Feydan
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Chapter 57 - Celebrations
🕑 Added 2025-02-17 10:55:13 +0000 UTCRowan blinked, his vision still spinning. He turned his head, and through the haze of exhaustion, he saw Quinea and the other adventurers standing a short distance away.
Laith cleaved a hobgoblin clear in half with an axe swing. Nemir parried a spear thrust—his greatsword shining a fiery red as he severed his opponent's arm and finished him off with a strike through the chest.
The rest of the Grove wasn’t far behind. Annie and Omi worked in tandem, shadowing Quinea and taking down any goblins that got close while arrows flew from the wall, each one finding its mark.
Their eyes locked, and a sense of relief washed over him.
Annie looked at him with an expression filled with concern and frustration, and Rowan knew he would be getting a talking to later. But right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He felt utterly spent. His reserves depleted, his body bruised and covered in wounds. Yet a sense of triumph overtook him, pushing away the exhaustion.
They’d done it. They’d won. And this time for real.
Quinea and the rest of the adventurers rushed toward him. They collided with the goblins, a wave of steel and death, cutting through the horde with brutal efficiency.
One moment, Rowan was staring into the jaws of the abyss, and the next, he was surrounded by a rowdy group of pissed off warriors.
Annie rushed to his side, kneeling down and placing a hand on the back of his head. Rowan winced as she pulled him upwards, his side aching something fierce.
“You absolute moron,” she said, her voice shaky. “What were you thinking!”
A strained chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled a healing potion out of the Vault. “I was thinking ‘Gee, how cool would it look if I jumped into a horde of raging goblins’.”
She glared at him. “If I wasn’t worried smacking you upside the head would kill you, I’d do it.”
Rowan gulped down the healing liquid. It was the third potion he’d drunk today, so its effect would be greatly reduced, but some healing was better than none. He closed his eyes, letting the potion do its work.
“How’s it looking?” he asked, feeling sleep creeping up on him.
Annie sighed. “We routed them,” she answered, and Rowan could feel the relief in her voice. “It’s done. We won.”
“Good,” he whispered. “...that's good.”
The confirmation that the battle was truly over was all the permission he needed. His body suddenly felt a thousand times heavier, and when Rowan felt his consciousness slowly slipping away, he didn’t fight it. He let exhaustion claim him as he slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
.
.
.
The sounds of festivities woke him.
Rowan blinked the tiredness from his eyes, letting out a loud yawn, stretching his sore muscles. The pain in his side had receded to a dull ache, and he had a feeling a certain healer had come to see him.
Rowan was inside a tent, laying on a makeshift bed. He swung his feet around and stood up, looking around.
The tent was completely bare, and besides the cot where he slept, there was nothing to keep his attention.
After a moment, the realization that they’d won settled in, and he allowed himself a minute to take it in.
“That was closer than I thought it’d be,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
His plan had been dangerous. Rowan could admit to himself that there were other ways to accomplish what he wanted. But in the moment, seeing the adventurers fighting against the horde with such vehement steadfastness, the thought of his inaction causing the death of even one of them had filled him with a fierce determination.
He was Rowan Athalin, the Duke of Eiseylth. His family had guarded the realm for countless generations. They were the sword and the shield, a bulwark against the encroaching darkness. He’d grown up around people who threw themselves into danger daily, and now that he finally had power of his own, it seemed that his upbringing had caught up to him.
But there was something else that caught his attention.
Pulling up the System notification, Rowan looked it over, his eyes growing wider with each word he read.
Congratulations! Your actions have resonated with your Path, you have gained [+5] to all stats!
He immediately pulled up his stats, and seeing it confirmed made the last of his stress drain away. Rowan leaned back against his cot, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
Name: Rowan Undomniel Athlain
Title: [Duke of Eiseylth]
Trait: [Immortal Soul]
Core: Orange [28%] [10 Levels]
Affinity: Fire, Wind
Body: Bronze II [2 Level]
Skills: [Iron Will] (Adept)
Level: 12
Strength: 19
Dexterity: 35
Vitality: 30
Intelligence: 50
Willpower: 27
Focus: 30
He’d never heard about something like this happening, but the world was a vast, mysterious place, and the System was its crowning jewel. Scholars much smarter than him spent lifetimes trying to uncover its secrets, but that well was far from being dry.
That’s another six levels worth, he thought, a smile tugging at his lips. I honestly might be able to contend with Silver-ranks when it comes to stats.
That made him feel a lot of things, with pride being at the forefront.
He would have to sit down and go over the implications of that notification later. Rowan wasn’t sure what ‘Resonating with his Path’ meant, and on top of that, he wasn’t even sure what his Path exactly was. This could have been a reward for winning against the apprentice, or giving out the gear, or jumping head first into the fray.
But if there was an avenue of strength he hadn’t discovered yet, Rowan would make sure to remedy that.
Standing up, he made his way outside the tent, and the sight that greeted him was like a soothing balm applied to his thoughts.
The goblin warcamp had been torn down, leaving only the Warchiefs' massive tent and a few others strewn around it. There were a dozen campfires burning, with adventurers sitting around them with mugs in their hands, chatting and singing.
His appearance didn’t go unnoticed for long.
A burly adventurer, his cheeks rosy from what Rowan assumed was a copious amount of ale stood up. “He’s awake!” he shouted, drawing the attention of the other adventurers. “The savior of Litwick!”
A loud cheer went out, and before Rowan realized what was happening, he was mobbed by a mass of drunk and grateful adventures. They clapped him on the back as he made his way through the crowd. Thanking him, commenting on what an insane sight it was seeing him soaring through the air with tendrils of flame billowing behind him.
Rowan tried to take it in stride—tried not to get overwhelmed by the sudden influx of adoration. It was a strange feeling, one he found he didn’t mind all that much.
A mug was thrust into his hands, and he raised it high. “I may be a bit late to the party, but boy am I glad to be here!”
Another cheer went out, and Rowan laughed. It was a laugh of relief, of joy, and of triumph. They’d fought two battles, neither of which were in their favor, and they still came out victorious.
The adventurers of Litwick—a small city on the edge of the kingdom—had defeated a goblin tribe. It was a feat worthy of song, and Rowan felt proud to have contributed to the tale.
“What about our gear?” a young woman asked, still wearing the armor he’d given her, cradling her sword.
The man sitting beside her nudged her with his shoulder, frowning. “Oi, be quiet, will you?”
Rowan looked around, seeing the curious looks on the adventurers faces. It was obvious they wanted to keep their new gear. The question, while blunt, was something they’d most likely been wondering about since the end of the battle.
He could see Quinea making her way towards him, Laith, Velora, and the Grove by her side.
Coming to a decision, Rowan climbed up onto a cart, raising his hand to get their attention.
A quiet descended on the gathering.
“I saw you fight!” he shouted, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “You were wounded, exhausted, and spent! Yet you still fought!”
He looked at the assembled adventures, these men and women who’d risked their lives to protect a city from destruction. “When the second wave came, when despair and hopelessness threatened to overwhelm us, did you flee? Did you run for the hills? Did you abandon your duty?” his voice rang out.
“NO!” the adventurers answered, drumming their weapons against the ground.
“No, you did not,” Rowan nodded, a smile on his face. “You stood your ground, you fought, you bled and you died!” he shouted. “You pushed back against the tide, pushed back against the darkness!” he shook his head. “Morrigan tried to claim us all, and we denied her. By strength of arm and might of will, we spat in her face!”
He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. Rowan had no plans on taking back what he’d given out. The Vault had enough gear to outfit all of them a thousand times over, and that was only in the chambers he’d unlocked so far.
No. The gear was theirs. Every single one of them had earned it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do some more good with it.
He glanced at Quinea, giving her a slight nod. “You ask me if it’s yours?” he continued, spreading his arms. “How could it not be? How could I take those weapons from your hands, knowing that without you holding them, I wouldn’t be standing here? That none of us would.”
An excited thrum went through the crowd, yet before it could erupt in a cheer Rowan raised a hand. “I do have one condition!”
He straightened up, trying to look as commanding as he could. An image of his father standing tall before a legion of warriors came to his mind, yet instead of pushing it away like he normally would, he held it firmly, trying to emulate the greatest man he’d ever known.
“I gave those weapons to you in order to protect a city. To safeguard its people. The men, women, and children you swore to shelter from harm.”
Rowan sighed, his voice growing grave. “The Northern Walls are in disarray, and monsters pass through their gates at a greater number than ever before. The Great Houses jockey for position, neglecting their duties, leaving us to pick up the slack,” he tried to keep the emotion out of his tone, but he doubted he succeeded.
“This?” he gestured at the dismantled warcamp. “This is just the start. A time of strife and discord is upon us, and I ask you—all of you—to use those gifts to perform your duties.”
Rowan lowered his hand. “Two years. After two years, the weapons, the armor, the rings, all of them will be yours. No strings, no obligations. But until then, all I ask is that you stay in Litwick. Protect it from the threats that lie ahead.”
That seemed to ignite their excitement again, and Rowan understood why. Those items might not have been something special to him, but to people who hadn’t advanced to Silver-rank yet, a single Epic item was a lifesaver.
Gaining a whole set for what was essentially their job didn’t seem like a bad deal.
He could see the surprise and relief that flashed across Quinea’s face at the proclamation. What he’d done was essentially buy two years of safety for the city. Litwick had lost a large number of their fighting power in these two battles, and this went a long way in remedying that.
Not wanting to end on such a somber note, Rowan forced a wide smile on his face. “But right now, those times aren’t here yet! And I for one plan on drowning myself in drink” He raised his mug. “To you! To the saviors of Litwick! And to showing those green little shits what they get for trying to take what’s ours!”
The loudest cheer yet answered him and Rowan jumped off the wagon, feeling better than he had in a long time.
As he made his way towards his friends, he couldn’t help but think what his family would say if they could see him now. He could almost see his mothers proud smile, hear his fathers kind voice, feel his brothers and sisters clasping his shoulders.
A tear came to his eye, but he quickly blinked it away. Now wasn’t the time for sorrow.
Silvia ran up to him, gripping his arms firmly. “I didn’t know you could fly!” she said excitedly. “That was incredible! Terrifying, but incredible!”
Rowan laughed. “I don’t know if you could consider that flying. More like falling with a goal.”
The rest of the Grove quickly surrounded him, peppering him with questions and more than a few comments doubting his sanity.
They made their way towards a nearby campfire, ribbing each other and talking about what they did in the battle. It was mostly Silvia and Omi trying to one up each other, with Annie occasionally chiming in when the tales grew a bit too far fetched.
Rowan could see Quinea walking up to them and he excused himself for a moment, joining the Guildmistress.
They stood next to each other, observing the celebrations. “There are a lot of things I could say to you. Questions I could ask,” she said softly, her voice low, contemplative. “But I’ve never been one for mincing words, so I’ll settle for something simple.”
The Guildmistress of Litwick looked at him, a genuine smile on her face as she bowed her head. “Thank you. What you did during the battle saved countless lives, and what you did after will save countless more. If you ever need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”
She straightened up, glancing at the campfire. “Now I think it’s best you head back to your friends. Annie’s been scowling at me from the moment I stole you away.”
Rowan chuckled. “I think she’s just eager to hound me some more. I doubt she’s going to let me forget that little stunt any time soon.”
“Damn straight,” Quinea snorted. “You should have seen the look on her face when she saw you flying through the air.”
With that, she walked away.
Rowan made his way back to the campfire, sitting down among his friends, another mug thrust into his hands.
The next hour passed in a blur of contentment and camaraderie. They joked, they drank, and they relaxed. But like all good things, it soon came to an end.
Annie set down her mug, glancing at him. “So, the battle is over.”
Rowan felt his heartbeat quicken, knowing where she was going with this. He didn’t want to think about this yet. He’d promised them answers, and he planned on delivering, but what would follow left him with a strange emptiness.
What he did would raise questions. The story would spread further than just Litwick, and he didn’t want to be here when noisy mages came to ask them.
He had to leave, and telling his friends filled him with a deep sadness.
Rowan sighed, trying to calm his racing heart. “You’re right, the battle is over,” he said softly, looking at each of them in turn.
“You promised us answers,” Annie replied, her voice almost hesitant. The rest of the Grove quieted down, a strange tension infusing the previously festive atmosphere.
Rowan stood up, dusting off his clothes. “I did.”
Once he told them, it would change things. He knew that. But he owed his friends the truth. And more than that, he wanted them to know him. To truly know him. Who he was, where he came from, why he was here.
Taking a deep breath, he gestured for them to follow. “Let’s go somewhere private.”
He started walking away, and a moment later, they followed.
____
AN: Sorry for not posting yesterday, there are 3 more chapters before book one ends and I'm trying to get them all polished up. The next one should go up on Wednesday/Thursday.
Comments
Marko
Owes might have been a strong word to use on my part, but he did promise Annie he'd tell them the truth when the second goblin wave showed up.
Al
I'm stuck on the part where he owes them answers. When did this happen?
Stephen Pearson
Thanks for the chapter! :-)
Nick Lembcke
Amazing chapter. But damn whay a cliffhanger
Josh Smith
Thanks for the chapter
