u/Reasonable_Room_1953

Part 1

Arrival at Lakeside

(25 years later)

 

The small village of Lakeside shimmered in the evening sun; its rooftops washed in gold from the lake’s reflection. For a moment, the view was almost peaceful, until the glint of steel at the gates soured it.

Vangelis and his companion and best friend Pedro had been riding for a month, their journey stretched by nights in smoke-filled inns or at lonely crossroads where only passing merchants had words to share. Rumours and gossip fragments, pieced together along the way, pointed them here. To Lakeside.

To her.

Van’s horse, Tornado, snorted loudly as they drew nearer. He was a large black horse, bigger than most, and incredibly strong. Van had found him in a stable three years ago now, mistreated, cold, and hungry. He had bought him from the farmer and nursed him back to health, now they were better friends than most humans.

“I know, boy,” Van muttered; his voice was rough and also gentle, but not unpleasant, steady in its way. “Once we get there, you can rest with Chestnut.”

Chestnut was Pedro’s horse, and the complete opposite of Tornado. A light brown mare with an even lighter mane, sleek and elegant. Pedro had brushed her every night of their journey; humming tavern tunes while Van sharpened steel by the fire.

“You’re sure she passed through here, Van?” Pedro asked, nudging his mare closer. His tone was light, but a crease of worry tugged at his brow. “These roads are a muddle—half the kingdom’s carts, horses and wagons could’ve left those tracks.”

“I’m positive.” Van reached up to adjust the mask that sat upon his face. It was no ordinary helm but a white, curved, triangular piece of enchanted metal, with black crescents for eyes. Heavy to look at, but weightless to wear thanks to it's enchantment. It shon in the setting sunlight as he tilted his head, considering the road ahead.

Pedro followed his gaze and then pointed. “Well, if she did, then that lot might have seen her.”

Van looked towards the village entrance, “Shit.” He said, “I was hoping to avoid them.”

At the entrance to the village, five Templar soldiers stood like sentinels. Their green and silver plate shining in the sunset light. Three sat tall upon destriers draped in matching green and silver armour, the steel of their harness gleaming like fish scales in the light. One horse carried a banner strapped to its saddle: a silver griffin rearing against a field of green. The flag hung limp in the still air, but the soldiers’ eyes were sharp and watchful, following the pair as they approached.

Two other soldiers stood on the ground, rigid as posts, holding glowing torches, bathing them in an orange light, circling a man in clean purple clothes. His puffed, rounded hat sported a white feather jutting skyward, so tall and absurd that it mocked the grim seriousness of the surrounding soldiers. He held a notebook in one hand and a quill in the other, flipping through the pages with deliberate precision, as if each entry could summon the emperor himself.

The faint clink of armour drifted on the evening breeze, mingling with the smell of smoke from distant hearth fires and the sharp tang of horses. Tornado stamped his hooves nervously, muscles coiling under Van’s hand as if he, too, sensed the weight of the scrutiny. Shadows stretched long over the road as the sun dipped further below the horizon, darkening the spaces between the soldiers and making their polished green-and-silver plate glint like predatory scales.

Van’s eyes flicked over the men and the absurdly feathered hat, noting the subtle tension in the mounted soldiers’ fingers, twitching near the reins as though ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

As they approached, the sun began setting even more, casting long shadows over them.

The man in the hat spoke as they stopped in front of them.

“By order of His Majesty Emperor of Orlania Mathias Silzar, you are hereby obliged to state your intentions in the village of Lakeside because of rebel activity in the area.” His voice was haughty and clearly not from around these parts.

Pedro snorted. “So serious…” he teased.

“Pedro, shut up,” Van growled as one of the soldiers glared at Pedro with a sharp and piercing gaze.

“We’re looking for someone,” Van said, voice controlled but cold. “A Wulfen woman. Mid-twenties. Carries a one-handed axe, rounded shield. Scar above her right eyebrow. She would have passed through here this past week. Has she come through this checkpoint?”

The man in the hat flicked through his notebook, tongue clicking in disapproval. His eyes darted across the entries, brow furrowing as he murmured to himself.

As he flicked, Vangelis glanced ahead into the village. He couldn’t see much, but he glimpsed a face looking out a window at them. But it retreated when he looked at them.

The bookman cleared his throat. “We’ve had two Wulfen in the last week. One male, big and burly, stone mason, I believe. The other female, yes, but was in her elder years. No mention of an axe.”

Pedro grinned. “Told you.”

Van grunted in annoyance, jaw tightening. “May we pass through?”

“State your names and affiliation, and you may,” the man said. He paused, scanning their faces and then their weapons.

“Vangelis and Pedro Caine. Bounty Hunter’s Guild members,” Van replied, his voice even..

The man scribbled in his notebook as one soldier spoke up, his deep voice thick with a southern Sothyrin drawl. “Where’d you get that mask? Don’t look like no bounty hunter. More like an inquisitor to me.” He gestured toward Vangelis, eyes lingering on the twin katanas on his back, one steel, the other dark obsidian and etched with glowing prple runes. The steel blade shimmered with orange light reflecting the torchlight in eerie flashes.

“Where I got my mask is none of your business,” Van replied, voice low and measured, the metal of his mask catching the last rays of the sun, “And if I were an inquisitor, I would have told you. Since they’re the emperor’s private police.” He adjusted his stance slightly, fingers brushing the reins of Tornado, noting the soldier’s subtle twitch toward his weapon.

“Not necessarily,” the soldier continued, squinting at the runes as if trying to read them. “You might be on some secret Inquisitor mission.”

Pedro leaned forward in the saddle, voice light and teasing. “If we were, wouldn’t it be in your best interest to let us be on our way?” He gave a small, playful shrug, flicking a glance at the bookman, who was scribbling furiously and glancing up with suspicion.

“I said, shut up, Pedro!” Van snapped sharply, his eyes flicking to one of the mounted soldiers, whose eye twitched in irritation, fingers resting dangerously close to his sword hilt. "We’re not inquisitors,” He assured them, voice steady, though his gaze scanned the soldiers’ postures and grips for any sign of deceit. “We’re just looking for our friend.”

The man in the purple clothes finally closed his notebook with a deliberate snap, eyeing the group one last time. “All right,” he said, voice officious yet carefully measured. “This all seems in order. Come on through and beware of the rebels in the area. Glory to the Templar Empire!”

“Glory to the Templar Empire,” Vangelis echoed, his tone formal but clipped, you had to be careful how you said things around Templars.

Pedro stayed silent for a moment, drawing several glances from the soldiers, then exhaled with a resigned sigh. “Glory to the Templar Empire,” he said, his voice dripping with obvious lack of enthusiasm.

Please give me your thoughts, and I would like to give a disclaimer: THIS WAS ALL WRITTEN BY ME, NO OUTSIDE HELP WAS USED.

https://preview.redd.it/dl1bts5ua4yg1.jpg?width=360&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=543b53f69d65f1cd509596dc8775675bf3779cfb

This year on November 15th, Matpat will turn 40 years old.

Where is time going?!?