword.  It was only through sheer determination that he caught the blow and didn’t succumb to it.  He cast the blade off to the side, and slid in toward Jarayas once more, scoring a slash against his leg that had him falling to his knee.

By reflex alone, Jarayas swept out with his blade toward the flash of pain.  Though it was only its broad side that struck against Tornig, it landed with such force that the dwarf went flying toward a shrine to a lesser god against the temple’s southern wall.  The statue within the wooden showcase tumbled forward and landed in Tornig’s lap.

The dwarf had earned no respite in those moments to pass, for Skren was upon him in an instant, and he swung the long spear out at him.  Tornig toppled to his side as the spearhead sliced across the already battered wooden shrine, still clutching the effigy in his hands.

As Skren adjusted his momentum, aid finally came to Tornig.  Ilayeth thrust her hand forward, a beam of light bursting from her palm.

No, not light, the others in the room soon realized.  As it extended forth, it took on a blue tincture, and those who suspected its power soon had their suspicious confirmed.  Before Skren could follow up on his attack, Ilayeth’s ray of frost struck him in his back.  His armor grew cold at once, but it spread fast as well, until his shoulders were locked into place.  The lagano paladin couldn’t bring his weapon to bear again, frozen in place.

His ally had no such difficulties.  Jarayas, the leader of the highwaymen, came charging like a maddened bull, a growl pushing through gnashed teeth.

He flew faster than he wanted then, for the other mage in the room made use of his arcane power as well.  Declan’s staff glowed with an otherworldly energy, crackling with magical electricity as other patrons and clergy climbed from the ground and raced from the building.

Like a bolt of lightning, that energy dispersed, hissing across the room like a stormy sky had forced its way into the temple.  It erupted against the floor, just behind Jarayas’s feet, sending him flying high into the air, and smashing against the wall behind Tornig.

Declan couldn’t believe it.  They were winning.

Above them, the bell rang out again, that time with an awkward cadence.  A loud explosion followed, shaking the building, and the young fellow’s attention was drawn to the ceiling.

There was yet one foe left in the lobby of the temple that had not been appropriately dealt with.  While Declan contemplated what foul deeds transpired above, Queryn scratched at the walls and climbed to her clawed feet.  She looked to the lad, rage about in her eyes, and dropped her knife into her waiting talons.

Tornig tossed the effigy off his lap as he sprang to his feet.  He ran past Skren as though he was a statue and hopped on the back of an unsuspecting patron who found the courage to begin rising to their feet.  Though he was far from his new companion, Tornig leapt ahead without a weapon in his hand, ready to do what was necessary to protect Declan.

Queryn shifted, turning to the rapidly approaching dwarf.  She had just entered Declan’s line of sight, and he watched as she cut across, tearing through the soft bits of the dwarf’s armor, and piercing his flesh beneath his shoulder.

Tornig cried out, but he grasped the harpy all the same.  Wrapping his hands around her bird-like legs, she couldn’t maneuver enough to attack him again.  And as she felt his heft about her, she changed her strategy altogether, dropping from the air like a bundle of stones.

When they landed upon the floor of the temple, the building trembled again.  It wasn’t from the combined weight of the two fallen combatants though.

None could have expected as huge pieces of the ceiling began falling from above.  Ilayeth cast out a desperate spell, an invisible shield falling into place above her head and the heads of those still too frightened to move.

The maiden couldn’t protect them all, and chunks of wood and stone fell as those terrified folks clambered to their feet.  More than one was struck, laying them low for the last time.

Fespar temple’s massive bronze bell fell from the gap in the ceiling then.  Ilayeth froze, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop its descent.

It froze nonetheless, mere feet from the ground, and would have landed upon the half-elf if she hadn’t crouched low.  Ilayeth rolled out of the way, knowing that whatever magic kept it aloft wouldn’t keep it there for long.  As she moved, the bell’s clapper smashed against the side of the bell, its loud report deafening everyone in the room, and even knocking back those who were unprepared for it.  Queryn and Tornig tumbled to the ground, rolling in opposite directions, Declan fell to a knee while he tried to press back against the force of that booming noise, and a scattering of frost lifted from Skren, still frozen looking in the opposite direction.

Deafened by the noise of the bell, it almost sounded as though silence had grown violent and angry.  Beneath it, Declan could hear his whispers struggling to be heard, but he couldn’t understand any of what they were saying.  They always seemed to offer advice or warnings though, and he took that to heed as he looked up, prepared for whatever had sent the bell racing toward the floor of the temple.

Unlike the bell, the witch who had planned the attack on Fespar Temple floated slowly down from the tower.  Her raven-black hair glided about as though she was descending into a pool of water, though it was highlighted by the green arcane energy that danced between her hands.  Her purple robe lifted as well, giving her a far larger appearance than her small frame would suggest.

Tanissa seemed not to care about the temple’s saviors.  Her grey eyes never landed on the trio who dared to put a stop to her plans.

But Declan studied her intently.  Tanissa looked powerful beyond meaning, and despite the vile deeds that transpired, she looked captivating.  It was no surprise that she was able to sway Jarayas to her cause.  Dark shadows surrounded her eyes, and a jeweled circlet kept her hair out of her face.  A collar of black feathers kept her robe in place as well, assuring that the skin she meant to show was on full display.

Though her appearance had been slow and deliberate, another of her troupe arrived with far less poise.

The lone remaining gnoll of their group, Melara, leapt from the hole in the ceiling, landing on the top of the bell, only grabbing the rope when she arrived to keep her steady.  A long, gnarled quarterstaff on her back struck the bell when she landed as well, sending a quieter report echoing through the building.

While Tanissa seemed unconcerned with any in attendance, Melara snarled at the sight of the interlopers, the golden fur upon her brow falling upon her eyes.

“Take care of them,” Tanissa spoke then, as though the task was beneath her.  She instead focused on the doorway before her, casting her emerald magic out toward it.

Melara moved at once, eager to prove herself to her mistress.  She leapt from the bell, pulling her staff out from behind her back.  Purple lines of warpaint drawn into her fur accentuated her movements.  Her pace was quick, for she desired battle more than anyone else.

As Tornig struggled to his feet, she came down upon him, striking out with her weapon.  The staff cracked against his helmet, as unsettling a sound as any that reported in the temple that night.  Dwarven-forged, the headwear did what it meant to, but still, her swing was strong, and Tornig wobbled back to his knees.  He struggled to stand again, but without a weapon at hand, any resistance would be meager indeed.  As Melara swung back again with the staff, Tornig brought up his stubby hands to try and protect his vulnerable bits.  He howled out in pain when his fingers and palms took the brunt of that attack, and he was too badly injured to put up any fight as she came forth, delivering a stunning kick to his unguarded midsection.

Tornig gasped as he spilled to the ground, and Melara paid him no further heed, even as he reached for her legs.  Unable to close his fingers into fists, he was of no worry to her.

She instead looked toward the man with the staff further away.  Declan thrust his staff into the ground as windy energy began circling about in the headpiece.  As soon as Queryn lifted off the ground, he cast out a gust of air that sent her spinning into the wall once more, eliciting a surprised and pained screech.  If he had let her lift much further, she might have flown right through one of the temple’s stained-glass windows.

On the other side of the room, Ilayeth thought to come to Declan’s aid as well.  She lay her hands atop each other, her palms facing up, and cradled a new flame there, hoping to bring enough arcane energy into being to stave off the stalking gnoll.

Ilayeth yelped when a troll’s heavy hands took a fierce grip upon her neck.  The mage had no time to contemplate what happened, and cast out her unstable spell, a wave of fire spinning about into the air.  Jarayas recoiled at the sight of the flames, but he kept hold of the maiden.  Lifting her off the ground, he slammed her into the bell, letting her fall to the ground.  Whether she was dead or merely unconscious, he cared not.

That resonating sound once again called out to Declan, and he looked to see his friend crumple to the ground.  The lone adventurer who still stood swallowed away his tension, watching as Tanissa’s companions marched toward him.  Jarayas once again held his greatsword, draping it over his back.  Declan heard what sounded like glass breaking, and a moment later, Skren was circling around the bell as well.  And far along the back of the temple, at the stairs leading up to the tower, Declan could even see the last of the bandits’ troupe, as the skittish looking Deprak hurried forth.  But it was Melara, the snarling gnoll, that had the man’s attention foremost.  She hungered for a fight, and held her staff in both hands, waiting to see what Declan would do.

He didn’t keep her waiting.  He turned about, pointing his staff toward her, summoning up an even stronger gale to push her back.  She fought against it, but she couldn’t hold her ground against the force of that magic.

Instead, she slid a hand off her staff, toward the amethyst-lined belt cinched around her waist.  A russet skirt had been sewn into place on the belt, but she reached instead for one of the leather-bound flasks hooked onto one of the belt’s buckles.  With a fierce tug, she pulled it away, her eyes going wide with excitement then.

She never found cause to use it, though, for someone else crept up behind Declan.  His fingers wrapped around a metal chain, and he let a tome at its end drape near the floor.  But with one mighty swing, the book slammed against the back of Declan’s head.  The lad’s vision went black, and he lost his grip on his staff as he tottered to the floor.  By luck alone, he managed to stretch his arms out and catch himself before his face struck the stone.

“Gorik?” Melara asked in surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

Before Declan could contemplate the goblin’s betrayal, a boot collided against his ribs, stealing his breath away.

“I’m helping.  What does it look like?”

“Where’s Ignark?” the gnoll asked, the first time an emotion other than rage presented itself from her.

Gorik remained silent, but a loud noise behind him echoed out as the temple’s doors feel from their hinges and collided into the ground outside.  The temples brickwork glowed in green then, and Tanissa cast out her hands, sending the hewn stone flying toward the crossroads.

“We are done here,” the witch insisted.  “Everyone: move to the carriage.  We need to tie this thing down.”

For a moment, Declan thought his anguish was over.  Raspy, uneven breaths entered his lungs, but it was the pain in his ribs that hurt worse than anything.

All hopes of a moment of respite soon ceased, as Gorik placed his boot on Declan’s side, and kicked him onto his back.

He looked up at the goblin, knowing that Gorik looked down at him.  But with tears in his eyes, his vision was blurred too far to see whether it was a look of disgust or sick satisfaction.

Gorik left with the rest of his troupe, their voices drowning out as the people within Fespar temple began to chatter and cry.  The hulking bell rang out as it was situated atop the carriage outside, it’s haunting sounds adding to the cacophony.

Amidst it all, Declan could hear the whispers, though they were fading fast.

“You can’t let them get away!” a snarling whisper insisted.

“You did all you could,” another voice chimed out.  “You could not hope to win that fight and pursuing another would only see you killed.”

“Whatever nefarious deeds they have planned need to be stopped!”

“You can make another attempt when you have more resources.  Take some time to rest.  You’ve earned it.”

Fighting against pain and confusion, and knowing he and his allies had failed, there was not much left for Declan to do.

Lying on his back, he screamed toward the heavens, a roar of frustration and grief that he could not hold back.

Continue with Chapter Ten.

Voting Instructions

Voting has ended for this period.

Another new chapter means another new choice to make, which you can influence.  You have until the 30th of this month to safely join the Tellest Newsletter in time to cast your vote.  I’ll be sending out newsletter emails to my readers, with the two choices prepared for Declan.  Then, on July 1st, I’ll interpret the votes and see how the whispers influenced Declan.

Remember, there are two ways for you to accumulate voting power in The Whispers:

• First, when you vote through the newsletter, you get an extra voting point for every chapter you’ve voted on.  If you voted in each of the previous chapters, your vote this month would be worth a whopping seven points!
• Second—and this one is for the Tellest superfans—if you are a Tellest patron on Patreon, you get an additional voting point for every $1 you pledge per month.  And that is in addition to any of the other rewards you would receive at the specified pledge level.  So, if you pledged at the $3 level, you would get 3 votes on Patreon, in addition to your votes on the newsletter responses.  That’s a lot of sway over Declan!  But it’s another way for me to thank you for helping me keep the lights on.

That wraps up how to vote for this month.  Remember, sign up for the Tellest newsletter if you’re not a member already, and prepare for the follow-up poll later this month in order to cast your vote.  Then we’ll see next month what Declan does in his current situation!

The post The Whispers – Chapter Nine appeared first on Tellest.

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers – Chapter Eight

Voting Instructions

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers is a story that takes place within the Tellest universe.  It’s a story that is written by Michael DeAngelo, but it’s told with help from the readers.  The Whispers follows Declan, a young man who was recently evicted from the temple where he grew up.  When he was younger, he used to hear voices, and the clergy interpreted those voices in ways that they thought brought them closer to divinity.  But with the whispers growing quiet, Declan was no longer needed at the temple, and he was instead shipped off to a nearby adventurers’ guild.  The voices have recently returned in his time of need, and have offered him advice on what to do in order to survive.

If you haven’t already figured it out, you are one of those potential whispers!  At the end of every chapter, Declan is given a choice.  Every reader has the chance to vote and influence Declan’s decision, as long as you’re a member of the Tellest newsletter.  Every time you vote, your voice holds more sway as well.  Everyone who casts their vote in earlier chapters will now have a stronger voice, and Declan will hear them a little clearer.  So for your voice to be heard best, you should get in on this story early.  There is another way to gain additional voting power, but that will be described in the voting instructions at the end of this post.

First thing is first: you’ve got to read the story (starting with chapter one, if you prefer).  Then if you’re not already a member of the newsletter, go ahead and sign up!  Tellest has awesome freebies that we give out right away at sign-up, and more that come along every few weeks.

Without much further adieu, let’s continue our tale, and find out the most recent choice Declan made with the help of our Council of Whispers…

Chapter Eight:
Drawing Closer

Declan stared at the sky, fighting back every urge to close his eyes.  Tears welled up in them, blurring his vision, but he focused on the sound of the mule drawing the carriage—the beast of burden carried forth louder than Declan wanted, and yet that sound seemed to be the only thing keeping him rooted in reality.

Every now and again, a faded, whisper drew in, telling him one way or another what to do.

“Sleep.  Sleep now,” one voice would say.

“You can’t,” another would counter.  “You know the way better than anyone, and this road is most dangerous for a lone goblin—especially one carrying unconscious humans.”

Whether it was the noxious fumes that had nearly swept Declan into oblivion, or the whispers seeming to warble back and forth into his ears, a wave of nausea almost bowled the man over.  Declan struggled to sit upright, pulling himself up against the railing of the carriage.

“There,” a whisper said.  “Rise and be at the ready for your ally.”

For once, it seemed that Declan had outpaced the advice of the whispers, though others seemed to commend his actions as well.  Stacked over top of each other, a trio of distant voices all encouraged him to stay awake.

The nausea certainly wasn’t making it easy to contend against their words anyway.  He leaned over the railing and spat over the side of the cart.  He didn’t produce any vomit, and the longer he stayed upright, the steadier he felt.

His quiet expectorations weren’t lost to the goblin in the driver’s seat though.

“How are you feeling?” Gorik asked.

For some time, Declan hugged the railing, stabilizing himself as best he could.  He reflected on Gorik’s words, though, and contemplated all that had happened in the last few hours.  He remembered the terrible feeling of the fumes entering his lungs.  The fright of seeing his friends falling to the ground through the mist was etched into his mind.  And he knew that without a miracle, there was no way he would have survived Jordy and Skanlon’s dire plans.

“Better than I would be if you hadn’t been with us,” Declan said.  His back was against the front railing of the wagon bed, and he stared ahead, away from Gorik, the driver’s seat and the mule.  He saw Ilayeth and Tornig before him, sprawled out on the bed of the cart, looking as though they would forever be caught in their sleep.  Every few moments, though, Declan would see their chests rise as they took in a strained breath.  Though their fates would have been dastardly at the two bandits’ hands, away from them, they seemed at peace.  “You saved us all, Gorik.”

“We seem to be making a habit of saving one another after we’ve been at odds with each other,” the goblin said.

“That we do,” Declan mused.  He looked about a while longer, until his gaze settled on his magic staff.  He leaned forward, inviting another spasm in his belly, but fighting through it, nonetheless.  The staff sat across his lap a few moments later, and he was upright once more, taking a deep breath of crisp air that seemed to settle him.  “I’m trying to stay awake for you here,” Declan said.  “Keep talking before I join the two of them in slumber.”

“Sleep if you must,” Gorik said.  After a pause, he cleared his throat, though.  “Although I must admit, I don’t know the way as well as I’d like to.”

“How long was I laying here in silence?” Declan wondered.  “It could be that we’re drawing closer than we realize.”

He heard a chuckle from the front of the carriage then.

“If you thought you’d slept through most of the journey, you’re sorely mistaken,” Gorik said.  “You’ve been lying there for just a few minutes, and that’s the second time you’ve asked me that question.  But, if it’s any consolation, you’re slurring less than the first time you asked.”

“Oh,” Declan said, a bit more embarrassed than he expected.  “I shouldn’t let you bring us there alone.  You’re as tired as the rest of us, I’m sure.  And you’ve got an injury still.”

“I’ll be fine,” Gorik assured.  “I’ve been spending a little bit of my energy every half hour or so to speed the healing process.”

“You’ve got a rare gift,” Declan said, leaning on his staff as he felt the pull of fatigue once more.  “The clerics as the temple had restorative power as well, but they were far beneath your talents.  They wouldn’t heal battle wounds or injuries earned by some fight with a monster in the wilderness—they’d try, certainly, and sometimes succeed, though the patron would have a scar with them for the rest of their days.  But often, it was things like digestive problems, or small burns or a spring fever.”

Gorik hummed for a moment as he considered Declan’s compliment.  “There seems to be a noticeable difference between your clerics and a war priest.”

“And that’s what you are?” Declan wondered.

A shrug lifted Gorik’s shoulders.  “I don’t know if that was what I intended.  My tribe wasn’t known for it either.  We had no wars to fight, and little faith to speak of.  The gods have been as quiet as your whispers were, until lately.”

“So, what had you turn your back on the way of your tribe?”

Gorik chortled at that.  “Believe it or not, it was just a book.”

“A book?  The one you…?”

“We happened upon a human settlement that was smaller than your guild hall and the stables, I think.  Just a few huts or cottages here and there.  It was abandoned—don’t worry.  But a lot of things were left behind.”

“Then they didn’t leave willingly, I’m sure,” Declan supposed.

“In any case, there was a small shrine in one of the cottages.  A stout dresser served as a pedestal for a statue.  I think it was one of your gods reimagined with wings and a goblet of water.  I didn’t care much for it, but beneath the stand, there were a few other trinkets and baubles, and the book I carry with me now,” Gorik revealed.  “I knew how to speak the common tongue well enough, but it took me a long while to learn how to read as humans do.  My focus on this old tome wasn’t lost to others in my tribe, of course.”

“Did they think you were becoming a sympathizer?”

“Perhaps,” Gorik said.  “I always thought that it was more likely they were at odds with me learning more than the rest of them.  Knowledge was almost worse than faith to them, and I had gone too far to simply let it go.  I could sense that they had grown tired with me.

“The first time I pulled magic from the aether,” he continued, “I had grown tired with the old ways of my people.”  He was silent for a time, remembering what had set him off on his unlikely path, away from his people and down a road that intersected with Declan’s.  “We were scavengers when we had to be, and hunters when we were desperate.  But we weren’t skilled predators—not like some of the beasts of Novistrus—and sometimes made for easier prey.

“I kept my new power secret until I no longer could.  On one of those hunts, we were attacked by a pack of dire wolves.  Those were hungry times, and I’m certain the wolves were struggling for food the same way we were.  We knew they were there.  They knew we were there.  For a while, we kept our distance.  But one of my cousins, Dolog, thought he could take care of two problems at once.  Sneaking through the shadows, he meant to drive his spear into the hindquarters of one of the large beasts.  They sensed him near, though, and three of them fell upon him like he was a ready-cooked meal.  He didn’t scream—just growled like one of them.  And when I reacted with a flash of light, he used what energy he had left, and drove a spear into the belly of the closest wolf.  The sound of its cry drove the others away as well, although that one limped as it went, left behind by its family.

“Dolog’s breathing was already ragged by then.  I could see blood dripping from his lip.  He was so startled by the attack that he’d practically chewed through his tongue, but I didn’t know it at the time.  Still, his injuries were grievous.  There was no way he was walking out of the forest—not without my help.”

Gorik sighed as he recalled those harrowing times.  “I dove into my book, Dolog cursing at me through clenched, bloodstained teeth.  And when I read aloud the passages of some ancient prayers, another light, white and pure, danced on his tattered body.  In time, he grew strong again.  He was stronger than me, I realized, as the magic seemed to pull my soul straight out of me.  And as the vigor returned to him, his protests grew louder and louder.

“Traitor,” he said.  “Blasphemer.  As though he had prayed to goblin gods all his life and knew that I had made a pact with a human one.  When I saw him grab hold of his spear once more, I wondered if he’d make short work of me.  In my weary state, there was no hope to fight back against him.  He just spit a gob of blood on the ground at my side and climbed to his feet.  That was the last time I saw him.  I knew that he would spread word of my magic to the rest of the tribe, and someone among them would be able to do what he could not.”

A pause in the story lingered for too long, and Declan looked over his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Gorik.  You were only trying to help.”

“Some people are afraid of help,” the goblin said.  “If it’s strange, or different, they’re maddened by the thought of it.  Even if it could mean the difference between life and death.”

Declan nodded, seeing the meaning behind Gorik’s story, and how it connected the two of them.

“You’re not who I expected,” Declan admitted.  “But I’m glad to have been surprised by that.”

“As am I.”

For a short while, the two sat in silence once more.  Declan looked to the sky again, and realized that his vision had settled somewhat, the stars appearing clear and bright upon their velvet canopy.  Somehow, his fatigue seemed such a distant thing.

He realized that it was fleeting for the lot of them.  Tornig and Ilayeth stirred then as well, grumbling and groaning as they adjusted into more comfortable positions.

“Gorik?” Declan asked.  “Why are your friends going to the temple?”

Another pause left Declan wondering just how much he could depend on the goblin.  The hesitation was telling, but perhaps it was just the awkward stretch of time persisting since inhaling Skanlon and Jordy’s noxious fumes.

“I wish I knew, Declan,” Gorik said.  “Ever since Tanissa began bending Jarayas’s ear, it seems like everyone in our group is acting differently.  There are more secrets, for one.  It used to be that we all had a seat at the table.  Jarayas made certain that none of us felt like we were less than another.”

“You sound like you have a lot of respect for him.”

“Well,” Gorik considered, “he was the one who found me after the falling out with my tribe.  When I was feeling empty and lost, and hated myself for my newfound powers, Jarayas made it feel like there was a place for me.”  He shook his head.  “That’s a tale for another time.  I don’t know much.  As I said, there are more secrets these days.  Tanissa convinced Jarayas to place a door in our hideout.  An actual door.  They whisper behind it, away from me, Ignark, Melara and the rest of them.”

Before Declan could think to question his newest companion, Gorik turned about and tapped his knuckles against the back of the seat.  “But you’ve been listening to what I’ve been telling you, I’m sure,” he said.  “One thing I can’t get enough of is answers.  Jarayas may not have come out and told me what he and the witch discussed, but I skulked in the shadows while everyone else slept.  I don’t know much, but I’m sure I heard a name.”

Declan shifted and cast his gaze toward the driver of the stolen carriage.  “They’re looking for someone at the temple?”

“It wouldn’t be unheard of,” Gorik said.  “Tanissa is a human, like you.  Perhaps she knew someone at the temple once upon a time.”

Though his curiosity was drawn in two directions—and he wanted to pull on the thread that led toward Tanissa being a human that conspired with trolls and gnolls and goblins—Declan’s thoughts raced toward his old home.  “Who did she mention?” he asked.  “Whose name did you hear?”

“It’s not a name I’ve heard often, but I suppose it’s more human than goblin,” Gorik supposed.  “Abel?” he said, struggling somewhat with the pronunciation.

“Abel?” Declan repeated.  “Abel?”  He twisted back into position, bowing his head as he recalled his times at Fespar Temple.  Was there ever an Abel he had known there?  It surely wasn’t one of the clerics—perhaps it was a paladin, though even then Declan was sure he would have known them well enough.  “It has to be someone who was there long before I was.  If they’re looking for him, they won’t find him.”

“That could be bad for everyone,” Gorik said.  “Especially if they don’t believe it.”

No one aboard the carriage could argue against that rationale, and it grew silent once more.  While Ilayeth took deep breaths to steady herself, Tornig spent some time digging through the supplies that Jordy and Skanlon had in their cart.

“What are you looking for?” Declan asked before long.

“Just wondering if they had the antidote for that choking smoke of theirs,” the dwarf replied after sorting through things further.

Declan flashed a weak, one-sided grin.  “I don’t think they were planning on dealing with it themselves.  That’s why they had those masks.”

“Here we go!” Tornig exclaimed as he pulled a bottle from the collection of goods.  It wasn’t a cure, but the dwarf was sure it’d work just as well.  He held it aloft, and shook it about, lettings the contents swirl about inside.  “This’ll sure’n wake us up.”

“Keep your ale, Tornig,” Ilayeth said.  “I could just use a few more moments of quiet.”

Far ahead of them along the road, a shrill cry rang out, assuring that Ilayeth would not get her wish.

Declan twisted about and leaned against the driver’s seat as Gorik tugged on the reins, drawing the mule to a stop.  Tornig arrived there a moment later, wiping his lips with his sleeve.

“Was that a woman’s cry?” he asked.

To Tornig’s side, Declan remained quiet, only nodding his confirmation.  He leaned on his staff, and stepped ahead, taking a seat beside Gorik.

“We’re here,” he whispered.

“You’re sure of that?” Ilayeth asked as she too drew toward the front of the wagon.

“I recognize those trees,” Declan said, pointing to several groves on either side of the road.  “The crossroads is right ahead, and the temple will be at its northwest corner.”

“So, what do we do?” Gorik asked.  “What do your whispers tell you?”

Declan closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the still unsteady sounds of the whispers.

“…on ahead,” he struggled to hear.  “There is only…”

He shook his head, but it seemed that other voices had their own advice as well, though they, too, had difficult to understand suggestions.

“Turn aside and… If you head into the…”

Declan let a quiet grumble slip from his lips then.  He turned and snagged the bottle of ale from Tornig’s hand and brought it close.  “Let’s see if your makeshift antidote can help me at all here,” he said.

With a quick swig of the bottle, Declan gulped down a mouthful of the bitter ale, and held it out for the thirsty dwarf.

Whether it was his need for advice, or if the alcohol truly did seem to help, the voices came through a little clearer then.

“Race forth! The temple is already under attack!”

“Now is not the time to be hasty.  Remain in the shadows and find a cautious route to the temple.”

Declan breathed out, steadying himself further.  He knew that before long, another chorus of voices would join with those ones, and one suggestion would drown out the other.

He simply wished that just once, they would agree on some sound advice ahead of time.

Continue with Chapter Nine.

Voting Instructions

Voting has ended for this period.

Another new month means another new choice to make, which you can influence.  You have until the 30th of this month to safely join the Tellest Newsletter in time to cast your vote.  I’ll be sending out newsletter emails to my readers, and this time around, you’ll be asked to give Declan direction without the choices being laid out for you.  Then, on April 1st, I’ll interpret the votes and see how the whispers influenced Declan.

Remember, there are two ways for you to accumulate voting power in The Whispers:

• First, when you vote through the newsletter, you get an extra voting point for every chapter you’ve voted on.  If you voted in each of the previous chapters, your vote this month would be worth a whopping seven points!
• Second—and this one is for the Tellest superfans—if you are a Tellest patron on Patreon, you get an additional voting point for every $1 you pledge per month.  And that is in addition to any of the other rewards you would receive at the specified pledge level.  So, if you pledged at the $3 level, you would get 3 votes on Patreon, in addition to your votes on the newsletter responses.  That’s a lot of sway over Declan!  But it’s another way for me to thank you for helping me keep the lights on.

That wraps up how to vote for this month.  Remember, sign up for the Tellest newsletter if you’re not a member already, and prepare for the follow-up poll later this month in order to cast your vote.  Then we’ll see next month what Declan does in his current situation!

The post The Whispers – Chapter Eight appeared first on Tellest.

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers – Chapter Seven

Voting Instructions

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers is a story that takes place within the Tellest universe.  It’s a story that is written by Michael DeAngelo, but it’s told with help from the readers.  The Whispers follows Declan, a young man who was recently evicted from the temple where he grew up.  When he was younger, he used to hear voices, and the clergy interpreted those voices in ways that they thought brought them closer to divinity.  But with the whispers growing quiet, Declan was no longer needed at the temple, and he was instead shipped off to a nearby adventurers’ guild.  The voices have recently returned in his time of need, and have offered him advice on what to do in order to survive.

If you haven’t already figured it out, you are one of those potential whispers!  At the end of every chapter, Declan is given a choice.  Every reader has the chance to vote and influence Declan’s decision, as long as you’re a member of the Tellest newsletter.  Every time you vote, your voice holds more sway as well.  Everyone who casts their vote in earlier chapters will now have a stronger voice, and Declan will hear them a little clearer.  So for your voice to be heard best, you should get in on this story early.  There is another way to gain additional voting power, but that will be described in the voting instructions at the end of this post.

First thing is first: you’ve got to read the story (starting with chapter one, if you prefer).  Then if you’re not already a member of the newsletter, go ahead and sign up!  Tellest has awesome freebies that we give out right away at sign-up, and more that come along every few weeks.

Without much further adieu, let’s continue our tale, and find out the most recent choice Declan made with the help of our Council of Whispers…

Chapter Seven:
An Unexpected Path

All at once, it was as though the waves that crashed upon the shores of his mind were silenced.  He closed his eyes, imagining that the tide had drawn away from him, but he knew not whether they pooled together as a tremendous tidal force, or if they were gone for good.  Were the whispers withdrawing from him like they had during his time at the temple?

For a long while it was silent.  Declan looked to his allies, who waited for a sign of what they should do.  But no indication came to him.

“What’re ye waiting for?” Tornig asked.  “Get yer canaries ta sing, eh?”

“They were,” Declan said.  “But now they’ve stopped.  Perhaps the road ahead isn’t clear enough for even them to know the right direction.”

“But you heard them before,” Gorik whispered.  “You said they were saying everything all at once.  Do you remember their suggestions?”

“Perhaps this choice is one we must make on our own,” Ilayeth suggested.

As she spoke, distant voices seemed to carry on the wind, and Declan knew that he hadn’t been abandoned by those he had come to know for so long.  While the number of voices had dwindled, he felt some comfort in having those most familiar to him sharing their wisdom.

“You need the wagon,” one of the whispers called out to him.  “There’s not much time.”

“Doing anything at this hour will be fruitless,” the other disembodied voice reasoned.  “Find a place to camp.  Fresh eyes will see hidden dangers more easily.”

Declan wondered if the other whispers would fall in line between either of those voices, but it seemed they had all been swept away.  Perhaps they knew that those two paths were the steadiest, and the rest of the council of whispers bowed to the wisdom of the two that spoke.

“Without the wagon, you’ll arrive at Fespar Temple too late.”

“With the wagon, you’ll not hold yourself accountable to your fatigue,” the second voice argued, its tone more commanding and certain.  “Arriving safely is paramount to arriving quickly.”

An evening gust of wind blew past the lonely road then, and Declan likened it to the first whisper conceding to the rationale of the other.  Neither voice continued their discourse, and as Declan’s focus faded from those he couldn’t see, his attention shifted again to the trio of companions he traveled with.  He knew that they understood he had heard the whispers once more.

“Well?” Tornig asked.

“I heard them,” Declan confirmed.  “It seems they hadn’t all left me after all.”

Gorik arched an eyebrow then.  “It looked like you were able to concentrate a little better than you normally do—and perhaps for a little longer than you usually do as well.”

“This time it was different,” Declan said.  “All the other voices were quiet, as though they were waiting for the rationale of the wisest ones.  I heard two voices.  Both have become dependable advisors over these troublesome times.”

“Then what good advice did they give?” Ilayeth wondered.

Declan held out his hands, almost as though he were a scale, weighing their words against one another.  “They couldn’t agree.  It was almost as though they quarreled amongst themselves.  But in the end, one of them—the one that seemed most familiar to me—happened to have the strongest voice.

“And?” Tornig grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

“We should make camp,” Declan said.  “With luck, the bandits are doing the same, and we’ll arrive at Fespar Temple in the morning with enough time to help sure up its defenses.”

“We’ll have to give some bad news to the merchants,” Ilayeth said.  “But at least now we won’t have to explain our peculiar ally,” she considered, tilting her head toward Gorik.  “Let’s go and let them know that they should try and make their way off the road tonight.  Their wagon is going to be a little unsteady for a while longer.”

“Mayhaps they’d want to join us while we camp,” Tornig said.  “Who knows, maybe they even have some good ale they’d be about sharing.”

“Perhaps but be ready for them to not be in such a giving mood once we tell them we won’t be going with them this night.”

“They did seem awful set on getting a move on,” the dwarf agreed.  “Though I wouldn’t want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bum cart either.”

Declan clapped Gorik on the shoulder then.  “Wait here or head off into the grass and help us find someplace safe to start a fire.  Once we’re done with the merchants, we’ll see if we can’t find some way to get some shut eye.”

Gorik clenched his jaw, unsure that standing there while his companions walked off again was a good idea.  Still, if Declan spoke, it was with the whispers as a conduit.  The whispers were responsible for keeping him alive, and he was not about to second guess them.

Spinning about to catch up with his other allies, Declan ran down the gentle sloping path, and Skanlon, the heavier-set fellow, looked eager to have them back.  He walked to the side of the cart, lingering by where the wheel must have fallen off the axle rod.

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Ilayeth said.  “We can’t be riding with you—not this late at night.”

“What?” Skanlon said.  His tone dripped with a bit more than disappointment, and as he spoke, Declan realized that he didn’t see the other merchant, Jordy, anywhere in sight.  “But you said you’d help us get back on the road in exchange for a ride.  You can’t get a ride without our cart being repaired.”

“You’re welcome to camp with us,” Tornig said.  “But a few of us are flagging already, and we have to be at our best in the morning.”

Skanlon shook his head.  “We can’t be leaving the cart here overnight.  It sticks out like a broken thumb.  It’ll be easy loot for highwaymen, and if we’re anywhere nearby when they show up—”

“If they show up,” Ilayeth corrected.

“—there’s no way we could hold our own,” Skanlon finished.  “Please.  At least help me get the wheel onto the cart once more.  I can’t do it myself.  My back isn’t what it used to be.  If you do this for us, we’ll make camp with you, if it suits you.  In the morning, we’ll get right back to our accord.”

“We have a bargain,” Ilayeth said.  “Let’s get you moving so we can get some rest.”

She and Tornig moved along, heading to the side of the carriage.  Without any light to lead their way, they huddled close against the vehicle.

Declan started to follow them, but the distant sound of whispers kept him rooted there for a moment.  It sounded as though all of them—every single voice he’d ever heard in the back of his mind—scurried around in his skull like a thousand tiny rats, scratching at the bones as though they were trying to break free.  He couldn’t make sense of what they said, but just as quickly as they’d arrived, they’d vanished again.  Declan shook his head and moved on.

“What is this?” Tornig asked.  The question wasn’t posed with curiosity, but with shocked anger.

Declan held up his staff, and, as if it knew he and his friends needed light, the ringed headpiece began to glow.  It did not take long for Declan to realize that it would be difficult to place the wheel back on the cart.

It was already there.

“Something’s wrong,” Ilayeth cautioned.  When she looked up, she knew her warning came too late.

Skanlon, the merchant who seemed more the leader, had his cloak wrapped tightly around his face, covering his nose and his mouth.  It still left his eyes visible, though, and she saw the emotions dancing in them, reflected by the light of Declan’s staff.  She saw fear there, but also eagerness and greed.

A spark danced to life in her palm as she held it up toward him.

The merchant’s ally was quicker than she could have expected.  Jordy rose up from within the bed of the carriage, a glass vial seeming to glow brighter with its violet contents than the flame Ilayeth called upon.

The combination of orange and purple illuminated Jordy’s face.  The would-be do-gooders saw that his face no longer showed, instead covered by a mask with a long proboscis curving out of it.

Tornig only studied the strange mask for a moment before he leaped up and swiped at the man with his axe.  Jordy’s movements were swift and wiry, and as he leaned out of the way, he cast the vial he held down to the ground beside the carriage.

The concoction announced its landing with a cacophonous rupture of glass, but all at once, the substance within erupted into a wide and thick plume of smoke.

“Ye think I won’t be able ta see ye in this fog?” Tornig asked.  He swept one of his legs over the railing, before the expanding gas engulfed him.  The dwarf coughed and waved his hands away to dissipate the purple smoke, but he could not push it away.

Behind him, he heard one of his companions as they sputtered to the ground.  Declan still stood, but Tornig couldn’t see the flame in Ilayeth’s hand—nor the half-elf herself—any longer.

Declan held his breath and lunged forward, swinging out with the magical staff.  Either Skanlon moved deceptively quick despite his portly physique, or the violet mist already took its toll on Declan, it seemed.  The faux merchant dodged the wizard staff with ease, focused more on keeping the cloak tight around his face than meeting the duped guild members in combat.

Out of the corner of his eye, Declan watched as Tornig tumbled from the wagon, disappearing into the cloud of smoke.  Though his own eyes watered, he could see that Skanlon and Jordy didn’t suffer any of the same effects.

Declan gagged as he fought off the volatile effects of the concoction.  He knew that he could never hope to defeat the two in his debilitating state.  While the smoke overwhelmed him, there was no hope to outmaneuver the two conmen.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Declan knew that the whispers would be there, ready to advise him.  As his knees buckled and he stumbled backward, he understood that they could never counsel him quickly enough.

By instinct or reflex, Declan thrust the hilt of his staff to the ground to lean on.  Though he could feel his energy draining from his body, he looked to the circular headpiece, recalling its power.  The light faded from the ring, but it was replaced with a mighty burst of wind that shot forth out of both sides of the ring.

All at once, the smoke swept low and far, and as it spread, it dissipated into the air.  Declan fell to his knees, still clinging onto the staff as though his life depended on it.  Through blurred vision, he saw that Tornig and Ilayeth had already succumbed to the powers of the bandit’s concoction.  He knew that he wouldn’t be far behind.

Skanlon pulled the cloak from his face.  With no further danger imposed by the scattered smoke, he did not need to keep his wicked gaze from those who would have lent an unneeded hand.

The false merchant took several steps forth and planted his boot in the center of Declan’s chest.  The lad fell back, splayed onto the dirty road.

Before the staff could teeter, Skanlon grabbed hold of it.  “This is a fancy little toy.  Perhaps it can be even more than that in the hands of someone who really knew how to use it,” he said.  He gently leaned it against the carriage, knowing that his partner would move it into the bed of the wagon.  “In any case, you’ve shown me that it’s more than just a wizard’s torch, so I’ll have to thank you for that.  And where there’s one bit of treasure, usually there’s more.”

“Skanlon, don’t you think…”

Demonstrating his place among their hierarchy, Skanlon held up his hand to quell any of Jordy’s distracting thoughts, even though his words were already trailing off.  Skanlon tried to kick Tornig over, but the dwarf’s heft made it impossible.  Growling, the bandit bent down and spun him over with his hands.

He tried to stifle a gasp, but in the silence of the night, it seemed to echo on for some time.  “Jordy, look.  They’re Adventurers of Eladia.  We just attacked the best-known guild in the country.”

His cohort didn’t offer much in the way of support—or reproach—and Skanlon growled as he plucked Tornig’s axe off the ground.  After he rose back up, he stood there, looming over the fallen trio.  The crescent head of the axe caught a glimmer of starlight, and he took that as his own message from fate.

“I guess we can’t let them live,” Skanlon said.  “They’ve seen us and our carriage, and they know what we’re about.  Even if we let bygones be bygones, I don’t know that they would.  Get down and help me do what needs to be done.”

Again though, Jordy said nothing, even as his companion grabbed hold of the axe in both hands.

“Well come on!” Skanlon yelled then.  “I’m not going to do this all myself!”  He turned to admonish the weaselly fellow, but he soon learned that Jordy couldn’t have responded if he wanted to.  The man was draped over the back rail of the carriage, his arms dangling limp before him.  “Jordy?” Skanlon asked.

No warning, no whisper, not even a snore escaped from his cohort.  But Skanlon heard more than he needed to know that danger was still present around him.  The quick footsteps made certain of that.

When he turned about and saw the green skin of a goblin in the twilight, a fearful cry ripped from his lips.  Surprised by the unexpected assailant, he didn’t see that Gorik held a length of chain in his hand.

Skanlon held up the axe above his head and hurled it forth.

Gorik dipped out of the way, fierce determination etched on his face.  “Not again,” he insisted as the axe thudded into the ground behind him.

With the distance closing between them, Gorik twisted to his side, and spun about, throwing the chain forth.

Of all the things Skanlon expected to see at the end of the chain, a leather-bound tome was not one of them.  He didn’t have long to consider that before it struck him against the side of the face.

Amongst the darkness, it was like the stars had fallen from the heavens, for light danced about his vision.  Though he was struck hard, he remained standing, determined to shake the sparks from his sight.

Gorik pulled back on his grimoire as he drew near, and as Skanlon planted his feet once more, the goblin wrapped the chain around his knuckles.

Skanlon’s vision returned to him just in time to see his foe’s fist racing toward him.

With a sickening thud, the chain dug into his skull.  Skanlon was unconscious on the ground before he realized he’d been struck.

Just beside where he fell, Declan struggled to keep aware.  He focused as best he could on Gorik, who hurried to the back of the carriage.

The goblin leapt up, grappling at a latch that kept the railing in place.  After a few moments, it relented, and the gate swung down, tossing the other unconscious bandit to the dirt in a heap.

Gorik was back among his strange companions a few moments later, helping them to sit up, or rolling them to their back.

“Declan,” he said.  “Declan, can you stand?”

He found that he barely had the strength to respond to Gorik, let alone to do what he was asked.  Still, he rolled to his side, pushing against the ground with all his might.  After what felt like an hour, he sat upon his knees, straining to take in a deep breath.

Gorik was there in front of him, lifting Ilayeth off the ground.

“I could have really used your help,” the goblin said.  “But that smoke did a number on all three of you.  If you can, get over to the carriage.  After I get them in, I’ll help you up.”

Time seemed to race by Declan, as he watched Gorik bring Ilayeth to the carriage, and gently place her in the wagon bed.  He returned for Tornig then as well, all before Declan could climb to his feet.

“Hurry up,” Gorik said.  “I don’t know how much longer they’ll be oblivious.”

Declan grabbed hold of the wagon with one reaching hand, and his staff, leaning against the carriage with the other.  Despite his protesting muscles, he clambered to an upright position, though the fear of tumbling right back down to the dirt had not left him.

His goblin ally withdrew from the wagon, and came back with Tornig’s axe, placing it beside the weary dwarf.  No longer exercising any patience, he plucked the staff from Declan’s hand, and shifted him over to stand before the opened gate of the wagon.

“Wait, wait,” Declan protested, and even his words felt foreign to him.  “I can’t get up there like this.”

“Just brace yourself,” Gorik said as he slid the staff into place along one of the side rails.  He put a hand beneath Declan’s rump and against his shoulder then, bending at the knees for leverage.  “One, two, three,” he spoke as he pushed Declan up into the carriage.

Slamming into the floorboards, Declan let fly a muffled grunt.  His arms wobbled as he fought to rise again, but all he could muster was a shuffling of his body into a more comfortable position.  He watched as Gorik raced to the front of the carriage and leapt up to the driver’s seat.

Declan heard the reins snap, and he felt the wheels move beneath the cart.  He fought past the urge to vomit as he sensed the momentum and rolled to his back.

Looking at the stars, which seemed to spin in the sky, he knew just how lucky they were.

Not so far away, Gorik whispered something to him, but it was lost in Declan’s fading senses.

Instead, the otherworldly voices that called out to him took up precedence in his mind.

“Don’t fall asleep, Declan,” one voice warned him.  “Gorik will need you.”

“Succumb to your weariness.  You were flagging before.  You’ll be useless at the temple if you cannot find some reprieve.”

Still under the effects of the purple smoke, Declan didn’t know if would have a choice.

Continue with Chapter Eight

Voting Instructions

Voting has ended for this period.

This month Declan has a new choice to make, which you can influence.  We’re back to the tried and true “this choice” versus “that choice” style this month, and it’s a very simple choice this time around.

You have until the 28th of this month to safely join the Tellest Newsletter in time to cast your vote.  I’ll be sending out newsletter emails to my readers, and this time around, you’ll be asked to give Declan direction without the choices being laid out for you.  Then, on March 1st, I’ll interpret the votes and see how the whispers influenced Declan.

Remember, there are two ways for you to accumulate voting power in The Whispers:

• First, when you vote through the newsletter, you get an extra voting point for every chapter you’ve voted on.  If you voted in each of the previous chapters, your vote this month would be worth a whopping five points!
• Second—and this one is for the Tellest superfans—if you are a Tellest patron on Patreon, you get an additional voting point for every $1 you pledge per month.  And that is in addition to any of the other rewards you would receive at the specified pledge level.  So, if you pledged at the $3 level, you would get 3 votes on Patreon, in addition to your votes on the newsletter responses.  That’s a lot of sway over Declan!  But it’s another way for me to thank you for helping me keep the lights on.

That wraps up how to vote for this month.  Remember, sign up for the Tellest newsletter if you’re not a member already, and prepare for the follow-up poll later this month in order to cast your vote.  Then we’ll see next month what Declan does in his current situation!

The post The Whispers – Chapter Seven appeared first on Tellest.

I’ll be back and ready to go in November, assuming I can quickly put together this year’s Halloween story.  For now, enjoy the first four chapters of The Whispers:

Chapter One: The Way Forward

The temple’s largest bell sent a resounding note pulsing through the building.  The six smaller ones that surrounded the immense bronze bell would soon play their own tunes against the stone chambers they sat within; the melody was known to all the temple’s clergy.

His eyes fluttering open, Declan stared at the ceiling of his bedchamber.  Recent nights had been more restful, he knew, and he breathed out a little sigh of relief.

He could still hear the whispers, in the back of his mind, like little scratches on the other side of the stone wall beside his bed.  Compared to the times in his youth when he heard them with greater clarity, they might as well have been miles away.  He heard them still, but they were like grains of sand in a distant hourglass.  He couldn’t identify what they were saying.

Declan was sure that in time they would be gone completely.

Any other day, he would have been ecstatic at the prospect.  For far too long they had dictated every facet of his life.  While the hushed tones and distant voices offered up cryptic remarks and the odd pertinent suggestions, it was the way the other members of the clergy interpreted them that kept him in place at the temple.

In time, the whispers grew distant, and in their distance, their instructions grew unclear.  Without their direction, there was no sense in relying on the lad as though he heard the commands of the gods.

With a sigh pushing past his lips, Declan sat upright and swung his legs off the bed.  He struck the thin mattress with the heel of his hand.

There were some things he wouldn’t miss, he mused.

The young man rose then, shaking the weariness from his body.  There wasn’t much to do to prepare himself for the road ahead.  His bag was packed already, for there was no more need for him to live there within the protection of the temple’s stone walls.

Declan made his way to the crude table in the opposite corner of the room, and plucked up his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder.  There was no sense delaying his departure.  The clerics had grown tired of him, and rumors—whispers from real people he spent time within the temple—spoke of turning his small chamber into a spare vestry once he was gone.

With a huff, he took a step back and opened the door to his room.  One of the newer clerics, clad in a simple brown robe, sped by, not bothering to give the man a glance.  Declan wondered if the neophyte had been listening at the door to see if the room was vacant.

Making his way into the adjoining hallway, he could hear the bustle in the nave as parishioners made their way into the building. Somewhere amidst the cacophony of voices, he identified one that he was most familiar with.

As he rounded the corner, the young fellow saw the elder leaning on the pulpit, speaking to the worshippers that crowded him.  The morning service had yet to begin, but Benedictus always welcomed his congregation for guidance or prayer.

Declan hesitated there for a moment, wondering if it would be a good time to take his leave from the temple.  If his old friend couldn’t see him leave, there wouldn’t be a need to have a sad farewell, after all.

His footsteps brought him down the aisle, the open doors sending a breeze into the building that was at once liberating and frightening as it danced across the lad’s skin.  The sunlight shone onto the stone and as he walked out into it, it felt warmer than ever.

“Declan?” he heard the man far behind him call out.  “Declan!”

While he waited there at the exit to the temple, he saw the priest push his way through the crowd, acting as though they were an afterthought.  The old fellow panted as he reached the end of the path and came to stand beside the departing young man.

“You meant to simply leave without saying anything?” Benedictus asked.

Declan sighed before he built up the energy to speak.  “What is there to say?” he asked.  “My time here is done, and I’m being cast out into the wind.  The other members of the clergy can’t even be bothered to keep me around to clean the floors or tidy up books in the library.”

The elder priest nodded, knowing how hurt the lad was by his dismissal.  “You know why the other brothers of the order have been so…”

“…Insistent?” Declan interjected.

“When you were first adopted by the temple, they thought your gift was a conduit to the gods.  But as the messages have grown quiet, their interpretations have become vague.  More than once it seems the clergy have made ill-advised decisions based on what they thought your distant voices seem to be saying.”

“I told them that I could barely make out what the whispers say anymore,” Declan countered.  “I’m not certain as to why, but the longer I stayed here at the temple, the quieter they grew.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” Benedictus mused.  “I remember when you first arrived here, and you would clasp your hands over your ears as though that would help.  Since then, I’ve seen you grow into a fine young man who follows his own heart rather than the interpretations and suggestions of some old men with their noses buried in some dusty ancient tomes.”

“Those dusty old tomes are half the reason I’m able to understand half of the expressions you and the other brothers use from time to time,” Declan teased.  He thought then of how that friendship had run its course though, and the momentary flash of amusement was stricken from his face.

“Come,” the cleric gestured.  “I’ll walk you to the crossroads.  There is no sense in you waiting there alone.”

The man nodded as he followed Benedictus down the path.  “To be honest, I’m surprised I wasn’t already cast into the wagon.  I thought he would be here already.”

“It’s not a long trip from the guild hall, certainly,” his old friend replied.  “But I’m sure that there were other things that the Adventurers needed to do this morning besides prepare the wagon to come gather a poor acolyte from the temple.”  He paused for a moment and turned to see that his words were not taken in jest as he had hoped.  He stood straighter then and cleared his throat.  “Who knows though?  Perhaps as you grow accustomed to your new home, you’ll go on adventures of your own.”

Declan scoffed.  “I don’t think they want the person who sweeps their pantry to go on any noble quests with them.”

“Perhaps not at first,” Benedictus conceded.

As his words were swept away by the gentle summer breeze, he passed a glance down the dirt road that passed before the temple.  When the cleric narrowed his eyes, Declan knew that someone approached from further beyond.

“I think this is your ride, child.”

The departing man let his gaze fall upon the road and breathed out a subtle sigh.  Before long he could hear the clopping hoofbeats of the ox that drew the wagon, and when he looked up, he could see the cart upon the horizon.  A lone traveler sat in the driver’s seat; his cloak drawn up over his head.

“It’s a bit hot for a hood, isn’t it?” Declan wondered.

“The Adventurers of Eladia are known to try and keep their identity secret.  Perhaps it is worth the slight discomfort.”

After several more moments, the cart pulled up to the crossroads and made a slight turn toward the temple.  The driver tugged on the reins, urging the ox to stop.  Though the man’s hood was drawn far over his face, both Declan and Benedictus could see the bushy auburn mustache that stretched over his upper lip and came down either side.

“This the one?” the man said.

Benedictus, caught off guard by the nonchalant conversation, looked to his departing ward with concern.  “That depends on who you’re looking for.”

The driver took in a deep breath and sent a sharp sigh up between his lips, sending a few of the hairs in his mustache bristling.  He tugged his hood back then, revealing his face and the bright red coif that seemed to shine like fire in the late-morning sunlight.

“I’m from the guild in Eladia,” he grumbled.  “We sent word that someone was going to be picking up your lad and that someone named Erik was going to be bringing him back.  Well that’s me.  I’m Erik.”

The cleric looked to the young man behind him, but Declan already started forward.

“It’s okay,” the lad said.

“You’ve said your goodbyes, right?” Erik asked.  Though the two men on the ground thought they detected a hint of compassion, the fellow from the Adventurers’ guild knocked his fist against the wagon behind him then.  “Come on then.  I don’t have all day.”

“You know you can always visit,” Benedictus said as his young ward moved along.  “We’re only half a day’s ride up the road, and you are welcome any time.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Declan said.

Erik grumbled and slapped the reins to the seat and hopped from the cart then.  He made his way around to the back of the wagon and pulled down the gate there.  “Are you coming or not?  The sooner I get you back to Eladia, the sooner I can give you the grand tour of the guild hall and be on my way to the Grey Arches to meet up with the other members of the guild.”

“I guess this is goodbye,” Declan conceded.  He reached the back of the carriage then as well, and he hopped into place among the other goods that Erik had with him.

Benedictus helped him lift the gate back into place then.  “It’s only goodbye for now,” he offered.  “I’ll make sure to make some time to visit you in the upcoming weeks and see that you’re settling in well.”

Erik climbed back into the driver’s seat then, and snapped the reins, urging his ox forward.  “Best steer clear of the road, priest,” he called out.  “I don’t want to run over a man of the cloth.”

Benedictus shook his head and hurried from the road then, forced to watch it pass.  He couldn’t dismiss the dejected look on his friend’s face.

As Declan drew further from the temple, he bowed his head, wondering what the future would have in store for him.

*          *          *

Erik pushed open the door and gave it a light tap when its momentum had it swinging back toward the jamb.  “Right this way,” he said.

Declan hurried past the closing door and into the guild hall.  The Adventurers of Eladia lived in quite a bit more luxury than the clergy at the temple it seemed.

Perhaps his station was improving, the lad mused.

Affording him as little time as he had thus far, Erik moved along through the building, never stopping to speak to any of the other guild members who drifted through the hall’s many rooms.  The red-haired fellow pushed straight through until they reached the rear of the building, where grand windows overlooked a vast meadow.

“It’s this way to the larder,” Erik said.  He moved off to a side hall, where a broad door faced them from one direction, and a set of stone steps descended into the ground below the hall.

“Shouldn’t I be stopping at my quarters first?” Declan asked.  “I have my belongings to drop off.”

For the first time since the lad met the guild member, Erik halted, no longer concerned with a hasty pace.  He spun about and folded his arms over his chest.  “And who is to say that you’ll be worthy of your own room?  Here at the guild, you earn your keep, and we need to see that you’re capable of that before we set you up with a comfortable cot and a place to rest your bones.”

“You don’t think I’m worthy of sweeping the larder?”

“The brothers at the temple didn’t think you were worth keeping for theirs,” Erik stated matter-of-factly.  He proceeded down the stone steps, waving on the newest representative of the guild.  Once they arrived in the cellar, Declan realized even the hidden sublevel was quite expansive.  Most of it was covered in fine planks of wood, though there were rooms here and there that remained fashioned in stone (yet some of those had been carved with beautiful etchings and stylings).  Erik turned to his side and pointed toward an adjacent chamber.  “That’s the larder.  You can drop off your things there while I give you the rest of the tour.”

The lad breathed out a sigh of relief when it seemed the man would finally offer him some compassion.  He opened the sturdy door to the larder and placed his pack on the ground there.  He could smell the foodstuffs that the Adventures of Eladia had amassed and considered that he would never have to worry about going hungry while he lived at the guild.

“It will take a lot of work for you to find your place here,” Erik said as the young man shut the door behind him.  “But if you labor well, and you do so without much complaint, you’ll find there are a fair amount of benefits.  No one comes here for the sake of a bed or a fine meal to eat though, lad.  People join up with us because these lands still hold a promise of untold lore—of worlds of history that still need to be discovered.  You can be an attendant to this building if that is all you seek to be in this life.  But the guild leaders thought that with your own odd history, you might amount to something more.”

Declan said nothing further, but squared his jaw, nodding in the hopes that the move to this new location wouldn’t break him.

Erik proceeded on, deeper into the bowels of that place.  An acrid scent took to the air, like too much history in one place that hadn’t been overturned in some time.  The wooden floorboards gave way to the elaborate carved stones that went underscored by delicate lantern light.  As Declan followed the man into the further chambers, he wondered if perhaps the guild hall had been built around older ruins.

“There are a great many things for you to do here,” Erik said, “and more than likely less time for you to do them all.  There’s the larder, which I’d personally like you to start with.  There’s the stable out beside the meadow.  You’ll cook and clean and launder the garments for the other guild members.  And back this way, there’s—”

He was interrupted by the slamming of a door, and the sudden appearance of one of the other members of the guild.  The fair-skinned maiden spun about; a wine-colored cloak was pulled up tight over her head.  Even in the soft light of the cellar, Declan could see Erik’s cheeks turning as flush red as his mustache.

“Lady Ilayeth,” the guild member said before taking a deep bow.

“Now Erik, I’ve told you many times.  I’m no more a lady than you are a king.  You needn’t place me on such a pedestal.  I’m simply a curious archivist, scouring through ancient tomes.”  She paused then, and looked over the man’s shoulder, spotting the second man in the cellar with them.  “And who is this handsome young stranger?” she teased.

The stockier fellow turned about, arching his eyebrow.  He pointed with his thumb.  “Him?  This is our newest guild member, Declan.  I’m setting him up with a broom and a mop so that he can prove himself to us before he officially joins up with us.”

“Is that so?” Ilayeth asked.  She stepped forward then, narrowing her eyes as she took account of the lad.  “Ah yes,” she said, holding up her hand as though she were pressing it up against some unseen wall.  “You may begin as an attendant here, but I sense great things in your future.  In time, perhaps it will be you who is written about in ancient tomes for future generations to learn from.”

She smiled as she sensed a warm glow upon Declan’s own cheeks then.  “If you’ll both excuse me, I have to take my research up into some brighter light.  There is some information in this volume that may be of some assistance to Mason and the others if they’re having difficulty proceeding into the ruins.”

“Best of luck finding something of use,” Erik said.  “They’re likely waiting for one of your ‘miracles’ to find them.”

“And I shall work as best I can to deliver one,” Ilayeth said.  “It was nice meeting you Declan.”

Both men watched the archivist leave the hall, and they could hear her make her way up the stone steps to the rest of the building.  When the newest arrival turned back to his guide, he was faced with the unhappy visage of the mustached fellow.

Erik knew that he had been noted, and he folded his arms over his chest.  “Remember this one thing lad: she’s more than what she seems on the surface.  Ilayeth has been here longer than most of the other adventurers, and even after all the time I’ve been here, I still haven’t uncovered all her mysteries.”  He grumbled and waved his hand.  “Bah.  That’s neither here nor there.  We must make sure you’re sticking around first before we worry about such things.

“As I was saying before we were visited by Ilayeth, the room that she came out of needs a bit of care as well.  The dust and grime that can build up in there is not good for the old books, so you’ll clean that room as well.”

Declan nodded, but Erik was already on his way further into the cellar.  A chill permeated the air then, as they proceeded on, and the lad paused when he saw a faint, pale blue light emanating from the next chamber.  While most of the rooms were rectangular, that one, seeming to sit at the center of the guild hall, had a circular curve about it.

Though Erik moved on without hesitation, Declan couldn’t help but slow his pace.  There, hanging above two pedestals as if held up by hidden strings, were two artifacts that looked impressive and storied.  A longsword floated above one, while on the opposite side a staff hovered in the air.  The pedestals themselves were awash in the light, and he wondered if it was the plinths or the weapons that held onto that magic.

His guide turned about, realizing that his ward did not follow him.  “I see you distract easily.”

Declan refused to allow that comment to goad him into moving again.  He felt drawn to both of those relics and took time to observe them in the strange light.

“These are some of the oldest items we have in the guild hall,” Erik said when he realized his words were not met with immediate action.  “They predate any of us that live here—even Ilayeth.  Some say they belonged to the first heroes who founded the Adventurers of Eladia, but none can say for certain.  But some of the people in the guild will swear they can feel the arcane weaving through this room when they venture through it.  Maybe you’re one of them.”  He snorted then.  “Still, you’ve got to earn your way up to a fully-fledged member.  In the meantime, we have some more recent artifacts that I want to show you.”

Erik waved the young man on, and they proceeded on through the round chamber, until they reached one last large room that Declan was certain sat beneath the entrance to the guild.

“This is the Hall of Heroes,” Erik claimed.  He swept out his arm, bringing his new ward’s attention to the various armor stands in the room.  The room was awash with somber lantern light, but many of the hauberks and breastplates still sparkled in the darkness.  “This is a place of remembrance, and it might be the best place for you to start doing work.  There’s perhaps no better place for you to know what you’re going to be a part of.  After all, this is the history of the guild.”

No stranger to the concept of the hereafter, Declan took time to observe those stands a little closer.  In some places, a helmet sat above the armor, or a weapon rested against it.  Each of them had a marble slab situated on the floor, atop the hardwood boards. Upon the closest ones, he saw the etchings of a name carved into gold plates fixed to the stone.

“These are…”

“The fallen, yes,” Erik said.  “These are the heroes who helped Novistrus through its darkest hours.  This country was a dismal place before the Adventurers of Eladia were brought together.  But such a place couldn’t be without its hazards, and not everyone makes it out alive.”

They stood there in solemn silence, reflecting on the sacrifices that had been made in the name of progress and justice.

A nearby snore broke them of that deliberation, and Erik passed before Declan, peering into the far corner on the right side of the room.  His heavy footfalls roused the other guild member in the room, who woke with a gasp.

“I’m up, I’m up!” the fellow said.  It took him a moment to settle back into place, but by then, he was already shaken.

Declan took a few steps to the side as well, watching the stout fellow rise from the ground.  Though the few strands of grey in his long brown beard proved he was a great deal older than the newest member of the guild, his head didn’t quite reach up to the young man’s collarbone.

“What’s the matter lad?” the stranger said.  “Ye ain’t never seen a dwarf before?”

Hoping against hope that there wasn’t another like Erik in the guild, Declan stood straighter upon hearing that snippy comment.  “There weren’t a lot of dwarves that came to our temple.”

“Ah,” the dwarf said with a nod.  “You’re the new recruit then.  Dirkland, was it?”

“Declan,” the lad clarified.

“Bah,” he replied, eliciting a chortle from Erik.  “I liked my name for ye better.”  He took a step forward then, clapping the man he knew on the arm before extending his hand to the stranger.  “Me name’s Tornig.  Sorry if I gave ye a fright.  I come here sometimes to clear me mind.”

He spun about and returned to the corner where Erik had found him and bent down to pluck up a helmet from the ground.  He returned to an upright position, an uncomfortable grunt announcing his arrival there.

When he turned back toward the other guild members, Declan noticed the similarities of the helmet the dwarf had, and the one on the nearest armor stand.  Both were fashioned of heavy plate and had downturned horns fixed to their tops.

Tornig caught the observation and tapped his knuckles against the brow of the helmet.  “This is me older brother,” he said.  “He was an Adventurer of Eladia afore I ever had the inkling of being one.  Sometimes I come down here to talk to him.”

“And he talks himself into a deep sleep,” Erik grumbled.

“Well it’s boring being the only one with anything ta say!” Tornig retorted.  He shook his head before he placed the helm upon his head then.  After looking at his friend and passing him a teasing scoff, he turned back to the newest recruit.  “Listen lad: I’d appreciate it very much if ye took great care of this chamber.  It’s been a long while since it’s seen some proper attention, and I can’t be the only one ta make sure Gulspire’s mail shines.”

Declan returned the dwarf an emphatic nod.  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

“Then ye’ll do just fine.”  He turned back to Erik then, and stuck out his chin at him.  “Would ye walk with me for a bit?  A falcon came to Yaro early this morning.  Seems there’s a new task that might fall to Eladia.”

“I’m meant to bring supplies to Mason,” Erik said.  “But no harm came from talking.”

“At least ye’ll respond to me,” Tornig said.

As the dwarf made his way out of the room, Erik fell into step behind him.  He turned to Declan then and gave him a nod.

“Like I said, this is as good a place to start as anywhere.  When I return, I expect I’ll be able to see my face in the reflection of those plaques.”

He didn’t wait to see a reaction upon the lad’s face, but left alone in the dimly lit room, all Declan could do was nod.

*          *          *

A glistening sheen of perspiration sat upon Declan’s brow then.  He had swept the chamber until he was certain the bristles on the broom were going to fall off, and then moved his attention to more attentive matters.  Starting in the corner where Tornig once rested, he set a rag to the golden plaques on the marble markers.  His attempts to impress Erik seemed to be going well, because on more than one of those old nameplates, Declan could see his weary face looking back at him.

More than once, he could hear some of the other members of the guild moving around on the floor above him.  The impressive door slammed into the jamb as excited adventurers moved about, hungry for their next quest.  Muted voices carried enough for him to hear them, but not enough to distinguish what was being said.  He wondered if anyone in the hall even knew he was there below him.  How would they react if they saw him—a stranger—in that hallowed place?

He shook his head of those thoughts, putting some force into his task.  The plate he worked at cleaning then, one that belonged to a fellow named Wengert Daggard, was covered in age-old filth, and it didn’t seem to be willing to catch a shine.

Pressing as hard as he could, Declan suddenly lurched forward, and had to catch himself with the heel of his hand, lest he smash his nose against the floorboards.  He looked back to see why he had lost his balance, and his jaw dropped at the sight of the plaque and the stone marker.  The rivet that kept the golden plate locked in place had snapped, and the tile had half fallen to the floor.

Declan sat up, horrified at his blunder.  How was he meant to explain that on his first day, he had besmirched the memory of one of the heroes of the guild?  He leaned forward then, hoping that he could lay the golden plate back upon the portion of the rivet that remained embedded in the marble, but it fell once more.

As he fiddled with the nameplate, loud voices rang out above him.  So consumed with his mistake, Declan didn’t notice the angry, worrisome cries.

But he noticed the explosion that rocked the foundation of the building.  Dust and streams of dirt fell from the ceiling when it was knocked away from the place it sat for generations.  The lanterns shuddered and waved under the odd percussion, and even the armor on the stands surrounding Declan gave off a quiet rattle that sent chills running up his spine.

The lad stood up then, looking at the woodwork above him.  The loud voices—screams and cries and angry shouts—were not lost to him then.

“Everyone!” he heard then.  “To arms!”

Though Declan had never been in an engagement with an enemy that wanted him dead before, he felt heat coursing through him.  He knew that even though he had no formal training, he could be of some use to the other adventurers, and he raced out of the chamber, hoping he could remember the way out of that labyrinthine cellar.

As he reached the strange circular room in the center of the basement, though, something strange happened.  The lights emanating from the pedestals seemed to pulse, and glow brighter.  The weapons hovering there seemed to spin in place, reacting to the dangers in the guild hall—though Declan considered that perhaps the blast from the ground floor had sent them rotating.

But he couldn’t blame the explosion on the sudden return of the sounds he thought he had long since heard gone quiet.

The whispers had returned.

“Take the sword.  You’re stronger than you know.”

“No, Declan.  The staff, and untold magic is within your grasp.”

“Why depend on the unknown and the unreliable?  Cold steel will never disappoint you.”

“You have the power of the arcane flowing through you.  All that’s left is to learn to channel it.”

The young man, who thought he’d dismissed the whispers forever, couldn’t ignore their advice.  If danger had come to the Adventures of Eladia, he knew that it was his duty to make a stand beside them.

All that was required of him was to reach out and grab one of the ancient relics.

Chapter Two: Obeying the Call

The whispers that rattled about in the back of Declan’s head were no match for the next explosion that seemed to rock the building to its core.  He lunged forward, catching his balance upon the nearest of the two pedestals.  When he shook his head of the confusion, and he managed to look up, it was the spinning sword that was before him.

Sure enough, whispers urged him to take that long, deadly blade, eager as he set his sights upon the sword’s hilt.

Then, like a cascading wave, the other voices overpowered the few murmurs that urged him toward the melee weapon.

“The staff, Declan!” an urgent whisper called.

“Whatever is happening above, a single sword will not be enough.”

“But the aether flows through you,” another voice clarified.

“You hold the key,” the loudest voice among them said then.  “And with that staff, you can find the door and open it.”

Declan squared his jaw then, righting himself before turning about to stare at the spinning arcane weapon.  He could sense the power emanating from it, as though the voices may have been calling from within the staff.  As he drew closer to it, a faint hum seemed to fill the room, drowning out the whispers—or adding to them, he thought.

It felt as though he were looking at it for the first time.  Comprised of some ancient metal, the staff looked sturdy despite its antiquity.  A pair of lifted ridges sat close to its center, indicating the proper handhold.  Further up the length of it, a decorated circle sat fixed at its head.

Reaching out toward it, Declan felt an even stronger pull, as though the staff reached out to him in turn.  Before he could even wrap his fingers around the speckled metal, the faint blue light erupted into a burst of cobalt and cerulean, overwhelming his senses and momentarily blinding him.

When his vision returned, Declan was outside of that round chamber, with the staff held high and in his hand.  He looked to his side, recognizing the larder that Erik had shown him to.

Without understanding how, he had passed beyond several other rooms that separated the basement foyer from the relic chamber.  He couldn’t discern whether some magic had taken hold of him, or if, in his disorientation, he had stumbled through the labyrinthine cellar.  It he had stumbled about, how much time had passed, he wondered.

As his vision settled upon the stairs to the rest of the guild hall, he knew that the question could be considered later.

“Go forth, Declan,” the whispers said, almost in unison.

It was the first time that he had ever heard those voices in absolute agreement, rather than chattering over one another.  With that powerful utterance, it sounded more like an order than a suggestion, and Declan thought better than to hesitate.

Gripping the staff, feeling its energy, he strode forth toward the stairs.

It had gone quiet on the floor above, the terse voices fading.  Declan wondered if he would ascend to witness a horrible sight and nothing more.

He shook his head, knowing that his focus had to be on what was before him, rather than what the future might hold.  Declan looked at the stone steps, thankful that they weren’t made from the same creaky wood as the basement at the temple.  If there were any villains roaming about the guild hall, stealth, along with his new staff, would be the only advantages he had.

Taking in a deep breath, Declan climbed the stairs until he was just below the landing, out of sight of the side hall and the room that overlooked the meadow.  The pair of broad doors across from him almost seemed to call to him, offering him some semblance of safety.  If he could just push past them, he could race off into the meadow, away from whatever dangers had fallen upon the Adventurers’ guild.

He forced out the breath he’d taken earlier, hearing the fretful undulation as it left through his parted lips.

After another step, he turned on his heel and thrust out the staff, attempting to prove he was ready for anything.  Looking into the room, its grand windows filling the chamber with sunlight, he knew he had proven himself wrong.  The radiance fell upon the injured and the dead in an odd spectacle, illuminated dust particles dancing in the air, lingering from the earlier explosions.

Declan’s legs buckled, but he leaned against the dividing wall for balance.  The near silence was somehow deafening, and the lack of any further guidance from the whispers left him feeling more alone than ever.

Despite his trepidation, he crept forward, until he could gaze down the long hall that Erik once led him down.

The front door of the guild hall was ajar, swaying in the soft breeze.  Declan couldn’t see any sign of the aggressors there and wondered whether that was a good thing or not.

Staring into the sunlight, he could barely make out the figure sprawled across the floor into the hallway.  As his eyes adjusted, Declan could see the horned helmet that lay on its side beside the fallen dwarf.  Though he was far from the smallfolk, he could see that Tornig lay unmoving.

“If you move again, I’ll rip out your entrails,” Declan heard, then.

He went rigid, and hid beside the hallway, further weighing his options.  As he hid there, he noticed that even without the sunlight glaring through the open door, the room seemed to grow brighter.

He looked up at the staff and noticed that the circle fixed atop it glowed with the faint blue light he recalled from the relic chamber in the basement.  Declan’s eyes grew wide as he reached for the headpiece, and he offered up his own whisper then, pleading for the light to be extinguished.

As he lowered the staff, peering through the circular fixture, his focus shifted to the far side of the building.  He made eye contact with the strange being there, a hulking brute in crude armor that was covered from head to toe in matted fur.  A canine snout let Declan know that it was not human—nor elf, or dwarf, or any other kind of being he’d seen or heard of.  He remembered back to stories Benedictus told him when he was younger.  Could it have been a gnoll, he wondered?

He was not left to consider that for long, for his unexpected foe stomped toward him, grunting in anger.

Declan held out his hand to placate the gnoll, a plea upon his lips.  It was too late though.  With rage in its eyes and frothy spit dripping from its snout, the warrior did not seem to care for Declan’s appeal.

“Wait, don’t!” Declan blurted out then.

Before the gnoll could take another step, a thundering gale of wind whipped through the building, knocking hanging tools and pictures off the wall.  When it reached the gnoll, it threw him back across the building, slamming him into the wall with such force that his unsophisticated breastplate came undone.  As the wind dissipated, the monstrous warrior fell from the wall in a heap, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Declan couldn’t celebrate his good fortune or stare in bewilderment at the relic he held in his hand.  Another unfamiliar, harsh voice rang out in the building.

“Ignark, what was that?” he heard.

As footsteps reported in an adjacent room, Declan clenched his jaw and sealed his lips, creeping down the long hallway toward the open door.  He kept the staff lifted off the ground, hopeful to keep as quiet as possible as he made his way.

“Ignark?” the voice repeated; disdain was audible in the question.

Declan slowed his pace as he drew closer to the fallen dwarf who was sprawled out upon the floor.  He couldn’t see any injuries on Tornig; there was no pool of blood or markings on the poor fellow.  It was as though he simply dropped dead where he stood.

As the gnoll’s comrade investigated further, the newest member of the guild crouched down, observing the area outside the building.  It seemed quiet there, and Declan inched toward it, unable to resist the pull of a quick escape.  When he lingered by the door, he ventured a glance over his shoulder.

Wide eyes stared back at him, eager and earnest.  Ilayeth sat upon the floor beside a damaged low table, her hands bound at the wrists and tied to her legs.  She attempted to speak, but was unable to produce a single word, and Declan understood why a moment later.  It was as though her lips were gone, covered instead with a thick layer of skin and nothing more.

Once Declan overcame his horror, he focused more intently on the maiden.  She struggled against her bindings, her arms shaking and lean muscles bulging against the stress.

A nervous breath passed between his lips, and he forewent all thoughts of a hasty retreat.

Declan stayed low to the ground then and drew closer to Ilayeth, letting the ancient staff fall to the floor.  As worry set in, it was as though time slowed down.  It was in that brief yet stretched period that he took notice of several of Ilayeth’s other features that he had missed in the guild hall’s basement.  With her cloak pulled down behind her neck, he could see dark tresses that fell in a wave upon her shoulders.  Disheveled as they were though, they didn’t hide the shallow point upon her ear.

Ilayeth stamped her feet then, reining in his attention.  Declan shook his head, and reached for her bindings, thick lashings of what looked like sturdy vines.

“Ignark!” they heard then.

Startled, Declan sprang back.  Even without a visible mouth, he could see the frown upon the half-elf’s face.  A quiet grumble croaked from within her throat as she strained forward, urging the guild’s recruit to work at her bindings.

Despite her insistence, Declan drew further away from Ilayeth, looking about the room for something to aid him in the desperate situation.  While the maiden worked herself into a tizzy, Declan stepped away, and looked to the fallen dwarf.  An axe hung upon Tornig’s belt, a gleam from the opened door landing upon its crescent head.  Declan reached for the weapon at once, and returned to the frantic half-elf, steadying her as he arrived there.

“Hold still,” he whispered.

When Ilayeth realized the young man held a blade at the ready, she grew calm, offering an anticipative nod while she closed her eyes.

Declan worked on the vine-like strands with the axe as though it was a dull sawblade, until he could see a tear in the fibers.  The bindings around Ilayeth’s arms snapped with a loud report then.

The half-elf smiled with her eyes and tried to offer her thanks before she realized once more that she had been silenced.  She gave a quick shake of her head and then pointed toward her legs, where another wrapping of the vines kept her trapped.

Before Declan could move the axe to the lower set of bindings, a strange figure filled the doorway to the next room.  Delcan rose to his feet in panic as Ilayeth slid around to look upon the intruder.

“What have we here?” the stranger wondered.  He had olive-colored skin, and long strands of greasy, seaweed-colored hair.  An opened tome rested in his hand, but he was sturdier looking despite that, as though he had been a hardened warrior earlier in his life.  “I knew that there were others within this building,” the goblin said.  “I told Ignark as much.  But he always was a fool—always looking for treasures more than dangers.

“No matter,” he went on.  “You’ll fall just like all the rest.”  He lifted his book before him but needed not look at the words in the tome.

The half-elf maiden, already familiar with the intruder’s methods, drew lower to the ground, as if to hide from him.

“Skalagos, dahartha gäs trendahar,” the goblin intoned.

Before he could finish his chant, Ilayeth lunged forth, scooping the discarded staff off the ground.  She brought it to bear in front of Declan, and the young man reached out and grasped it on instinct and reflex.

By the time the last syllable rolled from the goblin’s mouth, the circular head of the staff pulsed with a bright light, and Declan felt the power of the arcane implement shaking in his hand.

After some time passed, it appeared that the goblin’s incantation failed to have an effect, and he tilted his head in confusion.  He narrowed his eyes then and turned the pages of the book in his hand until he arrived at a dog-eared entry.

“Very well.  I’ll steal the words from your lips as I have hers,” the goblin said, pointing at Ilayeth with his chin.

The half-elf looked up at her savior, grasping his arm and pleading with her eyes for him to act.

“Redahin, gorion ath dolwin!”

Declan felt a prickle in the air, like static electricity meant to move throughout the room.  But as with the goblin’s prior attempt at a spell, that one fell short.  That time, however, the enchantment was not thwarted by the staff.  The glow within the circular headpiece had faded since the first invocation.

Once more, Declan heard the rise of the whispers.  Like the hissing of dozens of vipers, the whispers layered over one another, all incensed and angered in their tone, though their onset was so quick that Declan couldn’t determine what they were saying.  He thought to bring his hands to his ears to dull their strange roar, but he thought better of it when he remembered the axe and staff he held in his hands.  Beyond that, he knew that there was no way to quiet the sound so deep within his mind.

Patience was all he required, it seemed, for a moment later, several of the whispers synchronized, all speaking the same sentiment.

“He is trying to silence us.  He is trying to silence you.”

Declan stood straighter as he realized that in his attempt to silence him, the goblin only managed to quiet one of the whispers.

“Stop him,” another whisper commanded.

While the goblin looked on in confusion once more, Declan heaved Tornig’s hand axe, end over end.  All three of the occupants of the room failed to hide their surprise when the weapon plunged into the flesh beneath the goblin’s shoulder.

As the injured intruder fell against the wall and slid down toward his backside, Ilayeth set into motion, crawling across the room to reach him.

“Help me,” the half-elf spoke then.  Another bout of surprise reached them when they realized that the spell that had stolen away Ilayeth’s mouth had expired.

Declan stepped forward but furrowed his brow at her request.  “Help you with what?” he wondered.

“We need to keep him alive,” she said.  “He might have information about why he and his friends attacked.”

As Declan drew closer, he heard the familiar sounds of the whispers in the back of his mind.

“She’s right.  You know she is.”

“He is dangerous—too dangerous to let live.”

“The goblin and his ilk attacked this place for some reason.  You need to know why.”

“Knowledge is only valuable to those that live long enough to use it.  If he survives, he will not offer you the same chance.”

Once again, Declan felt the weight of the options upon him.  A trembling shook his hand, and when he looked at the ancient staff, it’s circular headpiece glowed once more, as though it too felt the need for some action.

As more voices lent their advice to the whispers, Declan knew that he had a choice to make.

Chapter Three: Stable Condition

Ilayeth turned to her side, letting the goblin fall from her shoulder.  He landed with a thud upon the table, and she worked at lifting his legs upon the furniture as well.  The injured intruder was not much bigger than her, and his lean build made it easy for her to transport him to a better lit area.

Still, when she was free of her burden, her breaths came ragged and fast, when it was a deep sigh of relief that she would have truly hoped for.

She looked over her shoulder then, toward the opened partition in the room.  The newest recruit to the guild bowed his head, looking at the puddle of blood that pooled on the ground where the goblin had fallen.  His mop of brown hair covered his eyes as he bent his head lower and lower.  She saw him raise his free hand, as though he was ready to chant some unknown spell into existence.

“Declan,” the half-elven maiden pressed again.  “Declan, I need you over here.”

If he had heard her at all, it wasn’t apparent.  Ilayeth growled and looked back to the goblin cleric who had attacked her guild along with his allies.

“You’ll not die here,” she promised.  “If you die, it will be by my hand.”

On the other side of the wall, Declan paced as the whispers in his head argued their points over one another.

“He tried to kill you.  Why would you allow him another chance by saving his life?”

“He could have valuable information.  You’ve already proven you can defeat him if you need to.  You’ve disarmed him, so he’ll be even less willing to contest you.”

“He doesn’t need the book in order to enact his magic.  There is another way.  You know now that magic is unpredictable, dangerous, but…”

Then, like a clarion call, as clear as the ringing of any bell, one of the whispers broke through, and sounded as though whoever was speaking was right beside him.

“Declan, find the goblin’s purpose.”  All at once, it seemed as though all the other voices had grown silent.  As if it knew it had reached him, the whisper continued.  “Lend Ilayeth your hand and do what you can to keep him alive.”

He took in a deep breath as the sound of the serene, feminine voice dissipated, leaving him to hear only the maiden’s frantic struggles and the goblin’s ragged, panicked breaths.  Declan nodded and looked to his new staff, intent on doing what he could to aid the situation.

As he entered the side chamber, Ilayeth looked up at him.  “I know you now,” she said.  “You’re the one that hears voices.  The others who knew about you said that the temple was releasing you of your duties there because you were no longer a conduit to the voices.”

“That’s right,” Declan replied.  “They did.”

“But it doesn’t look like the voices are quiet anymore.  What are they saying now?”

Declan took another step forward and sent a confident gaze toward the maiden.  “Sometimes the whispers want different things.  But I am the one who decides.  When I hear one that rings truest to me, that is the one I listen to.”

“And?”

“Let’s make sure this goblin lives long enough to regret attacking the guild.”

The long gestating sigh of relief finally left Ilayeth’s lips as Declan drew nearer.  She moved aside so her new companion could examine the injured goblin.

“Do you know what to do here?” she asked.

“Well, luckily when I was at the temple, I didn’t sit idly pretending to be some prophet who only spoke in riddles.  While the clergy there always kept an eye on me to see when I would next give them a message from the gods, I kept an eye on them, studying their activities.  More than once I saw several of the clerics heal those who were injured.  But I’ve never seen an injury this bad—and I don’t have the magic they had.”

“We’ll have to make do with my magic then,” Ilayeth said.  “Tell me what to do.”

Declan glanced down at the intruder and back to his guildmate then.  “There’s not much to tell.  He’s got an axe in his shoulder and he’s bleeding to death.  We take the axe out and seal the wound as best we can.”

Ilayeth nodded.  “When he recovers, we’ll find out the reason for all this carnage.”  She swallowed away her apprehension and wrapped her fingers around the handle of Tornig’s axe.  With a fierce tug, she pulled the crescent blade from the goblin’s shoulder.

At once, blood started pouring from the wound.  The goblin screamed in agony at the greater sense of pain before his eyes fluttered and he fell back upon the table, a reprieve finally found in oblivion.

“There’s too much blood,” Ilayeth said.  “I can’t see where I need to use my magic.”

“We shouldn’t worry about being precise here,” Declan protested.  “Who cares if we leave a scar?”

Ilayeth grumbled and swept her hand over the wound, trying to clear off the distracting blood.  She cringed as she felt his wound.  “This won’t just be a minor fire I have to summon, Declan.  The flames need to be intense and accurate.  They’ll drain me beyond my measure.”  She looked to him for aid once more.

“Alright.  I’ll see what I can do.”

Declan blew out an unsteady breath and looked to his staff, attempting to bring forth its power once more.  He remembered the first time he felt its magic flowing through him, and he tried to recreate that sensation.  When the circular headpiece began to glow, he knew that he could channel the magic of his own accord after all.

Still, when he began directing mystically-summoned wind, he could feel it wearing him thin.  It was as Ilayeth suggested: the magic was draining him—and without any prior studies, Declan felt like a candle whose flame was close to being extinguished in the wind.

He gnashed his teeth together and reached out, extending his fingers as he focused on the goblin’s wound.  At once, the magic cast the intruder’s blood away from the injury, and Ilayeth set to work.

Declan couldn’t ignore the warmth on his brow.  Though he considered that it could have been due to the intense heat that his guildmate spoke of, the thought was dismissed at once, for he could feel his own magic siphoning his energy from him.  It was almost, he thought, as though the staff was growing hungrier with every passing moment.

When Ilayeth completed the cauterization of the goblin’s wound, Declan ceased his channeling of magic as well.  Without his energy siphoning out of him, it was as though a new weight was added to him, and he teetered backward.

“Declan,” the half-elf maiden gasped as she reached out to him.

He couldn’t fight back against his lightheadedness.  Declan thudded to the wall and saw sparks within his vision.  As he struggled with his lack of focus, a dark spot appeared before him.  Shaking his head, he blinked away his stupor in time to understand he and Ilayeth were no longer alone.

The gnoll, Ignark, who he had incapacitated earlier was awake once more, just as Declan could feel his own awareness beginning to slip.  With Ilayeth likewise fatigued, he knew they were in trouble.

With a growl slipping from the gnoll’s snout, he stomped forward.  Despite his fading vision, Declan saw his half-elf friend extend her hand toward Ignark, but it was too late.  He swatted her away and reached toward her small frame.

Another growl resonated nearby, and Declan wondered if it was perhaps a trick of his fading mind.  But when that growl turned into a gruff roar, he knew that there was something else to the noise.  A diminutive figure rushed in beside him, and slammed into the gnoll, eliciting a loud, sudden cry.

Declan couldn’t see anything beyond a series of blurs by then.

As strange as it was, the sounds of the contest of strength slowly lulled him to slumber.

*          *          *

Silence prevailed once more.  With eyes closed, Declan wondered if everything he had experienced was a dream.  Life had never been that chaotic or strange.

Perhaps, he thought, he was still in the temple.

In the back of his mind, he knew that was not the case.  The bed beneath him was far more comfortable, for one.  He opened his eyes and took a moment to absorb his surroundings.  There wasn’t a stone ceiling over his head, but fine oaken slats.

He was still in the guild lodge, he assumed.

“Ye’ve got the most adorable little snores,” he heard then.

Though he was wearier than he ever remembered, he labored to sit up.  There, near the door to the room, sat a likewise weary dwarf who wore a wide smile despite it all.

“Tornig?” Declan asked.

“Who else do ye think it is?” he asked.  “I thought ye said ye didn’t know many other dwarves.”

“But you…you were…” his voice trailed off.

“Dead?” Tornig finished for him.  “Bah, ye seen me taking a little nap is all.  That goblin came in here casting spell after spell and before I knowed it, my eyes were drooping.  Down I went,” he said, mimicking his fall with his hand.

Declan sat a little taller after hearing that explanation.  “And the rest of the guild?”

The grin left the dwarf’s face then.  “There are a few of our mates who are gonna have a hard time for a long while.  Someone else was slinging bottles or canteens that were filled with nasty stuff.  But one by one a handful of us rose from our sleep and started to put things back together.  My guess is when ye stole me axe and popped the goblin with it, he couldn’t concentrate on keeping us asleep.”

Declan scrunched his eyes, trying to make sense of everything that happened.  “The last thing I remembered, we’d saved the goblin.  Ilayeth and I singed his wound shut, and that’s when—” His eyes grew wide when he remembered the gnoll’s sudden appearance.  “The goblin’s ally attacked us.  Is Ilayeth alright?”

“Ye don’t remember me coming to save the day?” Tornig scoffed.

Still fighting back his fatigue, Declan dug the heels of his hands into his eyebrows.  “That was you that tackled the gnoll?”

“Aye, it was!” Tornig assured.  “Got him good with the horn on me helmet too.”

“You killed him?” Declan wondered.

Tornig folded his arms over his chest and arched his eyebrow.  “Ye did see how big that fella was, didn’t ye?  I had him yowling like a wolf in a trap, but that little stab wasn’t gonna put him down so easy.  That’s what these were for.”  The dwarf stuck out his fists and nodded.

“So where are he and the goblin now?  Where is the rest of the guild?”

Rising off the chair, Tornig unclenched his fists, holding out his hands to calm the newest guild member.  “Settle down there, lad.  We have everything under control now.  Ye’re just flustered because this happened the day ye got here, but the Adventurers of Eladia have to deal with this kind of thing all the time.”

“These kinds of attacks happen often?” Declan asked in a disbelief.

“No, that’s—” Tornig grumbled at the confusion brewing between him and the young man.  “Listen: there’s always something incredible happening in this guild.  Whether its adventures to far-off places, or a plea for help from some unfortunate soul out in the countryside.  This is the first time we’ve ever been attacked like this though.  We’ve made sure the fools ‘at tried to bump us off won’t be able to do anything again, and we’ve posted up a guard at each entryway to make sure we’re not caught unawares anymore.

“As for the goblin and his friend…” the dwarf went on.  He moved toward the window, sweeping aside the curtain there.  “No doubt Erik pointed out the stable to you when you first arrived.  He probably told you the next few months of your life were going to be jumping between cleaning the larder and shoveling after the horses.”

“He didn’t,” Declan replied.  “But I could see him doing so.”

“Since a handful of our leading members are off scouring the ruins of the Grey Arches, it left some room in the stable.  We’ve got the bastard intruders tied up in there—on opposite sides of the building of course.  We wouldn’t want them working together on a scheme or something.”

“That goblin had command over magic, Tornig,” Declan protested.  “If he gets a chance to speak even a few words—”

The dwarf waved his hand at the notion.  “Ilayeth is already five steps ahead of ye, lad.  She’s got something stuck in place over his face, and he hasn’t been able to utter a damned word since.”  He set his gaze upon the recruit then.  “What I’m more interested in is the magic that came out of you.”

His deliberate, cleaner accent caught Declan off guard then.  He looked at his hands as though there could be some answer there, but a moment later he merely shook his head.  “That wasn’t me,” he assured.  “That was the magic from the staff.”

“Ah, but there’s been plenty of people who’ve investigated that staff over the last several years, and nobody’s ever come close to making it sing the way ye did.”  Tornig glanced at the furthest corner of the room.  When Declan followed his eyes there, he saw the staff with the ringed headpiece there.  “Even our artificer, Ezra, couldn’t get that thing to speak to him, and he feels the pull of the aether more than anyone else in this place.”

Declan hummed to himself.  “Well, hearing things speak to me is kind of what I’m known for.”

“That’s right.  Ilayeth told me that she saw ye chattering to yerself or the like when she was trying to keep the goblin from bleeding out.  I remember Mason telling us about ye a few weeks ago.  So, how’s it happen?  What’s your story, lad?”

Pushing out an unsettled breath, Declan ignored the question and glanced out the window until Tornig stepped in the way.

“I’m making sure yer head is on straight,” the dwarf said.  “Humor me, will ye?  Once yer done, I’ll take ye out to the stable and you, me and Ilayeth can find out what’s going on with our new friends.”

“I don’t know how it all started,” Declan revealed.  “All I know is that for the earlier parts of my life, I moved around more than a child should.  I ended up alone at an orphanage, and it didn’t take long for them to figure out why.  I would talk to people who weren’t there.”

Tornig shrugged.  “Lots of wee ones do that.”

“Yes, but the imaginary people who I talked to really did talk back,” Declan pressed.  “And more importantly, they convinced me to do things—things that I shouldn’t have been doing.”

“What kind of trouble did ye get into, lad?”

“I was lucky that I was always found out before I could get too deep into anything.  But I remember I tried to break into the headmaster’s office.  I tried to break out of the orphanage.  One time I brandished a knife and refused to go back to my room.  All because the whispers in the back of my mind suggested I do so.  Eventually, all the other children knew better than to associate with me.”

Declan sighed.  “When everyone thought I was too dangerous to remain at the orphanage, they were trying to determine where to send me.  For a while, I thought they were going to send me off to a prison or to work in some far off mine where no one would ever see me again.  But before any decisions could be made, someone from the temple sent word of wanting to see me.  Apparently one of the parents who visited the orphanage had heard of me in passing.  When they adopted another boy, he told them all he knew about me, and word traveled, until it reached the temple.

“They thought there was more to the whispers than what I could sense on the surface,” Declan went on.  “They thought it was proof that the gods spoke to men, and they were convinced that I was meant to come live with them, to tell them the things the gods wanted them to do.”

“But ye aren’t at the temple anymore,” Tornig said.  “Isn’t that where we just picked ye up from?”

Staring out the window again, Declan considered the comment.  “The whispers were gone—nearly anyway.  The brothers at the temple would come to me day after day and ask me to tell them what the voices were saying, and time and again, they would try to determine what those statements meant.  They treated me like some kind of soothsayer, even though I’ve never been told anything other than commands or riddles.  And I suspect that when I stopped listening—really listening—to the whispers, they stopped trying to tell me whatever it was they wanted me to know.”

“But here ye are in our guild, and the voices come right back,” the dwarf said.  “From what I heared, we were just happy ta get another pair of helping hands in the building, but it seems like ye came with a little bit more than what we bargained for.  Only time will tell if the voices are good or bad, I suppose.”  He tilted his head and hummed at that thought.  “What do the voices want ye ta do now?”

Declan didn’t realize it, but he was trying his best to keep them silent during his conversation with Tornig.  As soon as his question was asked though, it was as though he had opened a sluice in his mind, letting a flood of whispers through.

“They’re still a danger, no matter what he says.”

“Hurry to the stable.”

“You didn’t save his life for nothing.”

He swallowed away the tension building in his throat and rose from the bed.  Shuffling off his fatigue, Declan made his way to the corner of the room, grabbing hold of the staff as though it had always belonged to him.  He turned to his guildmate and nodded.

“Even if the voices didn’t tell me so, I would want to do this.”  He looked out of the window, to the stables, where a handful of other Adventures of Eladia stood watch.  “It’s time to see those who attacked the guild.”

*          *          *

Tornig walked ahead of Declan, into the open meadow behind the guild hall.  If the dwarf had sustained any injuries in the attack, none of them showed.  He almost looked eager to get to the building beside the forest, and when he looked over his shoulder and confirmed that the recruit was still behind him, his gait looked even more determined.

A tall, broad fellow at the entrance to the stable pointed his chin at the approaching smallfolk and stood up straighter when he drew near.  “You’re bringing the new arrival.”  He laid his hands upon the handle of a huge greataxe that rested upon its head on the ground.

“Aye, I am,” Tornig said.  “If it wasn’t for Declan, ye probably wouldn’t be standing here now—struggling though ye are.  And don’t go on pretending that ye weren’t the ‘new arrival’ not long ago.”

Declan held fast behind the dwarf, standing in the dirt that cast out from the entrance to the building.  The horses had trodden over the ground so that no grass would grow there for some time without extra care.

Turning his attention from the grass and dirt then, Declan took a better account of the man guarding the stable.  Tornig’s words lingered in the air, louder than the whispers scratching at the back of his mind.  The man was an imposing figure at first look, but Declan found softer, younger features there as well.  Long, thick hair hung down over his face, and a scruffy beard hid his cheeks, chin and mouth.  He wore a cloak clasped at his shoulder, but it left his bare upper torso exposed to the elements.  That naked chest was perhaps Declan’s best understanding of the fellow’s age.  Only a tuft of curly chest hairs sat there, the rest of him clean and smooth.  The barbarian couldn’t have been much older than he was, he reckoned.

The man jerked his head to the side, sweeping the hair out of his face.  All at once then, he seemed imposing once again.  For without the locks to shield his features, Declan could see the terrible scar carved out down his brow and across one of his eyes.

Doing his best not to recoil, Declan remained there, staring at the bridge of the man’s nose.

“This is Orn,” Tornig said to the recruit.  “What ye see here is his attempts to rattle ye with his purdy eye.  It’s also the reason they call him Orn One-Eye.”

Declan squared his jaw and nodded, not sure what to say to such a thing.  When Orn chose not to react further either, the three of them stood in silence for a time.

“It’s a shame,” Declan finally said.  He swept his free hand behind his back, if only to hide his shaking.  “If you had two working eyes, maybe you would have seen me saving the guild hall.”

Though nothing further was said, and it grew silent once more, all three men felt as though another explosion had just gone off.  Tornig’s eyes widened as he alternated glances between the two men.  Declan waited there in silence, but the dwarf noticed he began leaning back, as if expecting a tremendous incoming blow.

Orn, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes—both the good one and the scarred one—as his lips scrunched into a pursed frown.  Within seconds though, he couldn’t keep it from stretching into a reluctant grin, even his eyes beginning to show signs of uncontrolled satisfaction at the quick jab.

He gave a subtle bow of his head, and stepped aside, clearing the way for the Tornig and Declan.

The dwarf tapped his newest companion on the leg and urged him on.  Together, the two of them disappeared into the darkened stable.

Inside, only a few lanterns spread any light.  Two more members of the guild, both sturdy looking fellows, stood guard, one at either end of the building, before opened stalls there.

As Tornig and Declan looked down one long stretch of the stable, they saw Ilayeth step out of the furthest stall on one end, her hand splayed across her forehead.  She didn’t acknowledge the guard who waited there, but she stopped in her tracks once she realized others had entered the building beyond the sentinels she had placed.

“Tornig,” she muttered.

“Ye aren’t looking so happy, lass,” the dwarf returned.  “Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” Ilayeth assured, but as she proceeded onward, she waved for the two recent arrivals to follow her.

They followed along, entering the stall that stood just beyond the entrance.  She waited a moment, and then she drew in closer toward Tornig and Declan.

“I can’t seem to wrench any information out of either of them,” she whispered.

“The gnoll and the goblin?” Declan wondered.

Ilayeth nodded.  “I want to know why they attacked the guild.  But every time it seems like I’m getting somewhere from them, they hush up and lock it up tighter than a treasury vault.”

“Bah,” Tornig said.  “Ye’re just being too soft on them.  If I had to guess, ye’ve never tortured someone in yer life.  Ye don’t have the stomach for it, lass.”

“And you do?”

The dwarf folded his arms over his chest.  “If it’s needed, I know what needs doin’.  And trust me, if I had yer magic flowing through me, I would have already learned what they had for supper a year ago today!”

“Keep your voice down,” Ilayeth chastised.  She let a quiet grumble pass through her lips before she looked at Declan.  In the soft light of the stable, she almost missed the sight of his staff.  “If you want magic, look no further than to our new friend,” she said.  “Declan was the one who stopped both of the intruders, did he not?  Albeit, the gnoll was not halted for good.  Thank you for protecting us in those last moments, Tornig.”  She waved her hands then, returning to the point she was trying to make.  “Perhaps just the sight of Declan will loosen their lips somewhat.”

Tornig shrugged at the thought.  “Ye could be right.  But there’s still two prisoners to question.  And they each have means of holding onto their secrets, I’m sure.  The gnoll is going to be tough as nails, and the goblin knows how to hold onto pain, I’d reckon.  He knows there’s a potential to heal himself if he ever gets out of this predicament.”

“Well, I could interrogate one of them while you both question the other,” the half-elf said.  “Any thoughts?”

“Why don’t we let the fella with all the answers decide?” Tornig posed.  “What do you say, lad?  What do your voices tell ye now?”

Declan could hear the whispers begin to chatter and rattle like messenger birds fighting to escape their cages.  Knowing that one of those messages would soon break free, he waited to hear it with new clarity.

He didn’t expect to hear their commands offer up different instructions than what the dwarf and the half-elf suggested.

“It isn’t who you interrogate that’s important,” one of the whispers said.

“It’s how you do it that matters.”

“Threatening words and actions don’t often yield believable results.  But if you give even one of them something that they want…”

“They’ve proven they can’t be trusted, Declan.  Be firm with your interrogation.  Fear of repercussions will urge them to speak truths.”

Declan passed alternating glances between the two ends of the stable, as though he could see the prisoners they had bound there.  He knew that a choice was to be made, and that the result could give them the clue they had been searching for.  One wrong move, though, could topple the foundation of the guild.

Chapter Four: One More Voice to Hear

The next whispers came on like the faint sound of a distant wind.  As though the building offered some respite from a gale outside, he could hear them, but they were ethereal, out of place.

Declan looked at his companions then.  Ilayeth and Tornig stared wide-eyed, as though the instructions the whispers gave him were gospel.  They soon realized, though, that the recruit withdrew into himself, his eyes losing focus on them.

As though the wind had found its way into the stable then, he could hear the strongest whispers swirling around his ears.

“You’ve already been harsh,” the powerful undertone spoke into his mind.  “They will expect as much when you meet with them again.  Throw them off their guard—show a mercy they might not anticipate.  Even an undeserved kindness can be a weapon of its own, and one not easily countered.  But neither can you be weak.  Prepare to make an example if you must.”

Almost as soon as the breeze had entered the building, it left.  Declan looked over his shoulder, shaking his head when he dismissed the thought of seeing one of the stall doors swaying in the wind.

“Ye heard them again, didn’t ye?” Tornig asked then.

“What did the whispers say?” Ilayeth pressed as well.

Declan let a calm wash over him and nodded as he considered what the whispers conveyed to him.  “Perhaps we’ve been thinking about this the wrong way.”  When they sent quizzical looks his way, he waved them off.  “You both talked about wrenching the truth from the goblin or the gnoll.  You spoke about torturing them,” he said, pointing toward Tornig.  “But that’s what they came here for—they were prepared for whatever nasty end would befall them if things went wrong.  And of course, we’ve already played our hand.  We didn’t have to save the goblin when he was bleeding out.  Now he knows we put a value on life.”

Tornig crossed his arms over his chest.  “So, what are ye getting at, lad?  Ye plan on waltzing up ta one of them and asking them pretty please until they feel sorry for us?”

“Not exactly.  But maybe it’ll be easier to pry their lips open if there isn’t a piece of metal fusing it shut.  Perhaps we can make a trade and make their arrangement a little less awful.”

“Declan…” Ilayeth began.

“Ye mean to make nice with the bastards, and we’ve got a few of our own in the guild house that may never wake again,” Tornig growled, every word rising in volume.

“Settle yourself,” the half-elf maiden warned.  “You’ll give away our plan.”  She sighed and leaned against the wooden barrier separating the next stall.  “I can’t say I like this either, but we’re putting our faith in the voices he hears.  Perhaps it is time to let them help us decide on our next course of action.  After all, I’ve not earned so much as a complete sentence from either of our two…guests.”

“Bah,” Tornig said after alternating glances between his two companions.  “Lad, ye told me that the little birdies chirping in yer ear didn’t always give you the best advice.  Are ye sure it’s the best time to be listening to them?  It doesn’t get more dangerous than this.”

Declan shrugged.  “I feel them.  They are what has kept me alive.  The whispers were the ones who told me to pick up the staff,” he said, raising the magical weapon into the air.  “If I didn’t have this, I don’t know that I would have been able to fend off the goblin while he was putting the rest of the guild house to sleep.”

Tornig grumbled but bowed his head before finally shifting into a nod.  “Alright.  If it wasn’t for the birdies, maybe I wouldn’ta woked up from me little surprise rest in there.  We’re lettin’ ye take the lead here, boy.  What’s the plan?”

Taking a deep breath, Declan turned about, looking past the raised walls of the pens along the southern side of the stable.  “Ilayeth and I will head down and meet with the goblin.  We spent a considerable amount of time with him compared to the gnoll.  And in a lot of ways, we’ve already negotiated with him.  He still has his life, thanks to us.  Perhaps that gives us a way in to begin our discussions.”

Ilayeth snickered then, despite her fatigue and the dire straits that the guild was in.  “While I have the utmost respect for you and your whispers, it seems they don’t always know everything.  The goblin is down this way,” she gestured toward the other side of the building.

Staring at her as though a great secret had just been discovered, Declan waved his hands then.  “What they offer is more like advice anyway,” he said.

“And what will I be doing while the two of ye are off making friends?” Tornig wanted to know.

“You came here looking to flex your muscles or show off your axe a little bit,” Declan said.  “Perhaps you can go and visit the gnoll and see if he responds to someone with a little more grit—and what he might assume is the willingness to use it.  You could also let him know that whichever one of the two of them gives us information first might still be of use to us.  The other would just prove there’s no hope for cooperation in the future.”

Tornig tilted his head to the side, observing the lad a little closer.  “He’s a smart one.  Ye sure he isn’t an old half-elf like you?” he asked Ilayeth.  “Maybe they just rounded his ears down a little bit to hide the truth about him.”

Declan smiled, taking the strange statement as a compliment, as Declan intended.  Before he could bask in the praise of his new friends, though, Ilayeth nudged him toward the gate of the pen.

All their merriment seemed to wash away as they stepped into the long corridor before the stalls.  The guards on either end of the building nodded their acknowledgements as a more seasoned member of the guild neared their side of the stable.

When Ilayeth and Declan arrived there, the guard, a man taller than either of them with striking blond hair that fell past his shoulders, leaned over and opened the way for the maiden.

She stopped short of entering the pen, or the visible part of the corridor before the swinging gate.  “Perhaps I should have a moment with him to let him know what’s to come,” Ilayeth whispered as she turned toward Declan.  “If we’re trying to ease his anxiety, surprising him with you may not be in our best intentions.”

“Agreed,” the recruit said.  “I’ll wait to hear my name.”

Ilayeth, blowing out a silent sigh, proceeded onward, tapping the guard on the shoulder as an expression of her gratitude.

The tall, blond guard shifted and stepped away from his post until he sat halfway out of the prisoner’s line of sight.

“You’re Declan, right?” he asked.  He had a softer voice than Declan expected.  Likewise, he didn’t expect the man to lean over and extend his hand.  “I’m Jace.  As I understand it, thanks to you all I had was a quick nap instead of something far worse.”

“I’m glad that I could do all I did,” Declan replied, returning the courtesy and shaking the fellow’s hand.  “Truth be told, it was all practically by reflex.  If it wasn’t for the staff I picked up in the basement, I don’t know that we’d all be standing here.”

Jace shrugged.  “All I know is that when I went down, I thought it was for good.  My brother is at the Grey Arches with the guild leader, and without him here…”

“Your brother is another member of the guild?” Declan asked.

“That he is.  He’s one of the more popular clerics, and he paved the way for my arriving here several years ago.  When my eyes fluttered open, I thought he had returned, but I was told that it was our newest recruit that saved my life, and for that, you have my gratitude.

“That’s not to say that everything is fine without Nico,” Jace went on.  “Some of us weren’t just faced with a forced slumber.  I’m afraid if my brother doesn’t return from the expedition soon, we may lose more than we’re prepared for.”  He waved his hands then.  “You’ve still done us a great service, and on your first day here no less.  It appears they were right to send for you, whether or not you had some help from an ancient treasure.”

“Declan,” they both heard then.

Jace moved back to his spot against the northern wall of the corridor, nodding to his new guild mate when he arrived there.

Declan hesitated for only a moment before he joined Ilayeth in the last stall of the stable, allowing his gaze to focus upon the prisoner when he passed the swinging gate.  The goblin, already worn down it seemed, kept his eyes trained on the straw-covered ground.

Free from his watchful gaze, Declan spent a moment observing instead.

The goblin stood against the wall, his arms held up by a chain that wrapped over one of the building’s broad crossbeams.  Not content that his bonds would restrict him from using his magic it seemed, thick, fingerless gloves were affixed to his hands as well.  And as though that wasn’t enough, a band of similar material was clasped over his mouth, only a small strip of flesh separating it from his nostrils.  It took some effort to remain standing, Declan surmised, for a sheen of perspiration marred the goblin’s brow then.  He seemed to rely more on the chain holding him up than his feet.

Having seen enough, Declan blew out a quick sigh and tapped his new staff against the ground of the pen, casting out a burst of dry topsoil in every direction.

The action caught the goblin’s attention, and he looked up.  His eyes grew wide at the sight of the staff, and wider still at the sight of the man who resisted his magic in the guild house.  He stood taller then, easing up the tension of the chains.  Whether it was deliberate or not, his visage of hopelessness changed to one of determination.

Or perhaps it was curiosity or respect, Declan surmised.

“You remember Declan, don’t you?” Ilayeth asked.  The goblin sent a sideways glance her way for but a moment before he returned his focus to Declan.  “He turned the tide inside the guild house, in more ways than one,” the maiden went on.  “You were defeated because of him.  But it’s also thanks to him that you’re still alive.”

“I don’t envy you for the pain or discomfort you’re in,” Declan said, “but then, we were attacked, so you can’t quite blame us.  The thing is, you’re doing us little good hanging here from the ceiling.”  He looked to Ilayeth then, who urged him on with a subtle nod.  “There are two ways that we can fix that though.  I think each one of us here in this pen would regret it if we had to end your life, but if we feel that’s the only way to protect ourselves, we will.”

The goblin shifted uneasily at that statement.  The guild members studied him to see if he believed that statement.

“We also can’t just let you go,” Declan continued, “not without some token of cooperation or assistance.”  He sighed then and looked to Ilayeth once more.  “Remove that magic gag we’ve placed on him.  This one-sided conversation is beginning to trouble me.”

“But his magic,” the maiden returned.  “We know that he intones to focus his spells.”

“And he knows that we outnumber him,” Declan pressed.  “We’re three to one, just here.  And if he should manage to step outside the stable, another dozen of our friends would be eager to cut him down if any harm came to us.”

Ilayeth sent a fierce stare at the recruit, considering whether to invoke her rank and forbid him his plan.  After a moment, she shifted her focus to the goblin, and raised her hand.  The metal band across his mouth glowed red for a split second and then fell from his mouth.  Freedom from that gag had him wincing from the unexpected pain.

Declan watched as the magical metal slab fell from the prisoner’s face.  Before it hit the ground, however, it burned even brighter than before, until it fizzled away like parchment in a fire.

“There,” Declan said when the goblin looked up at him once more.  “Now you can speak, and we can listen.”

Even being freed from the gag, the goblin sealed his lips and locked his jaw.  His gaze alternated between the two casters before him, only sometimes shifting to the warrior who stood sentinel by the gate to the pen.

“Let’s start with something simple,” Declan said.  “What is your name?”  When he was met with only silence, he laughed and took a step back, so that he could lean against the taller back wall of the pen.  “You already know my name, but I’ll give it to you again.  I’m Declan.  And in case you didn’t know, this is Ilayeth.

“We already know your associate’s name: Ignark.  One of our other companions is talking to him now, trying to glean some idea of why we were attacked as well.  He’s been a little bit more cooperative, but I suppose that’s just because he’s a fellow who doesn’t mind hearing himself speak.”

The goblin’s brow furrowed, and he looked to his side, where no one stood, as though he could try to hear what he could of his friend on the other side of the building.

Ilayeth stepped forward and caught his attention again.  “We only need one of you to—”

“Gorik,” the goblin interrupted her.

In that moment, neither Ilayeth or Declan could determine whether the word was said with disdain, indifference or a touch of vulnerability.

“Gorik?” Declan wondered.

“It is my name,” the weary goblin said.  “Now we all know one another.”

Declan nodded.  “That’s a great start.”

“Maybe now you can give me a little more slack on these chains,” Gorik said.  The statement wasn’t said with any signs of resentment, and he sighed for good measure, as though he already knew his chances were negligent.  “Just enough for me to sit.”

“Depending on how our conversation goes, that might not be important,” Declan replied.

Their conversational dance had the goblin on his toes more than the chain did.  Unfortunately for Gorik, he had not mastered the art of concealing his concerns.

Declan waved away any notion of harm.  “It would be more comfortable inside the guild hall, I assure you.  There’s no sense in you being bound out here.  If you give us the information we need, you’d be in our company—not our prisoner.”  When he saw Ilayeth’s heated scowl, he raised his hands to placate her.  “That’s not to say that you would have full access to the building.  We’d still have guards watching over you.  You attacked us and we need to make sure such a thing doesn’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” Gorik muttered.

“What was that?” Ilayeth asked.  “What did you say?”

Gorik shook his head then, realizing he had already said much more than he would have wanted to.  When he looked up at Declan again, he saw the face of someone who offered empathy, as though he could see him as more than just a monster or a ruthless killer.

“You say we attacked you, but it was not meant to be like this,” Gorik said, looking straight at the man before him, and not at the maiden who asked him to clarify.  “It’s true, we were planning on coming here and causing problems for you, but we never sought to hurt anyone.”

“It was you that was putting people to sleep,” Declan reasoned.

Gorik nodded.

“But the explosions that went off in the guild hall?” Declan wondered aloud.

“Ignark and I didn’t even know they were coming.”

“What were they?” Ilayeth asked.

With a shrug, Gorik looked at the ground.  “They were some…some kind of concoction.  She didn’t even tell us she’d made them.  And when we neared the door to the building, she…”  His words trailed off as he remembered the events that occurred earlier that day.

“Who is ‘she’?” Declan pressed.

Gorik looked up and swallowed away the tension that built in his throat.  “I’ve already said far too much.  It’s not my—”

“That’s fine,” Declan went on.  “Let’s focus on what you do want to tell us.  Are you saying it was a mistake that the guild hall was attacked?”

“In the way that it was, yes,” the goblin insisted.  “It was only meant to be a distraction—something to buy us time.  But now I wonder if…”

Before he could reflect further into his worries about the attack on the guild hall, everyone in the stable could hear the frantic footfalls of someone approaching the building.

“What is it?” they heard from outside.

“Ilayeth!” a frantic voice called out.

“You can’t just go in—and there you go,” Orn conceded.

Declan watched as Ilayeth hurried from her spot in the pen and stepped past the swinging gate.  Even Jace wore a worried look then, wondering what foul news was brought their way.

“Emilie?” Ilayeth said.  “What’s wrong?”

His curiosity wrenching him away from the high wall of the enclosure, Declan spun about and leaned over the wooden post that led to the corridor.  There, just a few feet farther down, he saw the hurrying woman who rushed into the stable without any concern for tact or discretion.

The woman was only about Declan’s age—perhaps even younger.  He wondered if perhaps she too could have been an elf, but with her auburn hair pulled into a long braid that fell over her shoulder, it left her ears uncovered, and he could see their rounded tops.  Her cheeks were flushed, and she had tears in her eyes, and it seemed that it was all Ilayeth could do not to pull her into an embrace.

“Yaro isn’t doing well,” she whimpered.  “Without any help, Robert says he won’t last into the night.”

Jace heaved a heavy sigh and leaned against the wall beside him.  “If only Nico was here.”

Declan could feel the whispers then before he could hear them in the farthest parts of his mind.  The hairs on his arms rose up, and he couldn’t dismiss the chill that seemed to swirl around him.  He closed his eyes, hoping to hear what guidance he could muster from the disembodied voices.

“If a cleric is what you need, there is one not far from you,” a mischievous whisper crept into the pen.

“You know you cannot put your trust in hopes.”

“The guild was attacked.  That cannot be forgotten.”

“Someone needs aid,” another stern whisper pressed.  “You’ve begun to hold some sway here in the guild, even after so short a time.  Will you dare to ask for help that you cannot give?”

Declan let the murmurs roll over each other one after another in his mind.  After a moment of lingering there, he looked over his shoulder.

Just as Gorik had seen it in him, Declan wondered if he could detect a hint of empathy on the goblin’s face.

The post The Whispers – The Story So Far… appeared first on Tellest.

Long term, I imagine taking on other writers, and publishing them through Tellest, or perhaps Otherworld if the scope is too distinct or foreign for Tellest to accommodate.  I envision MMOs where the gamers’ decisions ultimately shape each variant of the world you’re playing in.  Consider a scenario where you’re in the city of Versali-Virai, and there is a huge bay separating the western and eastern sides of the urban sprawl.  What if the players proposed different ways to traverse that distance?  One realm (or server, shard, whatever you call it) employs a ferry to carry you from one side to the other.  Another realm builds a massive bridge that lifts high above the water to allow ships beneath it, while serving as an overpass for those walking or on horseback.  These ideas aren’t ones that are floated by the developers.  They’re proposed (and funded with in game money) by the players.

I digress.  Rather than talk about things that are in the distant future, I should talk about what is possible in the months to come.  Last week I talked about how we are now on Patreon (and we already have our first patron!).  One of the cool things about Patreon is that you can set these milestone goals – kind of like stretch goals on Kickstarter – but because Patreon works on a monthly or per item basis, you’re actually able to be a little more tactful in your rewards and goals.  It’s difficult to be a creator and work a full-time job.  Ideally, you’d make enough money through your party to not have to involve yourself in the rat race, but how many people not named Martin, King or Rowling do you know who can get away with that?

Patreon’s set up has led to some cool ideas here at Tellest, and I’d like to highlight one of those now.  These past few months, the serialized form of fiction that we’ve been running on the site has been fairly rewarding.  It’s a constant stream of content that’s available for anyone, and it almost has that comic book feeling that makes sense for a world of medieval superheroes.  It’s getting people involved a little more because they’re coming back week after week.

But what if you could take it a step further?  What if you could really involve your readers?

The $200 a month milestone on Patreon is for something that I’m calling an Interactive Fiction Serial.  Consider the idea of letting your readers determine how a story unfolds?  It’s the ultimate fan service. You’re literally crafting a story with your readers, rather than for them.  You can still surprise your audience – not everything needs to be determined by the council.  But logical stopping points where choices need to be considered can lead you down paths that you wouldn’t expect – creating an even more organic experience for the author too.  I’ve always thought that my stories were at their best when I wasn’t even sure where I was heading.  I don’t outline very often these days unless I’m trying to keep track of storylines that have already been mapped by my brain.  But there are those oft-less traveled roads that are surprising even to me.  In a way, an Interactive Fiction Serial is almost like a Choose-Your-Own adventure on steroids.  It never has to end, and it always leads you to new places.

And the best part is that Tellest is the kind of place that can really express this style in a very cognizant way.  I don’t want to commit to anything or go into any real details about what our story could be about, but if you’ve ever played Dark Souls, you could think about that in terms of communication.

As of now, this is just a dream.  $200 per month on Patreon is a long way off, especially for a creator who doesn’t really do too much on YouTube, which is where 50% of Patreon’s fans are finding their campaigns.  But Tellest was founded on dreams.  If we’re not going to pursue them, what’s the point of having them at all?

Just something to think about.

Cheers!

The post The World is in Your Hands appeared first on Tellest.