Party of Five

And so we set out on our journey. There were five of us: a student of the blackest majicks, young but full of an almost frightening confidence; a healer from ancient and far off lands, solemn and reflective in a way that made him seem beyond wise; an archer, new to the quest but not to the hunt; a rogue of a woman, silent and beautiful and not to be trusted too greatly; and me, a warrior, seasoned in battle, cautious, and grateful to those who would join their lives to my own.

The journey, we knew, would be long and hard, so we came well prepared. I brought multiple axes with me, in case one should break. The healer had potions and ointments that would last for months. We had a pack mule with us at the start to carry the water and food, and the archer assured us he could easily hunt more if need be. Spirits were high and we were optimistic as we set on our way.

At first, the trek was easier than we would have expected. The roads were easy to navigate, and we only encountered a couple of petty bandits, easily disposed. There was even a strange beauty is some of the things we saw: a stream through woods, mountains rising in the distance, a small collective of flowers I had never seen before. And though we were nearly complete strangers when we set out, I grew to learn some small things about those who journeyed with me.

The dark sorcerer liked puppies, the healer had a wife and baby back home, the archer aspired to be like his father, and even the rogue let drop that she had been in a relationship or two before, though she could have been lying.

Knowing what I came to know about all of them made our first real challenge all the more meaningful.  Some might call it weakness, revealing these small things about ourselves to one another.  But I think it made us stronger, and more united as a group.  We might not always agree on things, but knowing those details made my companions real to me, and proud to fight beside them.  Our victory was made sweeter because we accomplished it together, and destroying the first true monster to step in our way was just something that had to be done, the smile the rogue gave me and the yelp of excitement from the archer were what made it real.

It seems strange that five people coming from such different backgrounds and lands would get along so well, but as time passed on and we shared meals and stories, I felt like these adventurers were a part of me.  If I had thought our quest would end in the death of any one of them, I would have turned back immediately.  But they were strong and brave, and less foolish than I, except that they all trusted me.

I was, after all, the one who had gathered this party together.  The great evil living in the mountains had to be stopped, for one thing, and for another, there was great treasure and honor to be had in dispatching him.  I think each of them displayed a primary concern over the treasure and honor, but each had some reason to care about the evil itself as well, though perhaps not as much as I did.  I would have gladly given up my share of the treasure and sunk quietly into forgetfulness if that had made it any easier to destroy the evil that had destroyed my life.

As we journeyed onwards, things did begin to get darker.  The first misstep was when the sorcerer twisted his foot in a small crevice as we were venturing up a mountain.  This was easily healed by the cleric, but it concerned me nonetheless.  It seemed a bad omen for a member of the party to be injured apart from battle.

The next mishap occurred when the archer went out hunting one evening and the rogue ventured out to gather some berries, having somewhat of a cute craving for some fresh fruit.  The archer came back carrying her with tears in his eyes.  She looked only mildly annoyed with the arrow sticking out of her foot, but I was plenty angry for the both of us.  The archer nearly turned back right there, but she herself reassured him that all was forgiven and the cleric displayed once again his ease in healing.  It made me wonder what we would ever go without him, but I tried to put such thoughts out of my head.  The rogue herself had some limited knowledge of mundane healing, after all, and the sorcerer assured me he could study some more non-conventional healing spells if need be, and so we put this incident behind us as well and ventured onwards.

Things were not quite the same after that, however.  The others seemed more hesitant around me.  I don't really know why I should be the one to blame, but the archer seemed much more frightened of me than of the rogue.  Eventually, I realized something had to be done so in the evening around the campfire, I apologized.  A strong, intimidating man such as myself never cries, but I still truly felt the meaning and truth of my words as I said I was sorry for my overreactions and my fears and that we had to all work together, including myself.

The same smile the rogue had given me before reappeared and the archer looked like a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders.  The cleric and the sorcerer remained mostly silent, but they seemed more at ease as well, and the next day we seemed to venture onwards with a new confidence.  The next thing to go wrong after that was that our mule ran off, but I kept my cool, assured the party it was no one's fault, and pointed out we were nearly to our destination anyway.  The sorcerer even stated that if need be, he could teleport us most of the way back to town after our battle was won.  I wondered why he had not mentioned this before, but chose to simply be grateful for this new bit of information.

The night before our encounter, my dreams were haunted, as I'm sure were those of all the other party members as well.  This close to the powerful false king and he surely knew we were somewhere nearby and sent visions to haunt us.  We were strong, though, and although the archer seemed nearly ready to bolt in the morning, the rogue and cleric reassured him that all would be well.  Their words reassured me as well until the sorcerer gave me a look.  He, being a somewhat more noble practitioner of the dark arts himself, seemed to know there was great danger ahead, to recognize it more strongly than the others, but despite seeing this in his look, I chose to press onward.  We had gone too far now to turn back, and I still felt with all my heart that we could triumph.

The next night, the sorcerer cast a spell that guarded us against the dreams, and we awoke the next morning more refreshed than we had ever been before.  We met our enemy not long after dawn.

It started with quite a bit of luck, in fact.  We had not entirely planned to fight the battle that day, but the rogue sneaked ahead and reported back that the man himself was out alone, taking a bath apparently.  I suppose even the blackest of evil prefers not to be covered with the blackest of dirt.  I imagine he could have majicked himself clean, but perhaps he did not waste any of his power on such frivolous things, or perhaps he simply enjoyed the feel of a hot spring.

At any rate, we managed to get the jump on him.  The rogue sneaked up from behind and the archer prepared his arrow and the sorcerer his spell just so that all could fire at the same time as I charged in just at that moment as well.

We caught him so by surprise and he screamed with such rage as the first two attacks and the sorcerer's holding spell landed nearly simultaneously, followed closely by my axe lodging itself into his neck.  For a split second, I thought he was done for right there.  I know how much power can come from armor and clothing, and this creature was completely naked.  Perhaps we had weakened him so much right there that we could simply finish him before he had a chance to do much of anything.

How wrong I was.

The details of the battle remain fuzzy.  I do know that the cleric worked so valiantly, trying to keep the others alive.  The evil king was no fool, and he realized this, making it his purpose to find and destroy the cleric, which he did in less than a minute.  I could tell he was quite weak by that point, but with our primary healer down, his attacks against us were more meaningful and we simply could not destroy him quickly enough.  The rogue was the next to fall, being at close range, and then the archer.  Then it was just me and the sorcerer, dark majick against dark majick and an axe.  I knew my sorcerer friend could revive the others, and I knew he understood what we were up against better than any of them had, and so even then, I believed deep in my heart that we could succeed.

The majick fired back and forth, the sorcerer firing and then doing his best to heal himself while I drove my axe in again and again.  I thought we had nearly won, when the evil king laughed and I realized he had simply been toying with us up to this point.  With his cackle, he called up beasts from the ground which rushed the other majician and left him lying on the ground without any life in him.  It was that final and crushing act that made me scream.  I didn't care anymore.  All my friends were dead and I had no way to revive them.  And they were my friends.  They had not been before, but I had let them become friends, and then led them to the slaughter.

I shouted at the top of my lungs and with the all the tears I had never cried steaming down my face, I rushed at the evil king who had, for a second time, destroyed everything dear to me.  The minions sunk back into the ground at his will and it was just him and me.  I thought perhaps he was giving me pity and allowing me a fair fight, but he didn't even want to fight.  He wanted to let me live. 

As I rushed to him.  He grabbed my arm and squeezed with a strength I did not think possible for a majician to replicate.  I had to drop my weapon, and as I swung my other fist around to punch him, he grabbed that arm as well.  "Why have you come here, son?" he demanded in a snarl.  "I told you never to cross me again."

"You must answer for your crimes!" I shouted.

"What crimes?" he demanded.  "Leaving your mother to come live in peace?  The woman was a whore."

"She was not a whore!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.  "You know nothing of the people you have destroyed."

"Destroyed?!"  His laugh was insultingly merry with that.  I did not think it possible for such an evil man to have such a normal sounding laugh, but the fact that he made it so normal sounding made him even more evil.  "I haven't destroyed anyone!"

"What about my friends?" I demanded.

His brow wrinkled in mock confusion.  "What friends?" he asked.

I looked around to point out the four friends he had murdered and saw their bodies were gone.  I had not seen him cast any spell, nor felt any additional presence, but he had done something with them.  He had destroyed them beyond repair, made them so they had never existed.

"What did you do to them?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, kicking my feet but finding him just outside my reach.

"Garrett," he said, speaking my name so softly that I hated him more than I ever had before.  "They never existed."

I live trapped in a cage now, unable to escape.  This evil creature keeps me alive for some unknown reason and continually tries to convince me that I made my friends up, that my party of five was always just a party of one.  He mocks carrying for me, even claims to be my father.  I know it's all lies and majical mind tricks.  I am strong, and so I resist them most days.  Every night I dream of all I have lost.  First of my mother and younger brother, destroyed in mind, body, and soul by this most wicked of men, and then by the companions who became some of my dearest friends, wiped off the face of the earth as if they were never there to begin with.

On the best days, I still hold out hope that they somehow survived.  They were not dead, but near death, and while my back was turned away from them, they sneaked out, one by one and are regaining their strength to come and rescue me.  But even if this were true, why would they care enough to rescue me?  They were my friends, but was I enough of a friend to them.

They shared all their secrets and thoughts and fears with me, or at least enough of them to get me to love them, but I shared so little.  I was the determined distant leader that no one could ever truly love.  They were united together, but they were separate from me.  And yet, still, sometimes I see the rogue's smile and hear the clerics reassuring words.  I feel the archer's excitement and the sorcerer's quiet knowledge.  If anyone would ever come for me, it would be them, and now that they really know what they're up against, they will come more prepared, not with a party of five, but with a party of fifty or even five hundred.  I know this evil sorcerer king could not stand against that.  If I had been less of a fool, I would have brought an army to begin with.

But now all I can do is sit and wait and hope.  That sliver of hope, tiny though it might be, is all that is left to me.  I am told day after day that I am the lunatic, that my "father" only wants what's best for me, but I know it's all lies, and one day, he will get what he deserves and my friends and I will be free.

Love

What is love? Is it a burning, passionate desire to always have more of a person? Or is it an excited contentment over simply laying next to one another? Is it never getting angry? Or is it forgiving even when you are raging mad? Is it drawing happiness from the other person? Or is it sharing your happiness with them? Is it presents and loud exclamations? Or is it smiles and whispers? Is it smooth sailing? Or is it a bumpy ride that can always be endured? Is it refusing to question anything? Or is it not being afraid to ask? Is it never having to apologize? Or is it knowing you both will always apologize? Is it poetry? Or is it non-fiction? Can perfect love ever be really found? How can we know, unless we first know what it is?