First Night

The sound of a quiet murmur roused him from his sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, to find himself staring into an unfamiliar twilight sky. As he sat up, he noticed that he was in a forest clearing. The sound of metal sliding against itself caused him to look around, finding himself near a pile of bodies and another group of people surrounding them. The bodies were covered with blankets, but he could still hear them breathing. He winced as felt gashes in his skin. In addition to his previous ones, there were new wounds.

The people, however, were dressed in robes or leather armour. A young man wearing leather armour pointed a sword at him, however, the trickle of sweat rolling down his shaking face couldn't hide his real emotions.

"Put that sword down, boy." A gloved hand smacked down on the young man's sword hand.

The sword fell easily from his grip, onto the ground with a clang. With this sound, many people in the group of bodies stirred. Some sat straight up. A long moment passed filled with grunts of pain. This gave him the chance to look around the group. They were all male and seemed to all be in their early twenties. The only two things they all had in common.

The owner of the gloved hand spoke, this time directing his words towards the group. "We were about to wake you up anyway so I suppose it's fine. The women have just left to get dressed. You should be clothed by the time they get back."

"Um-" a nervous looking man tried to say something before he was interrupted.

"Once you're clothed! I don't have a habit of talking to naked men!" Glovehand spoke slightly faster this time, impatience leaking into his voice.

Saying this, Glovehand's group handed each man a tunic, a pair of trousers and a pair of sturdy shoes. Everyone delicately put on their clothes, careful to avoid their wounds. The last man had just pulled up his trousers before a bright young woman bounced out of a bush. Following her were around a dozen more women, some of them shying away from the men's stares, others glaring right back at them. They too had some minor wounds.

Noticing their looks, Glovehand cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. He flashed them a brittle smile before speaking. "Before I say more, we should probably get out of this forest. There are certain… unpleasant beings that inhabit this place."

As soon as he had finished speaking, some bushes rustled nearby. Everyone, including Glovehand, jumped. Glovehand signalled for his companions to get into formation. A short man parted the bushes aside, managing to cross them uncomfortably. Grumbling under his breath, he looked up, flinching when he realised that everyone's eyes were on him.

He turned speechless as he watched Glovehand remove his hand from the hilt of his sword and then act as if nothing had happened.

"I-I was just… I ne-needed to… Nature… called…" The short man stuttered. Apart from the sound of rushing water and chirping crickets, nothing could be heard for a while.

This time Glovehand truly cleared his throat, disguising it as a way to draw everyone's attention back. "Well… yes. You lot will face many more dangers in this world, infinitely more terrifying than Vor over here. Anyway, we have four wagons for you all. Twenty of you came here last night, ten men, ten women."

Glovehand and his group herded the ten men towards two wagons and the ten women towards the other two, before stepping into their own wagons, of which there were four. Everyone hurried into their respective wagon, eager to set off. Unbeknown to them, the silhouette of a dark figure hid on top of a large tree, watching them silently. It took out a dull grey stone from an unseen pocket before crushing it to dust. And then, it vanished.

Eight wagons followed a beaten path, through the forest. The decade-old vines wrapped themselves around the trunks of the centuries-old tree which stood tall by the millennia-old path. Nimble shadows fleeted across the branches overhead, knocking down pieces of loose wood and moss.

It took an hour of quiet weaving before the foremost wagon saw a partitioning in the dense forest. The cool breeze of a young night greeted them when they finally drove out of the forest. Looking back on them, the trees of the forest all lined up, like soldiers ready for war. Verdant plains stretched away from the trees and in the distance, almost obscured by the long feathery blades of grass, was a huge town, surrounded by a great stone wall.

Without stopping to enjoy the glow of the moon, the wagons travelled onwards. Compact tufts of grass softened the wagons' journeys, allowing its passengers two hours of rest before reaching the town.

They stopped in front of the thousands of dull grey stone bricks, no entrance to the town visible. Glovehand jumped off the first wagon, waving his hands at one of the soldiers on patrol. Saluting Glovehand, the soldier disappeared from their view. A quiet minute passed before a dull rumbling filled the air. A long slit that ran down the stone wall appeared, widening as two large portions of the stone wall swung forward. The slit of the entrance couldn't be seen before the dull rumbling, drawing gasps from the travellers.

Glovehand smirked slightly as he spoke. "Edren work. This town of ours is one of the oldest in the world, serving as a starting point for your people. No one knows exactly how old this town is but the wall that stands in front us is a clear example of Edren architecture, suggesting that it's at least ten thousand years old."

His words passed through their travel-fatigued minds, as they groggily stared up the wall, wondering if there were any warm, comfortable beds in the town. Glovehand glanced at them, annoyed at their lack of enthusiasm for the ancient architecture.

With a flick of his whip, his wagon rolled forward, followed by the other wagons. Locals stared at the company as they made their way through town. The older ones glanced at them before resuming their work, however, a gleam of interest still flashed past their eyes. The younger ones gaped unrestrainedly, their faces suffused with curiosity.

The travellers were too fatigued to notice. The wagons quietly paraded through the town, finally stopping in front of a large rustic building. Treading softly on the wooden flooring, each wagon was assigned a room. At this point, no one cared for their mysterious wounds and simply dropped onto their beds.

The travellers slept soundly, however, the town still gossiped away, remembering the tales of their predecessors that had arrived all those years ago. Old men in pubs made bets on what they thought the latest batch would or would not achieve. Children fantasised about travelling with them, being a part of their legends. What was unspoken about, however, were the deaths that would take place.

The light the town gave off lit up its surrounding fields. Outside the faint radius of light, a young man and woman made their way towards the town. The young man held a faint smile on lips, gazing, with onyx eyes, past the long blades of grass, as if looking at someone familiar.

The floor's finery of leaves rustled as the passing breeze caressed them gently. A stray leaf landed on the hair of the young woman. With a slight smile, she delicately picked the leaf off her hair and dropped it in the breeze, watching it flutter away.

By this point in their journey, she too could sense him. There was no doubt that he could also sense the pair.

The duo entered the town silently, somehow slipping past the alert guards without them knowing. Torchlight cast their long, flickering shadows onto the ground as they swept through the town. Soon, they stood before a large rustic building. The man lazily opened his eyes, staring at the front of the inn. His dark hair fluttered in the silent wind as he scanned the building.

A minute passed before he turned away without a word. His companion looked between his back and the inn, with a furrowed brow before sighing lightly and following him. Their long, intricate, black robes quickly melded with the darkness.

As the flames flickered their dance, the moon turned overhead and the night revolved around it. The townsfolk retired to their homes, letting the town descend into silence once more. Dew drops condensed on the tips of plant roots, and the last of the fires died down. Rays of sunlight slipped through the gaps in the clouds. One ray found its way through the window of an inn, hitting the sleeping face of a young man.

He stirred in his sleep before a grimace formed on his face. Pain permeated his body, arriving in sharp waves. He lifted himself off his bed, ignored the other four sleeping people and stumbled out of the room.

Wooden boards creaked underfoot as walked through the small corridor, towards the staircase. The warm touch of humanity could be felt, as he made his way down, descending into a large, well-lit room. Rows of benches stretched across the room. To his side, a long slab of polished wood acted as a bar.

The bartender, a man with hair long enough to cover his eyes, tilted his head slightly towards him before resuming his polishing. Glovehand sat quietly on a bench, sipping some dark red liquid from a mug. Glovehand turned his head towards him, grinning when he realised who had come.

"Ah, you're an early one! Generally, those who come from the other worlds require half a day to wake up," Glovehand said in a low, rough voice. Seeing that he was about to speak, Glovehand cut him off. "Sorry, protocol says we have to heal everyone's wounds first and then tell them everything. Sit here while I draw up a medicinal bath for you."

Minutes later, he sat in a steamy tub of clear liquid, sighing silently as a warm, pleasant sensation crawled across his body, swallowing him. His body relaxed under its influence, however, his eyes suddenly snapped open. He raised his arm out of the water, watching as his skin crawled towards each other. Standing up, he looked himself over, watching as his skin knitted itself together, even those wounds from before.

"Hmm, you have a lot more injuries than what a person would normally have," a voice said, beside him.

His head snapped towards the source, his body tensing, ready to kill and his eyes sharpened to a point.

Glovehand, his eyes initially peering closely at the healing wounds, took a step back and placed a hand to his waist. Realising his sword was no longer at his hip, he remembered where he was and relaxed. A strange expression coloured his face.

"I apologise. I was curious as to why you'd have so many more injuries than normal. I think I now know the reason." Glovehand spoke softly but with haste, leaving the room as fast as possible.

No longer in the mood to wallow in the pleasant feeling of the medicinal bath, he got out and used a piece of rough cloth hanging nearby to dry himself off. Picking up the clothes, he strode out of the small room.