Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

The First Steps of Discovery

The sun hung low, its light bleeding through ash-gray clouds in faint streaks. Aurel adjusted the straps of his pack—a generous term for a bundle of scraps tied with scavenged leather. Still, it was all he had, and he wasn't about to let that stop him.

From a desolate ridge, he surveyed the land: jagged cliffs, cracked earth, and twisted trees reaching like skeletal fingers. The southern territory, bleak and unwelcoming, stretched endlessly before him.

He crouched, drawing faint lines in the dirt with a stick. "Okay, let's see. Sunrise over there, sunset over here. Wind's from the south… ocean's that way. So, this is the southernmost point of the southern territory. Great! Wonderful! Nothing but the edge of the world behind me."

He tapped the ground emphatically. "West? Nope. Luminaries, Athenari, and their rules… I'll pass. East? Nah. Warriors and their clans? Been there, done that, no thanks. South? Unless I suddenly develop fins, I'm not going swimming anytime soon. That leaves north. Northbound it is."

Walking and Talking

As he began his trek, Aurel muttered to himself, his voice a constant companion. "This place is creepy. I mean, really creepy. Is this what the southern territory's supposed to be like? Barely a tree left alive, skeletons on the road… Definitely not what the travel guides would call 'picturesque.'"

He paused, his eyes catching the twisted remains of an old cart, half-buried in the dirt. Bones scattered around it told a grim story. "Some kind of war must've happened here. Chaos, death, destruction. Great. Just great. I better watch my back. But hey, I've got my back, don't I? Yeah, I do. No one's stabbing me anytime soon. Not today, chaos, not today."

Motivated by Food

Despite the eerie surroundings, Aurel's mind wandered to simpler pleasures. "Food," he murmured, his voice tinged with longing. "Skewered lizard tails. Maybe roasted beast with herbs? Please tell me they eat normal food around here. I haven't had a decent meal in… I don't know how long."

His stomach rumbled faintly, and he clapped a hand to his abdomen, chuckling. "Northbound it is. Northbound for people, for answers… and for food. Definitely food. Priorities, Aurel. Always keep your priorities straight."

The Battlefield's Echoes

As he walked, the landscape shifted subtly. The cracked earth grew more jagged, littered with the remains of a battlefield. Swords rusted in the dirt, banners lay shredded against the rocks, and the faint scent of decay lingered in the air.

Aurel's pace slowed as he scanned the area, his senses sharpened by instinct. "A battlefield. Great. Lovely. Exactly the place I wanted to end up. Are there even people living in this part of the south? Or did everyone decide that chaos wasn't worth sticking around for?"

He stepped carefully, his boots crunching against the broken ground. And then, he saw them—a faint flicker of movement in the distance. A group of figures, their silhouettes outlined against the horizon. His heart quickened, and he straightened immediately.

The Excitement of Finding People

"People!" Aurel exclaimed, his voice breaking the stillness. He broke into a hurried stride, waving his arms in exaggerated motions. "Person! Yes! Humans! Hey! Over here!"

The figures stopped, turning toward him. Even at a distance, Aurel could see the tension in their movements—hands gripping weapons, shoulders stiffening, feet shifting uneasily. Their expressions were unreadable, but the suspicion was palpable.

Aurel skidded to a halt, quickly assessing the situation. "Oh," he muttered to himself, lowering his arms awkwardly. "Not exactly rolling out the welcome mat, are we? Yeah, can't really blame them. Scenery like this? Of course they'd be untrusting. Guess I better… play it cool."

His gaze flickered, a shadow crossing his face as a darker thought entered his mind. "Should I scare them a little? Just a bit of intimidation, see what happens?" He grinned faintly, his expression shifting into something almost sinister. His Chaos Divinant nature stirred, feeding off the unease in the air. But then, he shook his head, muttering, "Nah. Better to go in like a normal person would do. Friendly. Non-threatening. Definitely not… weird."

Approaching the Group

Aurel adjusted his shirt, brushing the fur collar reflexively before stepping forward with his most disarming smile. "Hey there!" he called out, his voice light and casual. "Just a traveler passing through. Thought I'd say hello. You know, as one does."

The group remained on guard, their weapons raised as they studied him with wary eyes. Aurel stopped a few steps away, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "No need for the swords and arrows, I promise. I'm not here to cause trouble. Just… excited to see people. Been a while."

Aurel's Weird Outfit Makes an Impression

Aurel's journey through the southern territory carried him across a landscape that seemed intent on reminding him of chaos and destruction. His boots scraped against the rocky ground as he approached a series of jagged hills, his pack shifting awkwardly against his back. His dark gray hair hung just over his brow, unkempt and brushed aside every few steps with a flick of his hand. Though he didn't seem to notice, his pale, almost gothic-looking skin paired with his scavenged attire gave him the appearance of someone who had emerged straight from a nightmare—or perhaps a forgotten legend.

The fur shirt he had crafted from a carcass clung to him haphazardly, stitched together in a way that barely passed as functional. His trousers, patched in places with scraps of leather, and his boots, worn to their limits, completed the picture of an unsettling traveler.

The Perspective of the Group

As Aurel approached the edge of a crumbling battlefield, his eyes caught sight of figures on the horizon. He stopped dead in his tracks, narrowing his gaze as he tried to confirm what he was seeing. "People," he muttered aloud, the word lingering as his pulse quickened. "Person. Humans. Yes!" His voice rose with an edge of excitement as he waved both arms, calling out loudly, "Hey! Over here!"

The group froze, their gazes snapping toward Aurel. Even from a distance, they could make out his pale skin and dark gray hair contrasting against the backdrop of cracked earth and splintered trees. His strange clothing—a fur shirt and mismatched boots—did nothing to reassure them. To their worn and wary eyes, Aurel looked more like a monster than a man.

"Do you see that?" whispered one of them, gripping their weapon tighter. "What is it?"

"Looks human… maybe?" replied another, stepping closer to get a better look. "But that outfit. Pale skin. Hair like ash. Something's wrong."

The woman standing at the forefront motioned for silence. "Stay calm," she ordered. "If it's human, it'll explain itself. If it's not… we end it before it gets closer."

Aurel's Reaction to Their Doubt

Aurel skidded to a halt, his grin faltering as he noticed the tension ripple through the group. Their hands gripped weapons, their shoulders stiffened, and their eyes darted with suspicion—and perhaps fear. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and glancing down at his outfit. "Right. Fur shirt. Scraps and stitches. Definitely not the fashion statement of the century." He frowned slightly, muttering under his breath, "Do I look like a monster? Probably. Guess I can't blame them."

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He adjusted his pack and straightened his posture, muttering again. "Okay, Aurel, play it cool. Smile. Talk. Be friendly. Not terrifying. Definitely not weird. Just human enough to get by."

For a moment, his expression darkened as a thought flickered through his mind—a flash of malice, quick and fleeting, like a shadow across his face. "Could scare them a little," he whispered to himself, his lips curving into a faint grin. "Just enough to show them who's boss." But he shook his head sharply, muttering louder now, "No. No, no, no. Keep it normal. Friendly. Non-threatening. As human as I can manage."

The Tense Interaction

Finally, Aurel raised his hands in a gesture of peace, calling out again. "Hey there!" His voice was steady, almost cheerful, though his odd appearance made his words feel oddly disconnected. "Just passing through. Thought I'd say hello. Maybe find some food. Definitely not trouble."

The group remained rooted in place, their weapons raised and their eyes fixed on him. One of them, a younger man holding a rusted bow, whispered, "It's talking. Do monsters talk?"

"I don't know," replied the woman at the front, her tone sharp. "Stay ready."

Aurel exhaled slowly, lowering his arms slightly but keeping his posture relaxed. "Look, I get it. Weird outfit. Odd vibes. Skeleton-filled battlefield backdrop doesn't help, I know. But I promise, I'm as human as it gets. Mostly."

The woman's gaze narrowed, her weapon dipping slightly but not lowered completely. "Prove it."

Aurel blinked, tilting his head curiously. "Prove it? How do I do that? Recite poetry? Sing a song? Because if you're expecting elegance, you'll be disappointed."

Her lips twitched faintly, almost amused despite herself. "Just don't give me a reason to think otherwise."

Aurel Meets the Skeptical Villagers

The air hung heavy with unease, but the tension began to dissipate as the group studied Aurel more closely. The odd traveler, with his pale skin and dark gray hair, stood awkwardly with his hands raised, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. His strange attire—a makeshift shirt of patched fur and worn boots—only added to the impression that he was, at best, an eccentric, and at worst, something they couldn't quite categorize.

The woman at the forefront finally lowered her weapon, though she kept it firmly in her grip. "Alright," she said tersely. "You're human. A weirdo, but human."

Aurel relaxed, letting his arms drop to his sides. "See? Told you. Don't sweat it. Always good to stay ready and on guard, right?" He gave a faint chuckle, as if to reassure them. "Anyways," he continued, brushing dust off his fur shirt, "I've been walking for days, trying to find people… and food."

A pause hung in the air. One of the younger men in the group furrowed his brows, his hand tightening on the handle of a rusted spear. "Did he say people as food?"

The words sent a ripple of unease through the group. Aurel's face lit up with alarm as he waved his hands frantically. "Oh! No, no, no! Not people as food!" His voice cracked slightly with panic as he rushed to clarify. "I meant food-food. Like bread, meat, berries—not humans! Just food-food!"

As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud, pitiful growl, the sound cutting through the silence like an awkward announcement. Aurel winced, clutching his abdomen and muttering, "Oh, that's helpful. Great timing, thanks for that."

The older man who had offered the bread earlier chuckled faintly, though his grin remained wary. "Here, take this." He handed Aurel another small loaf of bread, dense and rough, barely holding together. Still, Aurel took it with eager hands, tearing into it like it was the finest feast.

He chewed quickly, attempting to speak through mouthfuls but only managing garbled sounds. "Thwank you—om om—I'm from—om om om—so good—thwank you." His excitement was contagious to some, though the younger girl giggled as she watched him struggle to talk through his chewing.

"He's funny," she said quietly, though her gaze flickered with concern.

The Suspicious Man

Not everyone shared her sentiment. One of the men, still eyeing Aurel cautiously, raised his spear slightly, the tip glinting faintly in the firelight. "What if he's some kind of bandit?" the man questioned, his tone sharp and pointed. "This… fits. Some people pull tricks like this. Act hungry, act lost. Get close. Then kill and steal."

Aurel froze mid-bite, his hands clutching the bread tightly. His sharp gray gaze flicked toward the man, studying him for a moment before noticing something strange. At first, it seemed like an illusion—a faint, shadowy mist curling around the man's shoulders, coiling like smoke but darker. Aurel's breath caught, and his pale brows furrowed deeply.

"What is that?" he said aloud, his voice tense and almost frantic. "That… thing. There's something there."

The group stared at him, confusion rippling through their expressions. "What are you talking about?" the woman asked, stepping closer. "There's nothing there."

Aurel didn't reply immediately. He stepped closer to the suspicious man, his gaze locked onto the swirling darkness that clung to him. "Can't you see it?" he demanded, his voice gaining urgency. "It's right there. Like… like ghosts or shadows, clinging to him. What is that?"

The man stiffened, his grip tightening on his spear, but the rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances. One of them made a circular motion near their temple, silently signaling the word "lunatic."

"Wait!" Aurel called out sharply, ignoring their skepticism. "You're telling me you don't see that? It's gone now… but it was there. I saw it."

Aurel's Confirmation Through Jumpscare

Lost in thought, Aurel began muttering to himself, his words barely audible to the group. "Is it anger? Suspicion? Something strong. Feeds it, maybe. I have to… confirm it."

Without warning, he turned to the younger girl and hopped toward her with a loud, exaggerated "BOOOOH!" His voice boomed out as his arms waved dramatically, his pale face twisting into a monstrous expression. The girl shrieked, stumbling back with wide eyes, before bursting into tears.

"Uhhhhhh!" she cried, her voice trembling as she wiped her face. "What was that for? You creep!"

Aurel didn't reply immediately. His gaze locked onto her aura, noticing the faint flicker of shadows that appeared momentarily—then vanished. He frowned, leaning closer to himself as he thought aloud, "It was anger this time. Different aura… darker. And ghosts. Shadows."

He took a step back, seemingly pleased with his confirmation. "It's… emotions. Malice."

The girl, still wiping tears from her face, glared at him sharply. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded, though her anger quickly faded into frustration. Aurel attempted another jumpscare, muttering "Boo," but the moment passed without incident—her emotions had calmed, leaving the aura gone.

The Group's Reaction

The man who had earlier called him a lunatic shook his head, turning to the others with a dismissive tone. "Just let him be. Friend, don't bother worrying about her," he said quietly, though his hands gestured toward the girl. "He's a lunatic. Best to ignore him."

The woman crossed her arms, studying Aurel's strange behavior with a furrowed brow. "I don't know what your deal is," she said evenly, "but don't scare my people again. You're strange enough as it is."

Aurel raised his pale hands in a gesture of surrender, his tone apologetic. "Right. Sorry. Won't happen again." But his mind raced as he walked with them toward their temporary encampment, his thoughts swirling.

"They can't see it," he muttered quietly, his gray hair brushing against his face as he tilted his head. "I'm the only one seeing it. Why? Why me? It's too clear to ignore. Shadows… emotions… malice. What does it mean?"

The girl glanced at him briefly, her expression still upset but tinged with curiosity. "Look. He's talking to himself," she whispered to the others, her voice soft.

Aurel's muttering continued, oblivious to their stares as he processed what he'd just learned. The ability to see malice—the strange connection to emotions—began to settle into his thoughts as something undeniable.

Aurel's Welcome and Observations

The encampment was modest but bustling with life. Tents of various shapes and sizes were haphazardly pitched, their fabric patched with years of wear. A central fire crackled and popped, casting a warm glow over the gathered scavengers who welcomed Aurel with cautious smiles and guarded words. Despite their initial wariness, they offered him a small gift—something simple but meaningful: a new set of "normal" clothing.

Aurel held the bundle in his hands, his pale fingers brushing over the fabric as if it were a treasure. He bowed his head, his voice unusually soft. "Thank you. Really. I… I appreciate this more than you know."

Their kindness warmed him in a way he hadn't expected. After weeks—or was it months?—of surviving in scavenged scraps and fur, this small gesture of humanity felt profound. He disappeared briefly into one of the tents to change, emerging moments later in his new attire. The fit was loose and awkward, but to Aurel, it felt like royalty.

The Encampment Atmosphere

The group gathered around the central fire, where a creature that faintly resembled a deer roasted on a spit. The aroma wafted through the air, making Aurel's stomach growl in anticipation. His sharp gray eyes fixated on the meat, his expression betraying his longing. But instead of pouncing like a starving animal, he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as if to calm himself. For a moment, he simply observed.

The scavengers laughed and joked, their voices blending into a low hum of camaraderie. Aurel noted how normal they seemed—talking about mundane things like scavenged goods, trading routes, and the little grievances of camp life. He couldn't help but smile faintly, his sharp features softening as he watched them.

"Normal people, normal problems," he muttered under his breath, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. For the first time in days, he felt a fleeting sense of comfort. And yet, his gaze was analytical, scanning for the strange shadows and auras he'd seen before. None appeared—only the soft, flickering light of the fire and the subtle glow of humanity.

Aurel Notices the Aura Again

But peace, it seemed, was fleeting. Two men, sitting close to the fire, began to argue over something trivial—fuel supplies, perhaps. One of them scolded a younger boy. "I told you not to waste all our fuel on just one simple cooking! What do you think we're gonna use tomorrow?"

The exchange was relatively calm, but Aurel's attention snapped to the faint flicker of dark energy that appeared around the scolding man. It wasn't much—just a shadowy outline, faint and transient, like smoke curling into the air. There were no ghostly shapes this time, just the lingering trace of frustration and irritation.

His pale brows furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, muttering to himself. "It's there again. Faint, but there. Emotions? Anger, maybe?" He tilted his head, his fingers brushing his chin. "Those ghost things… they feed on it. Dark emotions. Malice."

Aurel's mind raced with questions. Was it really just him seeing this? Or was there something more to these people—some hidden power, some connection to chaos? He wanted to ask them directly but hesitated, unsure of how to frame his questions without sounding completely insane.