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.

It’s not a dead project—it’s just on hold.

And now you can get a glimpse of concept art that Cristiano Reina put together for us.

It all started with a sketch.  The first choice that Declan has to make in the story is whether to pick up a magical sword, or a magical staff.  It shouldn’t be too surprising which one he went after.  But the sketch gave us some choices for how to figure out what he would be able to pick between.

After we selected the sketch we wanted to move forward with, Cristiano set to work, doing an awesome job of giving Declan’s potential equipment a lot of pop.

Shortly after that, he cleaned things up and gave the staff (which Declan would ultimately choose) a bit more personality.

After that came the first splash of color.  Here you can see that even though the focus is on the staff, the sword has some magical properties too.  The question in, will we ever see what it could have done for Declan?

A little more spit shine, some shading and some color does wonders here, and the magic of the staff grows even further.  Who can blame Declan for wanting to see what kind of magic the staff was going to lend to him?

The final version gets an even brighter change of colors, and even a door so that Declan can escape that little room.

The Whispers was a very fun project to work on—even though it was also plenty exhausting.  It’s not your typical story, and not being able to plot out too much in advance surely has its downsides.  All that said, I’m going to be very happy when I do get my chance to jump back in and wrap up the second half of Declan’s story!

The post Concept Art – The Whispers 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.

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers – Chapter Six

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 Six:
The Road

Though the disembodied voices invaded his mind like nothing before, he felt his own conviction with more clarity than ever.  He looked at those he began to trust—even though he had known them each less than a day.

As he looked at Ilayeth, he heard the whispers almost chant her name.  She had her own powers that could help to bolster his own, and with the long way back to Fespar Temple, he could use any tutelage he could find.

Declan looked at Tornig next, and just as before, the whispers spoke his name, the word echoing in his mind.  The dwarf had a strength and conviction unlike any that Declan had ever seen, and he had to admit, he felt safer in his presence.

He shifted his gaze again, but that time, Declan’s focus didn’t land on one of his new guildmates.  Instead, he looked to the goblin he had nearly killed, and then brought back from the brink of death.  Gorik’s name reverberated in the silence of the room then, though it was somewhat quieter than the other two.

For once, he felt as though he was in charge, and the voices were merely confirming what he already knew: He had found those he needed to travel with.

“Well?” Tornig asked, folding his arms over his chest.  “Ye do know that we don’t hear them voices the same as ye, right?”

Declan shook his head, dismissing the incoherent, quietest voices that lingered in the farthest reaches of his mind.  In his heart, he had already gathered his party, and knew that the rest were needed to keep the guild hall safe.

“The whispers agree with me,” Declan said.  “I can’t do this on my own—I’ll need someone to go to Fespar temple with me.”

“So, we are to go there directly?” Ilayeth asked, almost with a hint of excitement.

“Yes,” Declan replied.  “And I’ll need you there with me.  I don’t understand my magic at all yet, and though the staff helps me focus—I feel like it is controlling me more than the other way around—you’re the only one who can help me understand what it’s like to do what you do.”

“You would not have been able to stop me, Declan,” Ilayeth said.  “This is what the Adventurers of Eladia stand for.  There are clearly some dark forces at work here.  You and I will do our best to understand it, and to prevent them from taking hold.”

He turned to the dwarf then, nodding toward him.  “I also know that magic isn’t always the answer,” Declan said.  “There’s something primal and instinctive that you can tap into, Tornig.  “If Ilayeth and I were in any trouble that magic couldn’t solve—or if we lost control of it altogether, I know you’d be there in an instant.”

“Aye lad, I would,” Tornig said.  “And if that means ye want me to be coming along, ye can count me in.”

Declan heaved out a deep sigh, one mixed with relief and anxiety.  “I heard another name clearly as well,” he said.  “Though perhaps with softer voices than the rest.  Still, I don’t think we can do it any other way.”  Declan offered up a weary grin and looked to the goblin cleric at the table.

Gorik nodded even before Declan spoke again.

“You’ll know who we’re facing,” Declan said.  “You’ll know if there’s any hope to stop them from hurting the people at the temple, and if we can’t stop anyone, perhaps you can use your magic to prevent any great tragedies.

“And Ignark,” he went on.  “I know that there’s someone that you care about among the group, but I… The whispers didn’t…”  He paused, thinking of what to say that would offer up some hope for the gnoll.  “They want you here.  I’m not sure why, but this is where you need to be for now.”

Ignark squared his jaw, and he curled his fingers into fists.  He presented a conciliatory nod, but everyone there could see the internal struggles the gnoll failed to hide.

“Are you sure this is the way?” Tornig asked, sending a quick, sideways glance toward Gorik.  When he realized everyone had seen what he intended to be a clandestine glimpse, he shrugged.  “The fella said it hisself: him showing up there could cause more problems than we intend.”

“If any did arise, I promise you, they wouldn’t be initiated by me,” Gorik assured.

“And what about the rest of us?” Jace, the young warrior, asked.  “Are any of us still to join you?”

Declan sent a solemn gaze his way, and then shook his head.  “I thought it, and the whispers confirmed it.  It would just be the four of us.”

“There’s plenty to do here, though,” Ilayeth insisted.  “The guild hall must be protected from further attacks.  The raiding party weren’t the only ones who may have seen us as a target, and if anyone gets a hint of weakness out of us, the Adventurers of Eladia could be battered even further.”

“It’s not just our home,” Tornig agreed.  “There’s history here—some of its ours, and some of it tells tales of all of Astranus.”

“And we’ll need those of you who are healthy to tend to the wounded,” Ilayeth went on.  “And to all this damage.  Jace, why don’t you go and tell Orn and Bearbane to come in and stop guarding the empty stables.  You’re in charge of the cleanup while we’re gone.  I’ll head upstairs and let Emilie know that we need Yaro to send a falcon to Grey Arches.  We might be heading there alone, Declan, but I’ll take any help we can get, especially if we run into more trouble than we expect.”

Jace was already heading toward the rear exit of the building when Ilayeth excused herself from the table.  It grew silent there, and the four that remained could feel the tension and worry as though it hovered in the air around them.

Gulping down the rest of his ale, Tornig slammed his mug to the table.  “Declan would ye speak to me?” he asked as he pushed out his chair.

Declan rose up as well, and followed the dwarf into the adjoining room, but he passed a glance behind him as he went.  Gorik and Ignark wore apprehensive looks, knowing that they’d be separated once more in due time.

Arriving in the room where they’d saved the goblin’s life, Declan understood in how much disarray the guild hall remained.  He shook his head when he saw the bloodstains upon the furniture and the floor.  Even Ignark’s hefty poleax remained in the room, though it had been propped up in a corner—nobody truly knew what to do with the intruder’s weapon.

“Listen ta me, lad,” Tornig said in a soft voice.  “I know ye’re eager ta get back to the temple, and that ye’ll be pushing us to move faster and faster as we get closer to it.  But ye’ll be needing ta take a breath.”

“Tornig, I can’t wait any longer than I have to,” Declan insisted.

The dwarf pointed at his new guildmate.  “This is what yer whispers chose me for—I’m sure of it.  Remember when I telled ye that I hadn’t yet been an Adventurer of Eladia when Gulspire, me brother, died?  Well he certainly dinna die of old age, and when news of it reached me at Coalheart Hall in the Tiverhale Mountains, I was ready to take up everything and go after the durned monsters that killed him.

“Back then, I thinked meself a would-be weaponsmith, Declan,” he went on.  “I was apprenticed to one of the Coalheart’s finest, though I was more than a bit rough ‘round the edges.  I took up a shoddy axe I had been working on, put on someone else’s discarded armor, and readied myself for the long road ahead.  Me ma and da though, they did everything they could to stop me.  It just—they couldn’t take away that need in me heart to do what I could for Gulspire.

“I was days away from home, already down to my last few scraps of food, when a stranger approached me on the road while I set down for a rest—more because exhaustion took me than anything else.  He let his horse graze in the field nearby, and he grabbed some earth nearby me, and shared some of his own food.  And then we got to talking.

“He was calculated.  He took his time to think.  When he spoke, I found myself listening more to him than I did to anyone back home.  I’m not sure what it was, but he seemed like a fellow—a man, mind you—who lived the life I was sure I was set to.  He had a broad sword on his back, a traveler’s cloak that saw its share of tatters along its ends, and wisdom in his eyes that I don’t think I had seen before, except in Gulspire’s eyes whenever he came back to Coalheart Hall.  When he asked what set me on my road alone, I dinna have any reservations tellin’ him where my heart lied.  And that was when he told me how bloody stupid I was bein’.

“You’d have thought he knew me his entire life,” Tornig went on.  “He spoke as though he knew secrets about me that only family knew.  He understood that vengeance was a worthy cause, but he knew how foolish it was to venture after it blindly.

“That man,” he said, “was Mason Gwynne—one of the better-known Adventurers of Eladia.  My folks had tracked him down and sent him after to me to talk me out of my poorly planned journey.  He missed Gulspire just as much as I did too, because they had become brothers in a way as well.  Without him there to temper my anger, I would have gone on to join Gulspire, and I certainly wouldn’t have been able to avenge him.  But that we did, and as members of the same brotherhood—since it didn’t take long for me to join—and now I have no doubt that he rests in peace, content that I still have some time before I meet him in the great beyond.”

Declan locked his jaw and shook his head then.  “The people of Fespar Temple aren’t gone.  But if we don’t do anything to keep them safe, they may fall to the bandits.  Not even Gorik or Ignark know what they want, and that scares me most of all.  There’s no telling what will happen if we don’t move quickly.”

“We can be as swift as ye like in getting there,” Tornig said.  “But I need ye to remember that we have ta be cautious yet.  Learn what I did.  There’s no sense in joining the priests and paladins there and getting captured or injured or worse.”

As anxious as he was, Declan heard those words roll over to him.  Tornig wasn’t just offering him good advice.  He was pleading with him.  Recklessness couldn’t save Benedictus and the other clergy of Fespar Temple, they both knew.  But it took hearing it from the brash dwarf to understand how hardheaded he was being.  Declan nodded, and let go of a deep breath.

Tornig clapped him on the shoulder, and headed out of the room, away from the dining area.  Declan knew he was likely gathering up his axe and other equipment for the road, but he didn’t need to make the same preparations.  All he had was the staff that the whispers had directed him to, and it was waiting for him in the room they had just left.

When he returned to the doorway there, he hesitated just out of sight, for he heard another of his would-be traveling companions participating in their own conversation.

“I’ll do whatever I can to see that Melara is safe,” Gorik promised.  “You have my word.”

Ignark nodded, but the weight of his worry had him bowing his head.  “Just make sure that you don’t close your eyes to any potential danger.  She knew I was in here when she threw her explosives.  I’d like to think she cared more for my well-being than yours.  Er…not to offend you, of course.”

As Declan took a step closer, he could see Gorik flash a sheepish grin.

“Melara and Jarayas have been swayed in odd ways since that witch arrived,” the goblin said.  “Perhaps the blame is not to be cast on your…”  His words trailed off as he realized Ignark lifted his gaze upon the arrival of the guild member.

“I’m sorry,” Declan said.  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.  But as we’re making promises, I’d like to make one too.  I have no desire to see anyone hurt any further.  While my focus will be on protecting the people I grew up with, if I can stop the attack on the temple without any bloodshed, I’ll do whatever is in my power to do so.”

Ignark blinked and bobbed his head.  “Thank you, Declan.  I believe you.”  He lay his hands out on the table, as though he were waiting for someone to bind him in chains once more.  “I know I’m not going with you, but I’ll be with you still.”

Gorik nodded as well then.  “If it is meant to be, you’ll see one another again.”

“Make sure you stay safe,” the gnoll said to his friend.  “Don’t be caught off guard—by anyone.”

Though his words seemed to imply that he still couldn’t trust Declan and the Adventurers of Eladia, no one dared to challenge them.  The creaking of the stairs in the hallway announced the descent of the other guild members, and Ilayeth arrived at the bottom of the steps with Emilie in tow.

“Yaro is going to dictate the letter to another of the guild so that we can be on our way.  Emilie, would you mind sitting with our guest until he feels ready to get some sleep?”

“If he’s been as helpful as our other attacker, we should have no problems,” the girl replied.

Declan half expected her to glow fiery red as she spoke that, but it seemed her words were more a warning than a threat.  Ilayeth waved off the statement as well, joining the companions she would be traveling with along the side of the table.

“I’m sure your legs are aching to be on the way,” Ilayeth said.  “Tornig was already on his way down the front steps when I last saw him.  If you’re ready, so am I.”

Declan nodded, eager to start what he hoped to be a hasty journey.  “Let’s be on our way.”

*          *          *

Despite the urgency that sped their steps, it felt as though night fell upon them far quicker than they’d expected.  The quartet stuck to the road, knowing that venturing even a short while from the path could be devastating in the dim light.  Any trouble that they could encounter was worth the risk to Declan, and with the whispers finding their way to his mind, there was little the others could do to convince him to slow down.  Though that certainly didn’t preclude them from trying.

“Alright lad,” Tornig said.  “Ye remember what I told ye back in the guild hall, right?”

“We’ll slow down when we get there,” Declan insisted.  “Once we know they’re safe.”

“He is right, you know,” Ilayeth said.  “You had a nice rest, but he and I are beginning to flag somewhat.”

“Now then, girlie,” the dwarf chided.  “I got me a nice little power nap thanks to our friend over here.  But I’d also call meself a liar if I tried to say I couldn’t do with another one.”

“And that says nothing for Gorik,” Ilayeth reminded.

Sure enough, the goblin trailed them by nearly twenty feet, his head bowed as fatigue wracked his body.  Still, when he heard his name, he perked up, furrowing his brow as he picked up his pace.

“I’ll be fine,” Gorik promised.  “I may be of no use if we are forced to fight, but I’ll use every ounce of my strength to heal those who may need my help at the temple.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to fight against your friends,” Ilayeth assured.  “But I think it’s fair to say your magic would be much more beneficial to us if you were well-rested.  I know mine would.  And Declan, I could teach you how to better harness your own innate magic if we stopped for the night.  Perhaps I could even demonstrate a few new spells.”

He drew to a stop in the middle of the road, knowing that each of his companions were struggling, even though they each leveled their complaints in different measures.  With every step, even the whispers became muddled in his mind, a score of different raspy voices talking over each other so that he couldn’t begin to sort them all out.

“Let me just try to make sense of…” he paused then, when he saw Ilayeth wince as he spoke.  She peered off into the distance, further up the road, and turned her head slightly.

“We’re not alone,” the half-elf assured.  “There’s some kind of beast up ahead…and I’m nearly certain I’m hearing whispers now as well.”

Before anyone else added anything to the conversation, Tornig pulled his pack from his back, and dropped it on the ground.  After rummaging through it for a moment, he pulled out a cloak, and tossed it to the goblin among them.

“I canna be the only one who thought it might be dangerous traveling with him, right?” Tornig asked.

Declan drew closer to Gorik, even as he frantically wrapped the cloak around him and tugged the hood up over his angular features.

“Could that be your people?” Declan asked.  “Did they travel with some kind of pack animals or something?”

Gorik shook his head.  “No—and not a wagon either.  But maybe you’re hearing Melara’s cackle?” he suggested to Ilayeth.  “That was always something I felt was…distinct.”

Locking her jaw, the half-elf took a few steps further down the road, tilting her head to hear the strange and distant noise.  “It’s not a gnoll,” she claimed.  “I’m sure of that.  It sounds like…a mule, perhaps.”

“Maybe a merchant?” Tornig suggested.  “Having a wagon to rest in could solve all our problems.”

“If it’s even going the same way we are,” Ilayeth said.  “But you’re right.  We could rest and offer our services as bodyguards to the caravan as compensation.”

They both saw the look of hope and relief appear on Declan’s face, and together, the veteran Adventurers of Eladia hurried along the road, passing beyond the winding trail and the trees that blocked their further view.

In the dim light, they could barely see it, but they were sure it wasn’t a caravan waiting for them there.  A single stranded wagon leaned away on the side of the road, a distant, obscured torch illuminating a silhouette of the vehicle before them.

Though they exercised caution, Ilayeth and Tornig were also swift in their approach.  Declan lagged with Gorik, offering him assuring glances, but remaining quiet as they went.

As the forward pair reached the wagon, the mule brayed, warning its driver that strangers were close by.  The torch moved out from the front of the vehicle, setting the stocky fellow who wielded it aglow in the darkness.  Once he realized his mule wasn’t just anxious in the quiet of the night, he panicked, and hopped up to the driver’s seat, leaning over into the bed to gather up something as quick as he could.

“Easy,” Ilayeth said.  “We’re not here to cause trouble.”  She scrutinized the wagon then, noticing what left it hunched to one side.  A wheel had fallen off and lay in the grass beside the vehicle, leaving the wagon unable to proceed with any real ease.  “It looks like you’re in need of help, in fact.”

The driver plucked up the item he scrounged for then.  Catching the glimmer of his torch, the bolt that sat in his crossbow was clear, though he tottered the weapon in juggling the very item that let him see those who approached.

“That won’t be necessary,” Tornig assured.  “We ain’t bandits.”

“Get over here Skanlon,” the driver said.  “You aren’t bandits?” he asked.  “What do you think bandits are going to do—admit to it straight from the introductions?”

“Listen, we can be on our way if you prefer it,” Ilayeth said.  “We’re heading that way whether you are as well or not.  But if you’re willing to consider some help, perhaps we could travel together, and offer you assistance against any real trouble that comes along.”

The second man that the driver called upon emerged from the darkness then as well.  Skanlon was much skinnier, the scruff on his face making him look almost gaunt.  Furry eyebrows fell upon sunken-in, wide eyes that only seemed to grow wider when he saw the strangers.

“We could use some help, Jordy,” he rasped.  “You know I can barely pick up the wheel on my own.”

The driver, Jordy, swallowed away his apprehension.  He looked back to the two strangers and gave them a subtle nod.  “Which way you two headed after the crossroads?”

“There’s four of us,” Tornig offered up in the interest of honesty.

“But the crossroads are as far as we’re going for now,” Ilayeth clarified.

After a quiet pause, Jordy dropped the crossbow back into the bed of the wagon.  “Alright then.  If you and your group help us get this cart back on the road, we’ll give you passage to the crossroads.  And if we fall upon any ne’er-do-wells on the way, you’ll give us some help then too.”

“We have an accord,” Ilayeth confirmed.

She and Tornig turned about together then, heading back to the pair who waited at the bend up the road.  In the darkness, even from their proximity, the dwarf and the half-elf couldn’t see the other two.  Noticing their return though, Declan and Gorik stepped forward to meet them halfway.

“They say we can travel with them,” Ilayeth said.

“If we help them fix the wagon and protect them from any dangers along the way,” Tornig explained.

“Yes, of course,” Ilayeth followed-up.  “That said, something felt a bit strange about them.  They were quick to incite, and they seemed an unlikely pair.”

“Well, we’re all a bit unlikely here,” Tornig said.  “But we’re not in it to be friends with them.  Just trying to give our legs a bit of a rest.”

“I don’t feel quite comfortable with this either, for what it’s worth,” Gorik whispered.  “Though my apprehension could be for more obvious reasons.”

“Well, we don’t have to help them,” Tornig said, folding his arms over his chest.  “The gods know we have a more pressing matter to attend.  We don’t even have to tell them.  We could just disappear inta the night and go on along our way.  But you know where I stand—or rather, where I’d like to sit.”

As his trio of companions went on, Declan could hear the distant sound of words trailing together.  It almost resonated in his mind like a quiet stream, the running water too incoherent to understand.

“Declan?” Ilayeth asked.  “Are the whispers coming to you again?”

He nodded and closed his eyes to try and make sense of what they were saying.

“You need the wagon,” a quiet whisper seemed to rise above the others.  “You’ll be too weary to lend a hand at the temple if you continue there on foot.”

“No.  You cannot,” a more desperate voice cried out.  “Bringing them to the temple would endanger them.  It is your duty to protect the people of Novistrus.”

“There are other ways,” a mischievous third voice added.

As the words rolled over Declan, he clenched his eyes shut, as though he could hear them better if he tried.  More voices chimed in, though that time it sounded as though no rhyme or reason banded them together.  There was no substance or rationale.  There was no understandable cadence or timely verse—only a discordant rabble as one voice tried to talk over another.

“What’s going on, lad?” Tornig wondered.  “What are they saying?”

Declan gnashed his teeth together, trying to see if he could identify one voice as the strongest.  “Everything.  They’re saying everything, and I can’t figure out which one is right.”  He pressed his hands to his ears, as though he could keep the whispers from spilling out of his head.

The inharmonious voices had yet to synchronize, and Declan’s eyes watered at the dissonant sound.

“Offer help.”

“Continue on.  Don’t even say a word.”

“Find a place to camp.”

“Take the carriage.”

“Get to the temple.  There’s not much time.”

They continued like that, but as they did, more of the voices seemed to overlap into a unanimous chorus.  Declan knew that he only needed to focus to discover what they wanted of him.

Continue with Chapter Seven

Voting Instructions

The voting period has ended for this chapter.

This month Declan has a confusing new choice to make, which you can influence.  Unlike in the past few months, where there was some structure to the whispers, this time they’re discordant and inharmonious.  No one voice is there to lead the others.  What that means is that, more than ever, your voice is important to Declan’s decision.

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 February 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 Six appeared first on Tellest.

The Whispers Concept

The Whispers – Chapter Five

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 Five:
The Art of Healing

“Know your limitations, Declan,” a whisper spoke to him.

He nearly spun about, that whisper seeming so close that he half-expected the words having been spoken by one of his new guildmates.

“Ask Gorik for help,” the whisper went on, and he was certain that it belonged to one of the disembodied voices that always scratched at the back of his mind.  Other voices chimed in as well then, echoing its request.  Almost at once, they drowned out any suggestions to the contrary.

Declan watched as a tear dropped from Emilie’s eye.  It was clear that she cared for Yaro, though he didn’t understand how her feelings had developed.  He knew that, in any case, the unconventional option he was about to suggest would not be easily accepted.

“I think there may be a way to save him,” Declan said, shaking everyone from their worried conversation.  “It’s obvious I don’t know Yaro, or know how bad his injuries are, but there’s something we can do to try and help him.”

Ilayeth spun on her heel, turning away from Emilie for the first time since she had left Gorik’s pen.  “What are you talking about, Declan?”

Squaring his jaw, Declan took a step forward.  “I know that the guild’s cleric is at the Grey Arches,” he said, nodding toward Jace.  “But what if there was another cleric nearby that the guild could rely on?”

Though she was intrigued by his words, Ilayeth folded her arms over her chest.  “Your staff can make you capable of many things, but I don’t think it could lend us any healing magic to poor Yaro.”  She paused for a moment, letting Declan’s words better reach her then.  “Unless you mean…”

Declan nodded.  “We already know that it was not their intention when they attacked for things to become as chaotic as they did.  Now, it may be time to loosen the restrictions even further, in exchange for—”

“You can’t be serious,” Emilie growled as she stepped closer to the guild’s newest arrival.  As she spoke, he watched her auburn hair flicker with deeper, vibrant red hues, and wondered if perhaps the clouds had shifted in the sky, letting sunlight cast down on her head.  She was far enough within the stable at that point though.  He knew that there was some other magic at work.  “They tried to kill us—all of us.  They nearly had their wish with Yaro, and you want to let them finish the job?”

Ilayeth raised her hands to placate her guildmate, but she knew the futility of her request.  Gorik would have certainly heard Emilie’s words by then, her heated statements not easy to disguise.

Declan took a step closer to her as well.  “We’re all worried here,” he said, his voice cool and quiet.  “I know that.  But I also know that we don’t have many other options.  Nobody else here has the capabilities that the goblin does.  We can try to make Yaro’s last moments comfortable, or we can take a risk and try to see if we can make an ally out of our prisoner.”

Pressing out a deep sigh and shaking her head, Ilayeth rubbed her head as she contemplated Declan’s suggestion.  “Is this your idea, or did the whispers tell you this was what we should do?”

“I would think that I would have suggested this anyway,” Declan said.  “But the whispers did suggest this course of action louder than any other.”

Emilie grasped Ilayeth’s arm, then.  “What is he talking about?  What whispers?”

Ilayeth winced and tugged her arm away, pausing to look at the girl’s red tresses.  Sure enough, they were more vibrant then.  As she rubbed her arm, Ilayeth sent a disappointed glare at the girl.  “You’re not the only person in the guild with strange gifts, it seems, Emilie.  Declan has his own power, though he seems a bit more in control of his than you do yours.”

Declan chuckled, if only to relieve some of the tension that was building there.  “I assure you, I have no control over what I hear—only what I say.  Right now, I believe that if we’re trusting Gorik at his word, we can trust him to save a man who is doomed otherwise.”

“We can’t,” Emilie said.  “He’ll hurt him.”

Ilayeth turned back to the girl and draped her hand on Emilie’s shoulder.  “He won’t.  We won’t let him.”  She paused then and pivoted back to Declan.  “Go on Declan.  See if we can enlist his aid.  We’ve no hope left for Yaro otherwise.”  She led Emilie away then, back toward the guild house.

With a quiet sigh leaving his lips, Declan looked to Jace who stood visibly shaken after the exchange.  The two men said nothing though, only offering solemn nods to each other as they digested the situation that they found themselves in.  Jace extended his hand, revealing a small silver key, which he tossed to Declan.

It seemed not all the things that kept the goblin restrained were magical.

Declan returned to the pen, and when he looked at Gorik, he knew from the goblin’s sympathetic gaze that the question he would ask had already been considered in the cleric’s mind.  Still, the man returned to the center of the impromptu holding cell, holding the key in his hand, and displaying it to the prisoner.

“You heard all that?” he asked, though he was certain of the answer.

Gorik nodded but offered up no further revelations.

Declan took another step forward and brought the key up to the one of the cuffs, working at freeing the goblin from his bindings.

“I haven’t given you an answer yet,” Gorik said.

A weary grin was on Declan’s face the next moment.  “One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that sometimes what hasn’t been said is more important than what has.  You haven’t told me you refuse.”

Even when the first cuff was opened, Gorik kept his other arm in place, letting it dangle in the air rather than pulling the length of chain from the wooden beam above.  As Declan moved to the other bound arm, he looked at the man’s eyes.  “If I do this, I’ll be free to move about the guild hall?  No longer a prisoner?”

“If you save Yaro, I’ll do my best to see you free to move about or from the guild hall if you choose,” Declan replied.

A moment later, the goblin’s other arm was free as well.  He grabbed the sorer of his wrists, rubbing it and wincing enough that Declan could see his sharp teeth.  “I don’t know why, but I trust you,” Gorik said.  “Everyone else seems to look at me like a monster, but you’re different.  Have you encountered my kind before?”

“You’re my first,” Declan replied.  “During my time at the temple, the only folks I really saw were humans and the occasional dwarf.”  He saw a brief reaction to that revelation and wondered if Gorik was more aware than he was when Tornig rushed the gnoll.  He shook his head then, knowing that there were more pressing matters at hand.

A moment later he led the goblin from the stall, nodding to Jace as he went.  “He and I will head into the guild hall now.  Maybe you could wait with Tornig and the other prisoner.”

“You don’t want an escort?” Jace asked.

“No need,” Declan replied.  “Orn is still out there mumbling to himself.  I don’t expect any issues, but he’ll be there to look out for us if there are any.”

Jace held out his hand, urging the pair onward.  If what Emilie said was true, Yaro did not have much time.

Together, Declan and Gorik returned to the guild hall.

*          *          *

When Declan arrived at the top of the stairs, he hesitated for a moment.  He saw Emilie in the corridor, leaning against the wall of one of the rooms.  She looked weary, but Declan knew that there was a great force still within her.  His companion noted his hesitation, and stopped in the stairway, recalling that not all the members of the guild held him without contempt as Declan.

Still, as Gorik leaned back, further out of sight, the step that he stood on creaked, ensuring that neither of them could make a quiet approach.

Emilie looked down the hall, spotting Declan there.  As soon as she recognized him, she wore a scowl.  Though it wasn’t as vibrant as before, he noticed the flickers of brighter red in her hair.

She pressed away from the wall then, but before she could take her first step from there, the door to the room swung open as if by a gentle breeze.  She halted, looking instead to her guildmate who emerged from there.

Ilayeth, not expecting to be scrutinized the moment she exited there, displayed a dejected look for a second too long.

That second was all Emilie needed.  “What’s wrong?  Did something happen?”

“Nothing we didn’t expect,” Ilayeth replied.  “He’s still with us, but it’s not looking good.  Even if the goblin does decide to help us, he—”

Declan cleared his throat then, venturing further into the hallway.  “He’ll help,” he assured.  “And I’ve assured him no harm will come to him after he does.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know you can keep,” Emilie grumbled.

“Emilie!” Ilayeth chided.

“If Yaro doesn’t live, neither should the goblin.”

Despite her growing anger, Declan took a step closer to her, confidence in his presence.  “It wasn’t his doing that left Yaro injured.  None of the members of the guild were killed while he and the gnoll were here—it was another member of their troupe that was responsible, and it was a surprise even to them.”

“Is that what he told you?” Emilie growled back louder.

“Enough!” Ilayeth shouted.  “I’ll not have the two of you carrying on like children.  “No matter what happens, Declan’s plan is the only one we have right now.  We can sort through the rest when the healing magic is in place.”

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Gorik ascended the last few steps.  He kept his head bowed, and held his sore wrist still, looking as though he were still in chains.

Though Emilie had begun to step forward, Ilayeth pushed on her shoulder, the demure half-elf exercising a little more force with the heated young lady.

“He’s right in here,” Ilayeth revealed.  “I don’t know if you’ll be able to save him, but I thank you for trying.”

Gorik stood a bit taller at hearing her thankfulness.  He nodded, and stepped forward, but once he passed where they stood, he breathed out an anxious sigh.  A glance inside the room showed him all he needed to know: Yaro was in dire straits, and even an accomplished cleric would need a miracle in order to save his life.

His disdain was even more apparent than Ilayeth’s had been.  He stiffened at the sight of the wounded human and looked to Declan with tremendous concern.

“I…I would ask that Declan and I could treat him in private,” Gorik stated.

“You what?” Emilie seethed.

Declan stepped between them then.  “It’s alright,” he said.

“Why must you do that?” Ilayeth asked.  “We’re already taking a huge risk with you even treating Yaro.  But you want to remain alone in a room with a dying man and the one person willing to put their trust in you?”

“He is dying,” Gorik repeated.  “And it’s farther along than I expected.  I know what you ask of me, but it won’t be easy—the last thing I want is to allow myself to be distracted because of some unbridled rage drawn in my direction.  I choose Declan to watch over me while I work my craft because I also trust him.”

There was something earnest in his tone, and Ilayeth looked to their newest recruit to observe his reaction.

Declan flashed a reassuring smile to her, and stepped past her, into the room.  “It’ll be okay,” he said.

Gorik hesitated a moment before he followed the man into Yaro’s chamber, and neither Ilayeth or Emilie exhibited any further protest, though Gorik could see by the look in the girl’s eye that she wanted to.

It was Declan who slowly shut the door, offering up another nod of hopefulness as the way shut before his new guildmates.

“His book is on the table by the bed.  Be careful,” Ilayeth whispered to him as the door latched shut.

When the unlikely pair realized they were alone with the failing man, Declan watched as Gorik’s shoulders slumped.  The goblin knew how integral saving Yaro was to preserve himself.  And yet, the odds of that happening seemed dire indeed.

“You can do this,” Declan said.  “You can do this, right?”

Gorik swallowed away the tension building in his throat and turned to Declan.  “I’ll do my best.  But I would ask something of you.”  He began unlacing his battered tunic, displaying the wound that he had incurred earlier that morning.  “I’ll need my full concentration if I am to bring this man back from the brink.  Every burning itch I feel in my chest—every twinge of lingering pain… I need to cleanse myself before I can focus on him.”

Declan walked past him and picked up the old leather-bound tome that Ilayeth had left waiting on the table beside Yaro.  He extended it toward the goblin a moment later.  “Do whatever you need to do to give Yaro a fighting chance.”

Gorik bowed his head and took the book from his captor.  He opened it then, shuffling through the pages until he landed on something with oddly scrawled lettering and a depiction of a strange deity drawn in dark, smudged lines.

Realizing that the words were not written in common, Declan wavered in his stance.  He leaned on his staff then, hoping with all his heart that he wouldn’t need to use it again any time soon.

Taking in a deep breath, Gorik pointed to the faded page of the tome, and began to recite his words of power.  “Cla’wennie, taradaray, gathrak,” he whispered.  “Renagas gadӓn malak.”

Declan watched as Gorik closed his eyes, repeating the words again and again.  The goblin pulled his finger from the pages then, pointing it toward his wound instead.  A subtle green light filled the room, emanating from what seemed like thin air.  Declan struggled against the growing brilliance, watching as Gorik’s cauterized wound seemed to fade away.

As the words and the light faded from the room, the goblin was left with a grin upon his face.  He looked to Declan then, nodding with purpose.

“Let’s get to work,” Gorik said.

*          *          *

Perspiration marred the goblin’s brow, and often, it dripped down his face.  The fading glimmer of sunlight that shone through the window left the droplets of sweat glistening there on his olive skin.

Declan fought with himself over whether to dab at Gorik’s brow with a cloth.  He thought better of it though and left his focus on Yaro when he was needed there.

The guild’s falconer still clung to life, though Gorik’s magic seemed to cause him more pain.  On several different occasions, heavy thumping came from the door to the hall, and Declan had to demand silence.  He wondered how many times Gorik had to attune his focus again—and how much time they had lost.

He knew, though, that Gorik struggled to help Yaro.  The injured man lay there in bed, only briefly opening his eyes from time to time.  His bouts of unconsciousness were a mercy, Declan knew.  And as Gorik pulled him from that necessary reverie with healing magic, Yaro felt the cruel sting of every injury he had sustained.  With his tunic ripped open, Declan could see the wounds that were inflicted upon him.  Whatever had blasted through the guild hall was now embedded in him, splinters of wood and shards of metal stabbing him perpetually.

Gorik worked with his eyes shut, as though he was feeling through the man’s battered flesh.  Over the hours he was at work there, Declan watched the goblin’s magic push the slivers of foreign material from Yaro’s body, each one eliciting a new gasp of pain or groan of discomfort.  And every time one of those left his body, a new wound needed to be sealed.

Finally, Gorik teetered backward, and it was only Declan, quick to put a chair behind him, that kept him from toppling to the ground.

For some time then, as Gorik collected himself, it was silent in the room, except for the heavy breaths of the healer and the wounded.  After wiping his brow with his wrist, the goblin sent a weary grin toward Declan.

“It is done,” he said.

“He’ll live?” Declan wondered.

“He’s no longer at risk of further injury,” Gorik clarified.  “The physical damage has been undone.  But the pain is something he’ll have to fight through.  It is sure to linger for longer than he could imagine.”

“Is that something you can help with as well?”

“I can soothe him.  I shall do my best.”

With the good news apparent then, Declan realized just how fatigued he felt as well.  Though he didn’t exert himself in the same way Gorik did, he felt sapped of energy, as though days had passed without him finding sleep.  Perhaps using the staff earlier that day had taken more of his energy than he’d realized.

When fretful pounding landed upon the door then, he realized he was far wearier than he expected.  He spoke softly, as though the person on the other side of the door could hear his whispers in their mind.  It was too quiet, he knew, when the metal of the doorknob glowed red, and the door flung inward.

Emilie was there, her bright red hair illuminating the darkened hallway.

“It’s alright,” Declan said, laboring to an upright position.  “Yaro is going to live.”

Her red hair glimmered in the fading light of dusk, but only for a moment longer.  Her features softened when she saw Yaro lying in bed.  Though he still wore a grimace of pain, he no longer looked as though he was at risk of passing.

Emilie charged into the room and flung herself at the floor by the unconscious man’s side.  She grabbed his hand, squeezing it and pressing her head against it.  A shuddering sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes as she felt life flowing through Yaro once more.

When Emilie opened her eyes again, she looked to Declan and Gorik.  “Thank you,” she said, the kindest either of them had heard her speak.  “But I’ll not leave him again.”  That follow-up was said with the same kind of assertiveness that they had grown used to.

Declan looked to Gorik, who remained seated in the chair there.

The goblin simply offered up a weary grin.  “It’s alright Declan.  The hardest part has passed.  She can stay with him, and if she likes, I can remain behind as well to make sure any pain is quickly relieved.”

When Emilie said nothing to rebuke that offer, Declan knew that she would be appreciative of the arrangement.  Meanwhile, Declan was satisfied with whatever reprieve he could get.  As busy as his first day at the guild hall was, he had never felt fatigue grip at him so fiercely.

He made his way out of the room, and into the darkened hallway, closing the door behind him as best he could, its malformed lock preventing it from latching into place.  He chuckled at the damage, and how quickly Emilie had rebounded from her anger and disdain.

As Declan made his way toward the far end of the corridor, he was joined by another guildmate once more.  Ilayeth also wore her weariness like a veil—one that was heavy and kept her head bowed.  When she looked up and noticed Declan there, and not Emilie, she stood alert at once.

“It’s alright,” Declan said, growing used to the phrase.  “She’s in with Yaro, and Gorik is watching over him.”

Ilayeth arched an eyebrow as she considered that.  “Is he safe with her?”

Stifling a laugh, Declan moved farther away from the room.  “I notice that you didn’t ask if she’d be okay with him.  Emilie is just relieved that Yaro is going to be okay.  And Gorik is going to need a long rest, I’m sure.”

“You know,” Ilayeth said as they lingered by the stairwell, “if it wasn’t for you, I don’t know that we would have been able to save him.  You chose to show kindness to our foe, and that was what led him to heal someone he’d never met.”

Declan just shrugged.  “It was the right thing to do.”

“And another thing: how did you manage to excel so well at interrogating Gorik?  You would have thought you’d done that a hundred times before.”

He was already shaking his head then.  “Never an interrogation, no.  But that’s not exactly what this was.  It was more like… Well, when I was at the temple, people would often come in not because they were looking for physical restoration, but healing for the pain they felt within.  And it wasn’t the priests who could settle their souls.  All they could do was listen.  So that’s what I would do—I would listen while other people came to the temple for confession.

“And that’s all I asked Gorik to do,” Declan went on.  “It helped that he never meant any lasting harm to anyone here in the first place.  Giving him the opportunity to try and erase some of his own guilt was what I did.  He was the one who wiped the slate clean though.”

“You’re more interesting than you let on at first,” Ilayeth said with a smile.  “It was a lucky thing that Erik brought you here today.  If you weren’t here, I shudder to think at what would be left of this place.”

“Perhaps I brought all the bad luck with me.”

“I don’t think that, and neither should you.”  She waved him on then.  “Come on.  We’ve spent so long today rushing about that I think we should take a moment to breathe.”

When they descended the stairs, and came up along the guild hall’s kitchen, even Ilayeth couldn’t hide her surprise at seeing the gnoll, Ignark sitting at the table, under no supervision.

The half-elf said nothing, but looked about, as though she could find some answers in the darkened building.

Ignark looked in their direction and tilted his head toward one of the nearby doorways.  A few moments later, Jace walked into the room, sitting down across from the gnoll, with a mug of ale in his hand.  Ignark looked down at the mug, trying his best not to show any signs of thirst.

“Alright then,” they all heard then, as a door shut elsewhere in the building.  “It’s not much, but we can’t have ye going hungry,” Tornig’s voice called out as he walked up the steps from the larder.  When he noticed his other guildmates, he nodded but kept on walking, passing them by and heading toward the table.  Lit by the lanterns in the room, they could see that he carried an armful of foodstuffs: crusty breads, some hard cheese and a few scraps of salted meats.  “Nice of ye both ta join us.  I’ve prepared us a genuine feast,” he said as he hopped up and let the food scatter about the table.

After a few moments, he looked back at them, noticing their curious stares.  “What?” he asked.  “Ye aren’t the only two good at makin’ friends ye know.” He looked at the mug on the table, still in Jace’s hand, and he folded his arms over his chest.  “That wouldn’t be for ye, lad.”

Jace took in a deep breath then, and slid the ale across the table, and Ignark was quick to take it and bring it to his lips.  After he took a few sizable gulps he slammed the mug down, letting out a satisfied sigh.  He wiped his lips with his arm then, and the Declan and Ilayeth could see then that his arms were still bound by a chain.

“You don’t look like you’ve had a swig of ale in your life, boy,” the gnoll said.

Tornig turned around, if for no other reason than to hide his growing smile.  He grunted to himself then but looked to his companions.  “I figured what brings people together better than ale?  And how’d it go with your new pal?”

Before either Declan or Ilayeth could offer up their own interpretation of the events, they heard the creaking of the stairs behind them once more.  They were surprised to see Emilie there, with Gorik in tow behind her.

Her auburn hair was dark again, and they could see that any anger that was once within her was faded.

“Yaro?” Ilayeth asked.

Emilie let a weary smile separate her lips.  “He wanted something to drink.”

Though it was reserved, those who knew the falconer let a out a quiet cheer, beyond thankful that he was going to survive the harrowing injuries he’d received.

Sitting at the table though, the gnoll’s face contorted into one of confusion and anger.  “You helped them, Gorik?”

For a moment, the goblin hesitated, and looked ashamed or guilty for his part in saving the human.  But he stood taller a moment later, peering around the members of the guild to see his friend.  “You know that we never meant to cause the sort of devastation that went on here.  But given what happened, they showed us kindness.  We were caught off guard too, you know.  And when they left us here, they might have been leaving us to die.”

“Melara would never—” Ignark began before gnashing his teeth together.  “She wouldn’t have done that without a reason.  Maybe Jarayas thought—”

“It wasn’t Jarayas that swayed her, my friend,” Gorik said, weaving through the people in the room.  “Tanissa dug her hooks into her and left her changed ever since.”

Ignark huffed and leaned forward on the table, seeming more defeated than when they were captured by the guild.  “If we would have been in the building just a few seconds earlier, that could have been one of us lying up there, needing to be put back together.”

Soon it grew quiet in the room, and it seemed that none of the occupants within the guild hall could look at one another.  Breaking the silence, Jace pushed his chair back, a loud squeal reporting before he rose from his seat.  He left from the room then, heading away in the same direction from where Declan and Ilayeth had found him earlier.  He didn’t take long to return, holding a new stein filled to the brim with ale.  Without prompting from Tornig or any of his other guildmates, he handed the mug to their other captive.

Gorik took it in both hands, and turned around to Emilie, still lingering by the stairs.

“That one is for you,” she confirmed.  “I’ll get Yaro something that’s a little less strong to start.”

Caught off guard again, Gorik looked to the Adventurers of Eladia, touched by their unexpected benevolence.  “None of you are what I expected.”

“They’re not like Tanissa,” Ignark agreed.

Taking a deep breath, Gorik lowered into a seat by the table, happy to have a drink in his hand.  One by one, the members of the guild joined him there, except for Jace, who fetched more ale, and Emilie, who went off to find water for her bedridden friend.

For some time, the five that remained were quiet.  They took time to drink their ale, reveling in the tranquility.  They seemed more like peers who had skirmished for practice rather than bloodthirsty opponents who fought for their lives.

When Jace returned the final time, sitting down with his own mug of ale, he plunked into place at the far end of the table with an audible sigh.  When everyone looked to him with varied measures of friendly annoyance, he grinned back at them.  A few seconds later, he lifted his mug into the air, spilling some of the frothy liquid onto the table.  “To new faces!” he cried out.

Though nearly everyone rose their drinks to that sentiment, Ignark hesitated, realizing that they weren’t toasting merely to he and Gorik, but also to Declan.

When Gorik finished a gulp of his drink and set his mug down, he noticed his ally looking upon Declan with curiosity.

“It’s his first day here,” Gorik confirmed.

Ignark scoffed then.  “It was you and that staff that nearly put me through the wall earlier.  Without you here, things would have been much different.”

“And who is to say if it would be for better or worse?” Ilayeth considered.  “Any one of us might have been in worse shape if he wasn’t here.”

“All of us might have been in worse shape if the lad wasn’t here,” Tornig said.

“The temple’s loss is our gain,” Ilayeth went on.  She lifted her mug of ale again, spurring the rest of the table to do the same.  She took a smaller sip compared to the rest of her companions, but she noticed that Gorik refrained from drinking at all.

When her gaze did not waver, he noticed and squared his jaw.  “Declan,” he said.  “That’s not the first time today that the temple has been mentioned.  They’re not speaking of the one not far from here, are they?  The one that’s almost along this road?”

“Gorik,” Ignark warned.

“Yes, Fespar Temple,” Declan returned, shuffling in his seat a bit.  “Why?”

The goblin looked across the table to his ally.  “He needs to know.”

“Jarayas would have us skinned,” Ignark replied.

“If Melara does there what she did here, Jarayas may never be safe again unless we tell Declan and his friends.”

“Tell us what,” Tornig asked.  “Spit it out, ye blasted funce.”

Gorik closed his eyes and bowed his head.  “Your guild hall was never our main target,” he revealed.  “Jarayas and Tanissa knew that if you were left to be, you would come to the aid of the temple.”  As the four members of the guild exchanged panicked glances, the goblin raised his hands as if to placate them.  “Our plan was for me to come here and put you all to sleep.  Then together, we would go to the temple and do the same there.  But when Melara nearly tore this place apart with her explosions…”

“We need to go there,” Declan muttered.  “I have to go there to warn them.”

“Easy lad,” Tornig said.  “They’re sure to have their own defenses, aren’t they?”

“They’ve got a few paladins who guard the doors, but Fespar Temple has never seen any violence,” Declan assured.  “They’ll be caught completely off guard.  They might have already been massacred.”  As he spoke, he rose from his seat and began toward the hallway.

“Settle yourself,” Ilayeth pressed.  “We need to talk about this.”

“I may not have time,” Declan protested.

Tornig hopped down from his chair then as well, and hurried to Declan’s side, holding his hand up against his guildmate’s chest.  “Ye aren’t alone here.  Ye know that, right?  We all want ta hurry there and prevent any tragedies, but ye don’t do that by rushing without looking first.”

“Even with the staff, you won’t be able to stop them by yourself,” Gorik said.  “You’ll need allies, and yours are weary.”

“But not all of them,” Jace said.  All eyes turned to him then, and he nodded, convinced that he had answers that could help them.  “We all dealt with the attack, certainly.  But Mason, Ezra, Nico and the rest…they’re all at the Grey Arches.  We could fetch them and travel together to the temple.”

“It’d be too far to travel.  The attack would have already happened,” Tornig supposed.

“But we don’t need to travel there ourselves,” Ilayeth offered.  “Now that our falconer is back among the land of the living, he can send a message there, and we can hurry along.”

“We’d still be outnumbered,” Jace said.  “And we can’t leave the guild hall unguarded.  If we planned on going right there, we’d be even more fractured than we are now.”

“You could bring us,” Ignark said then.  “We might be able to convince them to hold off their attack.”

“Or they might be further inspired by our presence,” Gorik said, catching the members of the guild by surprise.  “Or perhaps Jarayas will condemn us for helping those we were meant to attack.  There’s no telling what’s going through his mind now.”

As the group considered all that had been discussed then, they realized that Declan had grown quiet some time before.  One by one, they looked to him, and realized that he no longer heard their voices alone.

The whispers were there with him, lending him their advice.

Continue with Chapter Six

Voting Instructions

Voting has ended for this period

This month Declan has a desperate choice to make, which you can influence.  Will the whispers recommend rushing to the temple to try and stop Gorik and Ignark’s companions?  Or, will the whispers tell him to try to gather up help from the other Adventurers of Eladia who are at the Grey Arches, and possibly run out of precious time?  As always, your voice, along with the other voices that make up the Council of Whispers will help determine the flow of this tale.

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, with the choice to go to the temple or to the ruins.  Then, on December 1st, I’ll tally up the votes and see how the whispers influenced Declan.  December is going to be a special month as well, because while I’m writing the annual DeAngelo Christmas tale, you’ll be given another important task to help Declan find his way.

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 Five appeared first on Tellest.