RE: The Accounts of One That Accounted for the Sake of Accounting. (Chapter Six up!)
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Chapter Six
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Never did I even consider how cruel the world could be.
The sand flew into the air as I fell down onto it, the heat of the grains burned the skin not protected by my cloak, but I cared naught. I faintly heard Sandra growled as her claws seized my neck, pulling my lifeless body up. My eyes barely picked out her face from its blurry sight. Although I couldn’t decipher her facial expression, her tone told me exactly how she was feeling:
“Get a hold of yourself!”
Well, Sandra, let’s put it this way:
you’re not the one getting heat stroke
while facing dehydration.
I attempted to reply but the answer weakly came out as incoherent muttering. Rayn sighed… at least, I believe it was Rayn sighing. My consciousness started slipping, regardless of how hard I fought to pull it back.
“She isn’t accust… perhaps it’s best if we… to let Reagald avoid… heat.”
“We’re being chas… making shelter… some water.”
“She already drank a canteen!” I figured that was Quar; I had consumed his canteen over the span of three hours to keep hydrated.
“I’ll give her mine then. She only needs to last for…”
For how long? How long is the sun up? I couldn’t pick it up; my mind constantly shouted at me to let go, that I should rest to cool my body, and I hardly denied such a request, and resumed feeling the intense energy of the sun sear my cloak; if I didn’t know better, I would have expect to be on fire.
“Drink!” Sandra barked, holding the mouth of the canteen right in front of my face. I eventually comprehended the order and started to gulp the water down, then holding the canteen with my own paws, and gulping half of the canteen’s contents before stopping. I gasped out an “Ah!” and capped the canteen, at first handing the canteen over her shoulder. She took it and I jumped off her back (for how long I was there or how I even
got there, I do not know), wincing as my paws stepped into the burning sand.
This would not do. I considered the remaining spelltags I had, but none seemed to aid me at this time. And AGH, this stupid cloak is driving me mad! I took it off and handed it to Sandra; I sighed with content as the trapped heat in the cloak left me, the wind freeing up the fur stuck cramped from the oppressive cloth. Suddenly, I saw the cloak shoved back into my paws.
“Here, have it back.” Well, I suppose it’s for the best anyway, in case I need to use another spell. I blinked, readjusting my vision.
If you are ever traveling across the desert at daylight, there are a few things to remember: always look forward, for if you look up, then the sunlight will harshly blind you, and if you look down, the moment you look back straight, the world will be a bit too bright for you to see for a moment; moderate your contact with the sand to avoid as much of its heat, but do not go on the tip of your foot, as you shall sink in and face more heat; most importantly, stay aware, but not alert, as overusing the mind in the heat tires it quickly.
I made sure not to walk as actively as I had at first; in three hours, I burned out in body and mind, and consumed the water from Quar’s canteen too quickly; such a short experience taught me well; my body slacked, already forgetting the past lessons of walking upright at the palace, conserving as much energy as it possibly could, almost conscious of how important saving water became.
But still, this place is dreadful, and that’s
not even counting the dangers (and I don’t want to find out either, but as you know, I expect that’s not going to be the case); at night, the landscape did not threaten, and the moon provided safe guidance, but the sun is harsh, a tyrant over all below it, indiscriminately punishing all within its reach, forcing all life in its scorching grasp to shrivel up painfully.
At some point during the walking, all inconveniences ceased to annoy me; I learned to accept my fate; my body whined in pain, but even that no longer drove me to react;
live with it I would reply, demanding that my paws continue moving forward without pause. Regardless, I stayed awake and aware, just ready to face whatever is out here.
Only problem with that is that nothing showed up. The supposed dangers of the desert just did not appear. Needless to say, the back of my mind held suspicion, each passing second, each passing minute, each passing hour, all building suspense for something to happen.
The sun already fell from its peak, slowly dipping to the horizon, the unrelenting waves of heat finally receding. A particularly uneventful day, a day I found myself to be surprisingly grateful for.
That being said, I like to point out that the denotations of “grateful” and “content” differ drastically; my body did not receive its needed sleep for about thirty-six hours, heavily impairing my ability to think, eventually forcing me to buckle and fall onto the ground, as if an unknown person shoved me from behind.
“No more…” I muttered, “No more…” The rest was an unconscious abyss.
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“Don’t worry! I’m fine! Keep going, Reagald! ‘If thou hesitateth on the path, then thou wilt no longer be able to walk that path!’ You told me that yourself! I know you want to do this, so get back there and do it!”
Roy.
Startled, I attempted to get up, only to realize that I was on Sandra’s shoulder; the sudden push upward, caused me to slip off her back, crashing onto the ground for the third time today.
“The little princess wakes up.” Sandra disdainfully noted, not even turning around to look, still walking on. I grumbled slightly to myself, hastily recovering and dashing up to them, slowing down to a walking pace when I caught up. They said nothing, nor did I ask if anything happened; if a peculiar event occurred, they would not bother to inform me without purpose. Besides, just by looking at the position of the moon, now reigning over the land, I could tell that only a mere two hours passed, perhaps the absence of the sun signaling my body that the time to walk was then.
I was wearing my cloak, possibly because Sandra put it on me after I collapsed. I felt slightly more active and refreshed, though not perfectly back up to par. The nightly sky, dotted with scattered stars, loomed over us, neutral in personality, but is that how it really is, a black canvas of mere white here and there? What are the stars?
I should have studied some astronomy.
“What the...?” Rayn muttered. I shifted my sight down to the area in front of me, and then squinted my eyes, confused about what I saw; was that a castle?
“Mirage?”
“Can’t be; there’s no sun or heat to cause the distortion.”
We sped up our walking, getting closer to this majestic structure (standing in the middle of a desert). I marveled at the flawless architecture; although it lacked striking details, the building itself was still elaborate; balconies and towers marked the complexity of the castle, implying that skilled masons were involved for the creation of it. When we approached it, the building proved to be roughly five stories high, the towers even higher, its width matching that of the Libren palace: a feat back in my day to be for – and only for – the brilliant architects of the time.
Simply put, this was an extraordinary castle.
Sandra looked at Rayn and Quar, suspicion gleaming from her eyes.
“We should move on,” she concluded, but Rayn shook his head.
“This place… it’s interesting. No harm in seeing what the place is.” Sandra glared in disdain, but to no avail. Quar sided with Rayn and thus the Flygon ceased to even consider a protest, as if she was asked to disprove Raylin’s False Theorem of Patterns Spiritual Sorcery (I will simply say that you do NOT want to even know what that’s about; just reading the first page of the theorem made
my head hurt).
Rayn walked up to the double doors which towered over him, as they were almost twice his height (and let’s not include me in the comparison). He held his hand (talons?) into a fist and lightly knocked on the door. A Milotic (needless to say: to our surprise) opened it only to reveal her peering head. Before any of us responded, she asked:
“Are you here for the feast?”
“Feast?” Rayn echoed. Sandra, Quar, and I walked up closer to hear the whole conversation clearly.
“The midnight feast. We feed all passing travelers at night. They are also invited to rest for the night.” the Milotic explained. Sandra couldn’t have been more anxious to get away from this place. She placed her hand on Rayn’s shoulder.
“We leave. Now. This is too suspicious.” I, for one, agree with that. Rayn considered for a moment and then looked back at the Milotic.
“We don’t need to pay?”
“We just want your company.” If that didn’t sound ominous, I don’t know what does. Sandra hissed.
“Rayn!”
“She’s offering hospitality. How many are in this place?”
“Many workers of the castle, but there are a few other travelers here.”
“We’ll stay, thank you.” The nape of Sandra’s neck pulsed, the Flygon so obviously desperately keeping herself from lashing out at anyone, anything. The Milotic opened the door widely to let us through. Sandra (and her paranoia) kept her hand behind her back, holding the spear, ready to face any trap waiting for them. Quar had his claws over the handle of his sword as well, while I slightly pulled a common counter-spelltag of the pocket, ready to be taken out of the cloak for quick use, the dagger sheathed in my cloak.
We walked into the main hall, a barren room; had there not been the chandeliers and the oak stairs, carpeted with scarlet velvet, it would have been considered empty. At the center of the room lied an opening in the wall.
“This way.” The Milotic went past us down the hall, us following, some of us more reluctant then others. I inspected the walls as I walked by; no ornaments or portraits hung on them, but the walls seemed to be lively, the yellow bricks reflecting the light such that I could even see my own reflection in it… are they made of
gold? The idea seemed preposterous, but my mind thought of no other explanation for the wall’s reflective characteristics. Looking at my companion’s incredulous expressions, I noted I wasn’t the only person coming to the same conclusion.
“This can’t be…” Quar unconsciously uttered, turning his head from left to right to left and back as he tried to deny to himself what the wall was composed of. I glimpsed the words Sandra’s eyes spoke:
‘There is a catch. There is always a catch.’
One minute of walking down the hallway led us to the dining hall; sparkling light danced around as the walls shone at us as we walked in, appearing to be greeting us. The place bustled with conversations of roughly thirty people, all seated at a circular table, various dishes seated on beautiful porcelain rested on white silk cloth, waiting to be devoured by the diners, waiters moving about, replacing empty plates with almost-overloaded ones.
A few travelers. Right.
But before my sarcasm got the better of me, a particular diner caught my attention very quickly, and for good reason:
Dasan sat at the opposite end of the room from us, enjoying a sautéed Finneon.
Suddenly, I no longer thought of anything but how to handle the assassin, but the Ninetales paid no attention, gobbling the delicacy in his own paws without a care. When he
did pay attention, he donned a cheerful grin, waving at us and motioning us to sit besides him.
As if.
I sat down at the “East” side of the table (Dasan being at the “North”), while my companions took their seats at the “Southeast.” Meals sparkled in front of me, inviting my paws to just reach out and grab it out of irresistible greed, enticing me with its appetizing smell. I barely noticed the empty plate set in front of me by the Milotic.
“Enjoy.”
That one word destroyed every shred of self-control I had left. The scent just drove me in, as I cut up a slice of Tauros steak (if you have never tried it, you should), setting it on my plate, adding a bit of sauce from the glass bottle to my left. I hastily took the knife and fork set by my side and sliced off the corner, and set it into my mouth, closing in on it and tasting the meat. My eyes widened at the sudden change in sensation.
Mm! I hurriedly swallowed the first bite and the open my mouth for more, saliva dripping onto my plate as I cut out the second piece of the steak; just delightful! All of it! The juicy texture, the sumptuous flavor, the rich aroma, all demolished the foundation of my grip on reality; I forgot about everything but the food and nothing but the food. Bite followed bite; although my stomach grew into a satisfied beggar, the craving ceased to be quelled, an uncontrolled fire burning conscious thought, forcing me to be a servant to such pleasures, tirelessly fulfilling the demands of my desires, even dropping the silverware to eat the food with my own greasy paws for convenience.
Yet I was not completely oblivious to that which was around me; between mouthfuls of food, I interjected commentary and responses to nearby discussions, but with abandon, a lack of consideration, as if it was impossible to keep my thoughts to myself and I had to blurt it out; my co-conversers spoke just as freely, their emotions and perspectives openly revealed. Blissful; no one cared of what others thought of him or her, thus behaving in that consequent manner; I could vaguely recall Sandra laughing at an (awfully, perhaps) crude joke, Dasan boasting to us a few of his accomplishments, and a few other… intriguing… moments.
Truly a night of freedom; free of worry, free of censorship, free of all restrictions, free from thought. I was guided by a servant (I can’t recall what Pokémon it was) of the castle to what I think was my sleeping quarters. He or she (as I can’t recall even the details of the servant) opened the door, letting me walk in. Of the ruins of my memory, I still scavenged the blurry moment of the servant leading me to the bed, a four foot Queen-Size. I was helped up there and relaxed my back against the silk mattress cover, sighing in idyllic content, pulling up the covers, vaguely believing that nothing could go wrong.
And I’m sure, dear reader, you already know it did.
I started in pure anxiety, sweat drops heavily cascading through my fur, swiftly sitting up and pulling my arms out of the covers, staring at my right arm; a bright glowing white seal burned at my wrist, that perfect circle with an all-too-familiar symbol in the middle. I knew what it was, and why I set it on my paw, but, until now, I never even considered it to be of use.
The turn of the doorknob interrupted my thought process. I jumped off of the bed and watched the door hinges creak as I heard the faint plop of one of my numerous sweat drops collided with the wooden floor. The door fully swung open…
Sandra standing at there, looking at me. I grinned nervously.
“Sandra. You look like you had trouble sleeping. Anything wrong?” She did not reply and slowly took a few steps towards me.
“Well?” I asked. A second of no response passed before she lunged at me, a move I saw coming. I ducked down and grabbed her neck with my right paw. Immediately, I heard sizzling, both at her neck and the rune on my wrist, now shining at candlelight intensity. Sandra cried in pain and used her tail to knock me loose, freeing herself from my grasp and backing away, growling. I stared her down, and sure enough I caught those subdued eyes.
My Flygon friend was possessed by a spirit or ghost and now trying to kill me. Logical, really; if they couldn’t possess me thanks to the sorcerer’s seal (known by others as the exorcist’s seal, but there’s technically a slight difference in appearance and abilities), they might as well kill me; my seal may prevent spiritual invasions, but it sure doesn’t protect me from physical harm.
Heck, I have a good feeling everyone in this forsaken place was possessed in the first place. So obvious, the whole system was: draw in the travelers, drown them in pleasurable illusions, keep at it until they no longer were capable of thinking (much at the least), and then possess them with absolutely no resistance. Decent system, but it had a hitch.
I took a deep breath in concentration and the seal glowed even brighter. An illuminating white chain appeared in my left paw, a cuff at the end. The possessed Flygon backed up even more in fear, causing me to grin.
If you were a band of spirits, how do you handle a sorcerer capable of using the third type of sorcery:
Gallan Solari, the Hunting Spirit, the sorcery that allows a sorcerer to capture wild spirits? Simply put, you can’t.
Oh, hold a moment; I forgot a small detail: Hunting Spirit sorcery can be deflected with physical weapons; sure enough Sandra pulled out that spear, holding it in battle stance, apparently able to use it as well as when she
wasn’t possessed.
This might be a small difficulty.
She charged at me, jabbing at me with the spear, but I sidestepped at the last moment, twirling the chains in a few circles before hurling them at her neck, the cuff flying open but unfortunately deflected by Sandra’s spear as the Flygon backed off a bit, defending against another toss of the chain, expertly tossed with unquestionable accuracy, over and over again, meeting the spear at every lob; every step Sandra took back, I took one forward, slowly driving her out of the room to avoid getting caught.
Just as I flung the chain and cuff, the door opened, moving Sandra out of the way. My eyes widened in terror.
Rayn. Two against one. Even if he had no weapons, capturing both at once would be too difficult. Odds stacked up like this… with so many people in this place, I could only last so long. Think, Reagald! You got this far and you’re going to let spirits beat you?!
Before anyone in the room made a move, Dasan tackled Rayn from behind, slamming the Blaziken to the ground, and using his weight to keep him down, his paws wrapped around Rayn’s neck, but not to choke him. I heard that distinct sizzling as the seal on Dasan’s left wrist smother the live out of the spirit possessing Rayn. Sandra went for Dasan with her spear to free her companion, but that distraction had cost her gravely; one more toss and the cuff struck her neck, closing at my signal. She writhed but succumbed to the chain as I jerked it harshly back, losing her footing and falling to the ground. Her body glowed and then the spirit rose out of her body, the cuff phasing out of the neck to continue holding the spirit place; it tried to dash away, but always met the force of my tugging.
“Here!”
Something skidded across the floor, causing me to look down as that something reached my foot. Still holding the chain with my left paw, I picked up a wooden box tossed by Dasan with my right, sliding cover already taken off to reveal a stack of empty spelltags.
This guy… full of surprises, isn’t he?
I took out one and yanked onto the chain as hard as I could, pulling the spirit and the cuff back. When it was in absolute reach, I let go of the chain, causing it to disappear and slapped the spirit down onto the floor with the spelltag, quickly muttering a quick incantation to focus and seal it into the tag. A quick flash emitted from the spelltag but then disappeared. I turned over to see a Signs of Haunter tag: useless as of now, as the tag has not been refined for a specific spell. Dasan walked over to me, picking up the wooden box, an unrefined spelltag in his paw as well.
“They’re probably waiting out after realizing we’re more dangerous than they expected.”
As if I couldn’t figure that myself. I looked at the floor; Sandra and Rayn lay unconscious, resting; they’re going to wake up with quite the headache. I stood up.
“Well then,” I started, “you have a plan?” He grinned that typical Ninetales grin, the one where you just have the urge to slap them for their arrogance.
“You’re capable of spirit chains, and I’m not [Oh?]. I’ll handle them up close. You – “
He set the spelltag into his cloak and pulled out a paint brush, but not just any simple paint brush. I stood there agape for a good two seconds before I could even utter a question.
“Is
that – “
“I trust you can use this, no? Sure beats chaining them one by one.” He replied. A seal brush for me to amplify my powers… and it’s being offered to me for use.
Arceus, I never got to use one of these things (largely due to the cheap education I’d received) and my nemesis is handing it to me. Any response I came up would make me sound like a fool, so I simply took the brush in silence, unsure if I was grateful or just confused. He ignored my dumbfounded expression, and headed for the door.
“Get ready.”
“Yes, sir!” I eagerly replied, following suit. Awkward situation I faced, but I’m not complaining; spirit hunting with a competent companion was something that could be passed up only by a fool; usually spirit hunters travel in groups due to the sheer danger of unknown and possibly powerful spirits; a single mistake more often than not resulted in disaster and even – if the spirit in question was powerful enough – a breakage of the sorcerer’s seal and repossession. But Dasan easily seemed more than capable. That left only one question:
After all of this is over, what’s next? The only person with the answer is Dasan… that really gets on my nerves; we’re working together against a common enemy for once and he still remains a step ahead, holding all the moves.
Worry about the future later and the present now. We’ve got spirits to hunt.
