A Legacy of Blades - An Epic Tower Fantasy

The camps were each alight with fervent energy. None but the elders had seen so many descendant clans together in living memory. To all of those gathered, this was history in the making. The horrors each clan undoubtedly faced on their journey were stowed away behind the anticipation of what the coming days would bring.

While the clans had buried the more aggressively isolationist tendencies of their ancestral roots, they still tended to stick to their respective territories. Few had actually seen their compatriots' villages, but for the most adventurous spirits. No part of the Moors was to be underestimated. Even in the relatively safe era predating this upsurge of violence, it was common for those adventurous spirits to fall victim to the harsh realities of the marshlands.

Each community traditionally celebrated its prized wanderers with a large send-off before each journey. The bravery of every warrior was valued highly, despite the more barbaric ways of their ancestors falling by the wayside in lieu of a more civilized existence. The Moorish people now valued maps and trade routes more than trophies and trinkets of conquest. Still, blood was hard to change, and there would always be those among the Moorish people who ventured forth in search of greater honor.

The enterprising adventurers of the Moors were ornamented by their villages to laud and celebrate their triumphs. Each ornamentation told a story to spread the prestige of the warrior and, therefore, the village. It was, at its core, the remnant ghost of more competitive ancient times. Even in times when the people must come together for mutual benefit, strong and diverse cultural identities served the betterment of all. Only by leveraging each tribe's differences could the Moorish overcome their limits.

This was never more true than with the imminent festival celebrating the Trials of Empowerment. Heroes and warriors wore gaudier, more garish adornments than ever before, heralding the prestige of their villages. Pride was not a feature exclusive to more advanced civilizations, and each people's pride was on full display for their neighbors.

That wasn't to say everyone displayed their prestige so openly, nor that everyone who did so held the clout to back up their claims.

"Well, it's not exactly what I expected, I can say that for certain," Anilith said while shaking her head.

They sat around a fire Temperance had constructed in the sheltered fashion the Moorish people favored. He found a relatively spacious spot and already had dinner prepared by the time the siblings returned from their sojourn. Overcrowding would quickly become an issue as more villages arrived at the Holy Grounds, and boundaries would need to be shuffled to accommodate the influx of people. There would always be more space at the edge of each camp due to the circular nature of the site's design, and more central plots would only be able to be claimed with the currency of prestige.

The place Temperance claimed as their own was about halfway to the center, allowing the group to have a little more space while indicating they possessed a passing level of power. In truth, they likely could have claimed a more central location, but the petty squabbles of those who wished to display every iota of their worth made the idea less-than-desirable. Sure, they could push their weight around, but why bother when they could stay in a perfectly reasonable place like this?

"I cannot say I see anything that would pass for a tower in my eyes," Temperance replied, "I must say I was beginning to wonder if this was merely a staging ground for the people."

"Oh, the Tower is here, alright, it's just not what any of us would have imagined. It's no wonder the past trials have been such small affairs. Infrequent as they are, there's just no way the Elders could ever keep the secret if anyone but themselves and past Chosen knew the truth."

A pregnant pause, wherein only the crackling of the fire could be heard, stretched to the boundaries of discomfort before Temperance blurted out, "Which is?"

"There is no Tower. Nothing but a big hole."

"Well," Willett interjected, "to be fair, you aren't mentioning the parade grounds surrounding the hole. It's more of a pit, really, if we're being technical. Bigger than I could have imagined with a bottom so far into blackness, I'm not sure you'd hear a stone hit the bottom."

"True, I guess, but they weren't nearly as impressive as that yawning chasm."

"Sister, compared to the rest of the ruins around us, they were downright immaculate."

"That's why I keep you around, kid. You always notice the things I just can't be bothered to care about."

"So," Temperance laughed, interrupting the pair, "What you are saying is that the Tower is actually a pit, and these parade grounds would seem to be the location of the Trials of Empowerment."

Olina chewed loudly, announcing her enjoyment of Temperance's simple dinner to anyone in earshot. No one present even appeared to notice, numb as they were to her antics.

Willett put his hand to his face, clearly having already come to that conclusion himself, while Anilith blinked a few times. "Uh, yeah. I guess that is what I'm saying. Your point?"

Temperance asked with the air of a patient teacher, a tone he had adopted many times, dealing with his friend, "Does anyone know how old these ruins are? Legends tell of wars fought uncounted years past, wars that churned the blood-soaked ground beneath the soldiers' feet like so many miles of butter. The memory of our people is long, but how many know the full history? How much has been lost to the ages when one man, one keeper of knowledge, fell before his time? Is it not possible, then, that this pit was once a tower, the very Tower out of legend where our people have ever gone to prove themselves?"

"Um…yeah. I guess that could be possible. Good point." Anilith shrugged. "I still think it's kind of a joke that they haven't changed the name."

"Names have power, Ani. How many times has master reminded you of that?"

"Apparently, one less than he should have."

Temperance moved to clean up dinner, much to the chagrin of Olina, while Anilith sat with a pout.

"You know, Tempy," she said pointedly, "You don't always have to be so logical. Have some fun once in a while, really feel the world around you."

Knowing she was trying to goad him, he only smiled. "Anilith, if I were not here to be your voice of reason, could you even imagine the trouble you would find?"

"Oh, here we go again, about to tell me how unprepared I am."

"Not at all. Look, the sun is already dying. You should probably get the kids to bed soon; it has been a long week for them. I am sure some proper rest outside of a wagon will do them well."

After a moment, he added, "There is always tomorrow to be wildly unprepared for your day."

Tomorrow broke with a suddenness known only to the bone-tired, who closed their eyes to find them opening what felt to them mere moments later. Anilith, for a fleeting moment, let herself feel the creeping anxiety of knowing she didn't have the luxury of five more minutes. She hated the passing dread at hearing the movement of tiny feet, but loved the way her dread evaporated the instant she heard them laugh.

Olina didn't feel any of that. Today was the day. Finally. After so much travel and even watching Lolly get hurt, she was glad that old bag of bones, BoB, as Olina thought of him, got that monster, as sure as the swamp was disgusting. Lolly hated when she called him that, "Lini," she would say, "Show more respect to Master." But Lolly couldn't stop her from saying things in her head, and she knew the secret smile old BoB hid when he heard them talking about him. He heard everything. Really, Lolly should know that better than anyone, but anyway.

Finally, today was the day to celebrate. Sure, there was a lot to do still, getting Lolly ready for the Trials of Empowerment, the big ToE as she called them, and Lolly was still so unsure that she would be Chosen.

Laughing to herself, she muttered, "I mean, grow up, sister."

Who else were they gonna choose? Temperance? That stick in the mud was never going to choose the ToE. It takes a special kind to appreciate the value of the toe. "Too much work to do," he would say. "Can you not see how much work it is, never saying anything quickly, Olina?" Even BoB knew he was a lost cause, and BoB liked Tempy, but then again, BoB knew pretty much anything there was to know.

They definitely weren't gonna pick that lowback sticker, Walther. Sure, he was strong and all, and more than a little scary, but he couldn't hold a candle to Lolly. Gods, he didn't even really measure up to Tempy. The only thing he was really good at was squashing the rumors about that lowback sticking. BoB had never said it wasn't true, though, so that was all but fact in Olina's mind. Secretly, she hoped that one day a lowback would stick him, serve him right.

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Still, she probably shouldn't have started those rumors. How was she to know they'd take off like they did, small village and all? Stopped him from trying to catch Lolly's eye, sure enough.

No, the talents of her home just weren't up to snuff next to her big sister. Nobody else would be a better pick than Lolly, not if they actually wanted them to survive and not get squashed by the ToE.

Olina knew things, and this was something she knew for certain: Lolly would master the ToE. She'd have to wait and see who the other villages would pick to know if anyone else had a chance, but based on the stories, there wouldn't be many. Still, she'd make sure to give them a proper look before the ceremony. That was a problem for future Lini, though.

Today was the day, and she wasn't gonna miss a second of the fun. She would play all the games and try all the food, and she wouldn't stop 'til her stomach burst and her voice gave up and Lolly had to carry her all the way back home.

"What should we do first, you two?"

Sore as she was from the less-than-gentle trip here, Anilith couldn't help but find her mood affected by Olina's infectious excitement. The festival celebrating the Trials of Empowerment was always an important event for her people. Few people lived long enough to see two such occasions, given how infrequently the Tower opened.

Nobody truly knew what catalyst led to the tower opening, at least nobody claimed to have such knowledge. Whether it was as short as a thirty-year gap or the longest gap, as rumor had it, of seventy-seven years, no one could predict when the Tower would open until just months prior. Still, the occasion always fell during harvest season, so it wasn't entirely unpredictable.

The Elders might know more, however, they often withheld their wisdom. Regardless, this festival promised to be different. There were always harvest festivals, even in the many, many years between opening cycles, but they paled compared to these stupendous events. In the past, each village held a local celebration for sending off its candidates. The festival continued for days to honor their Chosen and bring fortune to their trial.

This year would be an event of special magnificence, one not seen in the spoken memory passed down by the people, if the Ekreeti were to be believed. Each tribe brought a special flavor of culture, quite literally when it came to their cuisine, to the Grand Festival. Many wondered if a new precedent might be set, promising more events in years to come.

Tensions were low, and the buzz of high spirits could be felt. The Moorish people knew better than anyone the value of jubilation in the face of adversity. After such an arduous journey, everyone could feel that festivities were in order.

Olina asked with genuine confusion, "Why would we bother making a plan?"

"Oh, I don't know," their brother chimed in, "that's genuinely an accepted way of handling things."

"Well, I think that defeats the purpose of something as fun and wonderful as this! I think we should just see where the spirits take us! They know better after all, you guys just aren't very good listeners."

Anilith couldn't help but notice the irony of that statement, snarking, "Coming from a girl who hardly ever does what she's asked."

"Oh, come on, I said, listening. I'm great at that, the best there is, you know. I never said anything about whether I ignored what I heard or not. Gods, you have to listen to ignore things. Idiots!"

"I think it is a wonderful plan, taking things in stride." None of them had noticed Temperance joining the group from his tent across the fire.

Feigning a startled leap, Anilith said in jest, "For a giant, you really creep around. Somebody put a bell on that guy."

"What did I say about listening?" replied the insufferable girl.

"You tried that," added the giant, "Owen really was not a fan."

"Gods," Anilith cried in exasperation, "You three are impossible."

Willett, innocent as he was, seemed taken aback. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, Will," Anilith laughed, "That's the problem. You're supposed to be the voice of reason!"

"That's ridiculous, how am I supposed to keep her on tr…"

"Maybe we should make some headway before the day escapes us," Temperance interjected.

"As good a plan as any I've heard," the oldest sibling replied.

"It's not a plan! Won't you three just listen?"

They all walked off into the festival, three laughing and one pouting.

The siblings and their friend wandered the Holy Grounds, looking to see all the wonders they could find. None of them had first-hand experience with the other tribes, and they all seemed so different from their own.

If rumors, a common form of currency in the cultural exchange between tribes, held true, some tribes were ruthless beyond belief, allowing others to bear witness to their villages only after besting their greatest warriors in single combat. Other tribes were said to consume their dead to raise their spirits in the afterlife. Still others spread stories of their foods being deadly to any but those bearing their blood. This didn't even touch on the tribes rumored to be freer with their giving natures, requiring a different sort of challenge to gain entrance to their villages.

One thing remained true for all the stories, however. A grain of truth could be rolled and rolled until it picked up countless falsehoods. Few knew what truths lay hidden underneath, as is the domain of rumor. Outside the Moorish people, someone might be discouraged from uncovering the stories of such dangers, but these people weren't so tame.

No strangers to danger or unforgiving Nature, the Moorish took it all in stride, as the challenge it presented. There was a certain thrill to wondering if someone might be looking at you as a potential snack, or a challenge of a more sultry variety.

The sheer variety of colors, dyes, and styles present in the various camps painted an eclectic picture of their varied peoples. Some alleys stood adorned with the trophies of vanquished beasts, with the bones of fallen warriors standing guard against wayward, malicious spirits. Some were garnished with explosions of color, all manner of flora salvaged from their swampy home, providing a cultivated view of nature not possible to find in the wilds. Some appeared no different from their own, yet the scents that wafted from these alleys set eyes and mouths alike to water.

Children of all tribes ran and squealed with glee, taking in everything they could set their eyes on and eating anything they could get their hands on. These festivals, while in honor of the people's champions, maintained a tradition of providing food for children, free of charge, and everyone treated the young as if they were their own. Olina and Willett raced about interacting with children from all tribes, learning from them, and spreading the newest generation of rumors, adding to the growth of legends.

Across the Moors, some beliefs were ever present. To dishonor the warriors who kept the people safe was to invite the vengeance of the land, and children were ever held Sacred for the future that they promised. Legends gave rise to the greatest heroes. Truth served its purpose best when its acquisition required a journey. In a land steeped in oral history, the stories of today become the backbone of the future. Nothing held greater value than the stories painted in the children's imaginations, even if their elders knew to take such things with a healthy dose of skepticism. None in this land took the world to be as it appeared on the surface, but respected its promise of danger.

The children, to the people, were warriors of a different kind: warriors of hope. Hope, Arian, as the Ekreeti named the phenomenon, was the most valuable tool the people had against the dangers of their homeland, especially when the future seemed so bleak.

As the children played, the older pair kept a watchful eye while chatting.

"It is good to see the resilience of youth."

"Sometimes I wonder if we're really the strong ones, watching them."

"Their strength is of a different kind. Ours is a strength of conviction, a strength grown through life's hardships. Theirs is a strength of spirit, a strength yet undominated, undefined."

"I don't remember ever having that, myself."

"And yet our elders look out at the sea of young faces, seeing the children of the past and remembering the warriors and fallen as they once were. Innocent and full of hope, the voices of Arian, holding the prayers of the future in their hearts."

Two hearts beat strongly, watching the interplay of smiling faces. Peace, as so rarely graced that land, settled over the camps, granting a reprieve from the hardships of the months before.

"I wish it could stay like this forever, that they could stay like this forever."

"As do I," Temperance breathed slowly and let out the captive air, "But to think so is to do them a disservice. It is to dishonor the children to come, the children that they must one day watch over." He fixed her with a hard stare. "The cycle must continue, as it has and ever will. Even the dead live on when we honor the cycle; when we honor the future."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, but we both know you would not change it. The cycle brings strength, just as the resurgent opening of the Tower does. Without either cycle, our people would wither from the hardships we face. It is why you will undertake the trials."

"If I'm Chosen."

As if the earth itself was listening, their peace was interrupted. Rakis, a sworn messenger and servant of their tribe's elders, announced his presence while walking towards them. "It is good to see you young ones taking the time to appreciate our future, as it should be."

"Honored servant," the pair intoned simultaneously, "what brings you in search of two lowly warriors?"

Seemingly ignoring them, he mused, "This Grand Festival must stand testament to the resilience of our people. The Trials of Empowerment pale next to the trials our people will face in the coming days. Only together can we overcome."

The two waited patiently, aware that those sworn to servitude acted in their own time. Theirs was a duty not bound to the expectations of average tribesmen.

"The Blade Weaver summons his students. Do not disturb the young ones; this moment is for them. Your moment lies elsewhere, and it beckons. I will watch over them, know they are safe in my care."

"Yes, honored servant. We answer our Master's call."

Walking away together, leaving the children to enjoy the festival, Temperance elbowed his friend.

"You were saying? If you are Chosen?"