602 Laws of Command

Simon Chorus looked at the clear blue sky, devoid of clouds as a gentle breeze blew over the area. Sometimes, he wondered what kept him going, what gave him motivation to try and keep chasing after what apparently was only a dream. Why am I here? He raised his hand to block out the daylight that flooded his eyes so that he could better see the sky; maybe it held some answers for him. After all, it wasn't as if the mysterious tome that he had been longing after for all this time had provided him any closure or solace. He thought back to his years of training from when he was very small, to craft and create, to mix and meld, to find the perfect tincture to solve all...

Yes! That was why. Simon clenched his hand into a fist with vigor; he remembered why he had so desperately wanted to chase the 602 Laws... It had been said that among the many laws of mystery within that tome, laid the laws to creation and destruction themselves... Certainly from them, he could glean a way to concoct a tincture that would foreverlong extend life, and allow those who drank of it to become immortal! Try as he might, though, the tome always seemed to elude him, with every attempt that he had made thus far to find it come up fruitless. It was as if the tome didn't even exist... but that wouldn't stop him from continuing until he found it, no matter the cost. Even if the price he had to pay were greater than life itself, if he could create the ultimate concoction, it would be a price well-paid.

 

Richter defined himself as a man who was able to crawl straight out from the depths of hell and say that he survived. This could even be taken quite literally, if one were to consider the trials at which he once faced when dealing with his struggles against the dark magic he was offered to tote decades ago. Even still, he struggled with an inner battle against depravity, but one that he, a wanderer whose moral lines had been blurred by the suffering he had gone through in his time, felt he was on the better side of to surmount these days, more-so than not.

This set him, the aging warlock, Spalding, on his quest to search for the 602. Long have many a soul lusted for the awesome magic which the book contained, but never could a soul ever find it. He knew the stakes, and entering the twilight years of his life, and considering what he had already gone through to get here, he wasn't quite sure that they mattered to him anymore. He was numb to the stakes, but all too sentimental towards what the Laws could bring should he have control over them. With the full intent of once more balancing darkness and light, Richter set forth on his quest so that he may keep himself along long enough thereafter to assert justice. To deny and imprison the evils that he had once longed for, to right wrongs he and others like him had once committed... that would be his calling.

He gave his modest beard a scratch and cocked his head towards the oddly refreshing scene laid before him. He'd lost count of how long it had been since he had last laid his eyes upon such a pure landscape - and reminded himself in that moment that he did not seek immortality, but only enough time with the 602 as he needed in order to restore his world to the glory that it once knew when he was a child. An oddball team of sorts that he was brought together with, but in his years he's had stranger. With a gentle tip of his hat and oddly assured smile towards his compatriots, he thinks to himself, expressly - "At last."

 

Darien walked into the small village thinking nothing of it at first. Sure the skies were donned a crystal blue, and well, that grass...it sure was green, but it was the clean, crisp air that truly set Darien free. It has felt like an eternity since he's been to a settlement that didn't smell of rotting garbage, and the village that was found today seemed to be a nice change of pace for things here. He was so used to that drafty city life for so long, that it almost became a blur to think about what a clear sky looks like.

The Caneid stepped into a grassy field, feeling the last of the cool morning dew upon his fingertips. He slowed to a stop in the middle of the field, hearing the faint noises of the village behind him being drowned out by the whispers of the wind, which felt nice and refreshing on his tufted fur. He clasped his hands behind his back, his sky-blue eyes looking aimlessly out into the scene before him. During this time of solace, he spent pondering and thinking about the many things that happened, the trek that he has taken...and the people he's stepped on, as well as the things that are to come, such as what is to come...and what will become of the book when it is his?

Darien gave the view a large smile before turning around and walking back into the village, arms still clasped behind his back, and his tail swishing back and forth upon the grass.

 

One thing that Richter was never treated to in his life was something that came so easy. The sheer comfort that the villagers had provided to him came as heartwarming, at first - he hadn't felt so safe and secure for as long as he could remember, not even when he was but a child traversing peace that most only remember in idyllic stories. All said, he was a warlock, hardened by the coldness and the severity of life, in his battle against darkness that he questioned whether or not such light would always feel so strange.

But, "No, something isn't right," he thought to himself, stopping in his tracks. He turned and inquired of one of the villagers guiding him immediately. "What is this? What is this really?"

He felt the darkness creeping through his veins yet again but stifled it. Now wasn't the time for an invocation. At least not yet.

 

Darien scoffed, "You see, that's the thing with you Utopians...you think everything's perfect." He walked past the villager, stepping out of the grass and walking towards the village, talking all the while. "However, such as thing simply cannot exist...take your words for example..." He paused in front of the village, hands crossed behind him. "If you are so 'perfect', then why is it that you insist that I, a most imperfect being, be asked, no, insisted, that I stay here and ruin your perfection? While your village is indeed quite perfect, and better than most anywhere I've been before, it is not perfect, and I don't intend to stay here long, as I have other things in my life to pursue."

He left the villager alone, instead walking around to look at the scenery once more, this time, of the man-made structures of the village, it's a shame really, that such beauty is so logically flawed.