Sorcerer's Shadow

Believe me, there I was...

We'd been sliced and diced so frequently and in so many ways that our battle formation was barely holding up, and the opposition just kept growing stronger. I was worn out and trembling with fear, just like everyone else, what with blades swishing by my ears and different kinds of magical strikes swooping over my head - or was it the other way around? The ground was filled with groaning casualties and silent injured people, or perhaps that was reversed too. But I'm telling you as I recall it, though I'm aware my memory can be quite the prankster.

I'll elaborate on that shortly.

But first, forgive me for kicking off in the middle, but that's more or less where it all begins.

So, there I was, immersed in a full-scale war, a situation no respectable assassin should ever find himself in. Worse still, I was in the midst of this enormous battle with a nagging feeling that I was fighting for the losing team, at least in this specific clash. I was positioned on Eeriedale's Hill, with the Wall about two hundred yards behind me, and the Tomb (which isn't actually a tomb and never has been, and shouldn't be called that) roughly a quarter-mile to my left. I was desperate to teleport away or at least run, but for some reason, I couldn't. I had a sword and enough additional weapons to arm half of the Shearer Company (my squad, hip hip hooray). Ahead of us was The Enemy, inching closer, seeming more determined than ever to stick around this time. They were so numerous, and all I could think was, "If they're so keen on this darn hill, why not let them have it," but I knew that wasn't the right attitude. And my comrades would definitely contest such a sentiment; after all, we'd fought tooth and nail to take it from them initially. (And we had failed.

Why were we holding the hill then? I can't tell you; they don't explain these things to foot soldiers.)

Then, as if things weren't already bad enough, I heard the rip of the juice-drum playing "Live Fully," the signal for forming up for a charge. I assumed the Captain had decided we weren't well-equipped enough to defend, or perhaps he wanted to die a glorious death. It baffled me - if we had the advantage of higher ground, why squander it by charging? I wanted to label him a fool, but I knew he wasn't.

I loosened my grip on my sword and performed what was mandatory. I exhaled deeply three times as per the protocol, while he established his position leading us. To my dismay, I discovered that I was standing right next to Gunn, the substitute standard-bearer, which meant that my survival rate was barely more promising than his.

The Captain didn't deliver any rousing speeches this time; I guess he'd exhausted his thoughts over the past few days. He signaled the start of our advance.

As before, I found myself moving, although I don't remember making that decision; I wondered, as I had on multiple occasions, if there was some hidden magic at play, but I doubt it. I remember wanting desperately to flee, but I still couldn't, so naturally, I did the only thing I could: I began to pray. It was too late for that, though, and nothing changed. Or maybe something did; I'm not sure. Ah yes, I wanted to discuss memory. Perhaps memory is where it all begins. I'm uncertain about the beginning; that's partly why I'm recounting all of this, hoping to piece it together and make sense of everything. Of course, the lure of the gold ingots is a significant motivator for doing this. Where was I? Oh yes, memory.

* * *

One bright morning, I woke with a sudden recall of something that had slipped my mind the day before. I'd been engaged in a monologue with a metallic contraption, similar to what I'm doing presently, in return for a handsome reward of unprocessed gold, mixed with a variety of useful curiosities. I had thought my role in the agreement was done until this memory surfaced, making me suspect that someone had been tampering with my memories. My immediate reaction was rage, quickly followed by a terrifying realization of who the manipulator could potentially be. This revelation shocked me into full consciousness, setting off a frustrating period of distinguishing dreams from reality. After a few moments of struggle, I managed to regain my mental equilibrium.

Just then, Opal, my companion, was barely awake. With a single lazy flap of his fluffy wings, he hissed at me in a half-asleep state, projecting the thought into my mind, "Could we have breakfast?"

I replied, "Can you recall NecroGate Falls?"

His response was instant, "Absolutely. Do you remember the large statue that we saw as we approached the falls?"

"Indeed. Where Drevolan performed that somewhat embarrassing ritual. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason." Just then, I remembered the ritual too, which I had conveniently forgotten. It's quite unpleasant to have these disturbing thoughts, especially before breakfast.

He continued, "Is it important?"

I curtly replied, "Drop it, Opal."

Memory is indeed a complex phenomenon. I had forgotten something significant from just a few days prior, yet I clearly remembered our conversation from over three years ago. Isn't that peculiar?

You, the sleek, shiny device with assumed auditory capabilities, might be confused about who I am and what I'm trying to express. But that's fine. I'll allow you to remain perplexed for a while longer.

After a quick omelet breakfast and cleaning up, I contemplated discussing my strange memory lapse with some new acquaintances. However, something about revealing my vulnerabilities held me back. Nevertheless, the issue continued to bother me.

Still mulling over it, I put on my Vorgan colors (grey and black, in case you're keeping tabs), checked the placement of my assortment of weapons, and stepped out onto the street that I virtually controlled.