Chapter 3: The Beginnings: Christol
Christol awoke to the sounds of the town's bell clanging. He knew that the bell meant that it was time to get up and to work. Christol grumbled as he rolled over in his comfortable, warm bed. If it weren't for the bell's toll, he would've fallen right back asleep, but alas. This was not a day to sleep in. An assembly was waiting for him in town hall, after all.
Christol groaned as he sat up on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes wearily. He looked around his small room. He lived with his brother now, and his brother served as the town's leadership here in Halden. Most mornings Christol's brother was already gone off to work, and today was no different.
As Christol stood, he looked at himself in the mirror, repulsed by what he saw. His light brown hair was disheveled and all over the place, his forest green eyes puffy with sleep, and his left ear's point had folded in on itself. Christol fixed his ear and went to the washroom to pull himself together. He wet his hair, pushing it back into its rightful place, and he washed his face. He took the bark brush he made and brushed his teeth with it. After he finished, he smiled in the mirror to make sure his teeth were looking just fine. Content, he set the brush back down and changed into his daily clothes. It was a simple outfit, really. An undertunic, with a red coat tossed overtop, with the sigil of his workplace on the back: a crest of a sharp-taloned bird he'd never seen clutching a small rat. He sighed as he put on his pants and shoes.
He took one last look at himself in the mirror. It was almost time, and he was running behind.
Christol sprinted out the door and down the cobblestone road, the meandering people giving him strange looks as Christol ran between the small buildings of Halden towards the leadership building, which was in the center of town. Ironic, for the 'government' of Halden to be placed so squarely in the town, when in reality it was Haldore who ruled even this small town. Haldore's Black Army was everywhere today, pushing back crowds of people who came to see the events of today, no different than Christol.
Arriving at the small square building, Christol could see that past the crowd stood a stage, and upon that stage sat a squat table, three seats, and a podium. In the seats, Christol recognized his brother, Flim, who was wearing his best red suit and fidgeting nervously. Next to him was some warrior Christol had never seen. Dark skin, whitened hair, and adorned with battle scars. Three swords rested in the warrior's lap, one of the hilts already in the warrior's hand.
"Good morning, good people of Halden!" A voice boomed as a cloud of smoke appeared at the podium, and as it cleared, Christol recognized the face of their nation: Haldore. Despite Christol being almost a full block away, he could hear Haldore's voice as though they were together sitting across a table enjoying a cup of tea.
"Today marks a momentous day! The leadership of your town has allowed the Black Army to begin recruiting members of your town! So that you, the people, may continue to spread peace throughout Alteran!" The crowd began to yell and scream at Haldore, who remained unfazed. Flim, however, seemed scared out of his wits. He sat there, shaking.
"What joyous sounds you all are making! Is this not what you wanted? To maintain the peace I have brought you?" The crowd's anger seemed to only grow at Haldore's words.
"Well, if you were to blame anyone for this, do not blame me, as all I did was act upon the work of your esteemed leadership." Haldore waved a hand toward Flim, who had shrunk into his seat further than he already was.
"Your leadership is corrupt, no? Then allow me to replace it for you. From this day forward, an emissary of Haldore shall be your Overseer, and as such will replace this man." At that moment, Christol knew what was about to happen.
"Flim! Duck!" Christol knew his voice would never be heard by Flim, as the crowds were so much louder than he, but Christol could swear he saw his brother's eyes dart to him as he spoke.
The warrior slashed the sword he was holding to the side, at where Flim's neck was a moment ago. Flim had ducked to the floor, and as he scrambled to his feet, the Black Army soldiers had let go of their grasp of the crowds, and watched them run towards a wide-eyed Flim. Haldore stood where he was and laughed as the crowd ran past him and towards Flim, whom Christol could no longer see.
"Flim! Flim! No! That's my brother! Leave him be!" As Christol screamed those words filled with genuine pain, the crowd suddenly froze, along with the guards and the birds in the sky. And as it happened, everything became quiet. A ringing noise filled Christol's ears as he tried to fight the empty silence. I wonder if Flim got away? Christol looked up at Haldore, who was frozen on the stage. As Christol looked at Haldore better, his eyes turned towards Christol, and Haldore vanished. Christol could hear Haldore's voice from the empty space, a sound to replace the empty ringing.
"Lonely, isn't it? This world of frozen time. This world of complete stillness. Reminds me a bit of myself at times. Don't mind me, dear boy, just reminiscing. But tell me, Ironic, isn't it, that the one who leads is a coward, but the one who is lead has so much courage? And to think you cast a spell, let alone one as powerful as this. A mere fluke, naturally." As Christol blinked, he was now face to face with Haldore, who had been on the stage a moment prior. How had he gone that fast? Is it true what people say about him?
"Ahh, dear boy, you only know what you have been told. Now, if you join me in my quest for peace, I'll give you everything you'll ever want or need, as well as protection for your dear brother. Flim, was," Haldore shook his head, "Is his name? Don't worry, I'll take excellent care of you both." Christol looked around, at the frozen crowd, the frozen trees, at the smug man in front of him. Only now could Christol get a good look at him.
Much like the warrior, Haldore had gray skin, white hair, but unlike the warrior, Haldore showed no signs of battle upon his skin. In fact, it looked as though he had just reached adulthood. Haldore stood there in his armor of black, with red trim, much like that of his army. A maroon, almost blood red cloak enveloped him, and billowed slowly around him as he stood there. I see why many people like him. He appears to be so approachable and friendly. But I know better. I've been lied to before.
A sad look crossed Haldore's face.
"My dear boy, how could you think something like that? My help is genuine, pure. I have nothing but your best interest in mind. Think of what you could do! Think of the things you could accomplish! Why, with just a little practice, I'm sure you could trap even me in this spell! But I understand. You want a quiet, peaceful life with your brother. Then, so be it." Haldore lifted a finger, and a frozen Flim rose out above the crowd, curled up in the fetal position, with his hands covering his head. Haldore moved his finger again, and the frozen Flim moved toward the pair, before Haldore gently set Flim down upon the ground.
"Good luck escaping, you two. And I hope to see you soon, Christol. You have much potential. I'd love to see what you can accomplish." And as Christol blinked again, sound once again impeded Christol's ears as the crowd lurched forward, and the birds began flying again. Christol looked around but Haldore was gone. A terrified Flim sat at Christol's feet.
He bent over and picked his brother up, much like how a farmer picks up a sack of potatoes.
"Let's go. Clearly we aren't welcome here anymore, Flim." Flim nervously took to his feet and nodded at Christol. He could see the panic behind Flim's eyes, the longing plea of life, now satiated for the moment, as his brother was there.
Christol turned and grabbed his brother's arm and began to run, Flim trembling as he ran behind him, stumbling here and there. The crowd, having seen Christol run away, now began to disperse and a portion began to follow them. Christol could hear the noise they were making and in a split-second decision, decided that running between the buildings was their best bet at survival.
Ducking between buildings, and dodging barrels and crates and baskets as best as he could, Christol continued to drag Flim behind him through the small town's alleyways making for the East Gate out of the city. Every now and then he could hear a crash as either Flim slammed into a barrel or crate, or the mob simply pushed them over.
Turning behind him every now and then, Christol could see the crowd behind them inching closer with every glance, and fear began to creep inside Christol. I must make it, for me, for Flim. To live to see another day, to fight back. Flim, still being dragged, began to weep as he ran, mumbling about 'losing everything' and how he's 'done for.' Christol ignored his brother's depressing comments and continued to push, fighting to get the both of them out of the city.
Soon, Christol broke out of the alleyways and now had a straight shot towards the gate. The only downside here was that both him and his brother were now out in the open. Christol knew this, but still, he was determined to live. However, Christol didn't know they were being shot at until he heard a grunt behind him and glanced back to see a person in the angry mob behind them falling, an arrow sticking out of their thigh.
When Christol turned back forward, he saw a man in a dark cloak on the other side of the gate beckoning the pair to him, as if saying 'this way.' Standing at the edge of the road, the man had one foot on the road and the other in the forest. Despite having never seen the man before, Christol was willing to accept all the help he could get, especially now, when people wanted to kill him and his brother.
Christol watched as the guards began making a barricade at the gate with their bodies, and pulled Flim in front of him, who stumbled twice to get up there, and Christol pushed him towards the guards. Christol watched as his brother collided with the two guards directly in front of him, and watched as their shields fell out of their hands as they crashed, their black and red armor glimmering in the sunlight all the way down to the ground, with a sprawled Flim on top of them.
Christol leaped over the guards and Flim, with a grace like that of a race horse, and ran over to the man in the cloak, and stood next to him. Christol turned around and saw his brother still atop the guards, rubbing his head.
"Flim! Get up! This way!" Christol shouted at his brother, who took to his feet the moment Christol shouted, still rubbing his head.
By now, the crowd had stopped and simply watched Flim run off into Christol's arms, and began bawling into his shoulder. Christol lay a hand on Flim's back as he wept.
"Don't you ever return!" The crowd yelled.
"If we see you here again, we'll kill you for sure!"
"I hope you and your rotten brother die!"
"May Haldore himself kill you! No, even that would be a blessing. I hope you die by animals!"
A gentle yet strong hand lay on Christol's shoulder.
"Don't listen to them. They're making a mockery of themselves. For now, let's take refuge at my home. There's a lot you need to know. And I could use your help." Christol watched as the cloaked man turned and walked into the forest. As Christol turned to follow him, he took one last glance at the crowd, his eyes drawn to an older elven man in a maroon cloak. As Christol blinked, that very same man was gone.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
noah_kabel
noah_kabel First chapter. A good start to any journey is the beginning.
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