Hexed and Perplexed

    It was a forgotten art form from eras past that ensured immortality, wisdom, and power… using seemingly paradoxical medias from every corner of the planet, inconspicuously hidden in their simplicity, twisting through forests, spread far and wide behind livestock on open planes, braving the hottest deserts and coldest mountaintops… and writhing within the minds of all the Realm’s beasts. No one would remember from before the last cataclysm -and those before it that had nearly took the breath of man- if it weren’t for a few well preserved clues. The kind that travlers found in forgotten forest bogs, or peasants unearthed from deep in their fields and felt compelled to bring to kings against what seemed to be their best interest, things that were drawn to people who had the capacity to see their secrets brought forth, their unresolved destinies brought to light.

It was one of those clues that took the form of an item, a small, well worn, ancient stone tablet. Since deciphered, it’s led a group directed by king Ohstevios IV from Northern Europe first to a land deep in the Amazon. Chancing disease, rabid tribesmen, and being swallowed whole by serpents in the year of 1178, the group of weary knights, monks, and curious Noblemen walk in circles, looking up at deserted ruins for answers…. It was then that one exhausted monk’s knees hit the jungle floor with an ominous thud.

His breath entangled with his heartbeat, black stars danced at the corners of his eyes, body threatened to black out amidst heat waves of dense, wet air- just as sleep nearly takes him; what was left of his attention was drawn to a small, dark figure hiding betwixt the rotting body of a dead animal and a tree… time seemed to slow and wobble as shadows on the forest floor danced into the shapes he saw on that very tablet he broke his mind night after night trying to decipher back at the monestary… could it be?

“Pick up the pace, monk, we still have a ways to go.”

Karl snapped from his trance, all but a few of the group threatened to move on without him, his eyes strained against late-day orange hues ripping through the trees, each second feeling faster than the last as he regathered his composure and got to his feet. Nodding at the knight and dusting himself off… He peers around to see if anyone had noticed… The small, dark figure dancing between Karl’s fingers, now deep in his robe pocket.

The quest as the group had understood it was unsuccessful, all but one of the monks- bewildered, left scratching nervously like animals at the endless scrolls deep in the libraries of Endapé in preparation for a myriad of quests at the behest of the now “artifact” obsessed king.

As years pass, a delighted Karl gathered pockets full of little dark figures and new understandings, never thinking to bring what he had found forward- as he felt compelled to keep these divine interventions and their whispers to himself, and to follow the king and his consortium of baboons to the ends of the earth obtain more... In his downtime, Karl found himself easily unraveling both what the others only became more confused by, and what they staked their lives on.

One deep winter night, perched at his desk in the west wing tower of his home monestary, ignoring the endless, boring hagiographies and histories he was tasked to transcribe… Karl poured over his own notes from dozens of journeys. Dragging his pasty fingers over his hastily written lores retold by seers in the north, myths whispered by elders in the deep south, his attempts at translating rune fragments and cave drawings from across the seas in India, and the ramblings of war lord tribesmen in Africa, Karl slipped into a deep trance under the “eyes” of his dark figured friends that watched from the even darker corner of a shelf in his tiny, cold room through flickers of candlelight.

The corners of his eyes began to twitch as something snapped in him, the pit of his stomach dropped in overwhelming twisted excitement, ears rang, hands moved on their own… a bowl, some base media, and a few hours later had led to something long forbidden by and protected from mankind- and, that must have been some of the fun of it all. Just as his creation had taken its first breath, the door behind him creaked.

“Karl? Karl? It’s been days since anyone’s seen you, are you all right in there?” A young, sandy haired man pops his head around the door to see a border of candlelight light around Karl’s frame huddling over his desk that doesn’t seem to move… “It smells terrible in here, can I change your bucket and take your plates? You know, getting some fresh air and a good meal would do you some good, the others have been cooking up some delicious breads with the grains donated from last harvest-“

A cold breeze rolls through the room as the young man swings open the closest window shudder, the sudden change in temperature blows out the candles and slams the room door shut. “Sorry about that… let me-“ he relights them in pale moonlight “Already smells better, I’ll bring you a piece of that bread after I get these lit-“ sparks fly from flint to a wiked mound of wax, unleashing the secret kept guard by the aged, broad shoulders of Karl. Londt, confused, peering into a bowl of smooth, deep, purple, is suddenly shocked when he’d realized Karls deep, bloodshot eyes had twisted up in his direction. His boyish kindness had disappeared as he looked around Karl’s desk at the plethora of open jars, leather bags, sharp tools, and piles of angrily scribbled papers. “W-what’s all this, Karl? Testing n-new inks?” The boy tries to smile, attempting to brush off the feeling he shouldn’t be there.