“Tell me about Arlandra Knight,” the baroness demanded, “the anomaly.”
Once again Christel raked his memory, although most of what he knew about Arlandra came back to him easily enough. He wondered, though, how long the baroness would keep him at her table. The morning was growing old. Nevertheless, her drug compelled him to speak. “Before the ‘incident’ Arlandra was an assassin by trade. He was raised by a secret order designed to protect the world from evil – or something like that. Sadly, The Order was destroyed and Arlandra became a rogue. He took contracts from anybody and became a hired killer, that is, until Ariana found him…”
At the mention of such a name the baroness became even more intrigued. “The Goddess of Fate?” she inquired.
“The same. Ariana had foreseen that Arlandra, Sam and I were destined to save the world from the wrath of Garn Pallerii and his dark army – personally I saw things differently, that I was lucky enough just to survive it. It was Arlandra who defeated Garn. Ariana unlocked his ‘powers’ in order to combat Garn’s own magical abilities. But ever since he’s had trouble controlling them. Last I heard from him there was some kind of accident – people were hurt. After that he isolated himself, took to meditating and all that until he learnt to control his power…”
Arlandra Knight lived in isolation, upon the bank of the great Sandra River. He found that such a surreal environment was the key to restraining the darkness that lived inside of him. He awoke every morning and stepped out of the small wooden hut that he had built himself, and the day greeted him with the glamour of the river, and the spectacle of a thousand blood-red poppies growing over the hills, as far as the eye could see.
The wind swept through the sea of red causing silver ripples as the little flowers danced and swayed, and the sun shined from the dew that they had collected. Arlandra observed this – as he had done for weeks now – as he dressed himself and slipped on his boots.
There was a path that ran east along the northern bank of the river, and every morning Arlandra ran along it, burning up as much energy as he could. He ran for over an hour without stopping, and when he was finally done his black hair was drenched with sweat, as was his shirt. When he finally slowed to a stop he closed his eyes and placed his hands on his head, feeling the energy flow through him.
He knelt down and used the water of the river to cool his face. There were subtle changes in his appearance in the ripples of the water. The rich green of his eyes had darkened in colour, and his hair – although short – was fuller, and more of a jet black. There was more colour in his face, too. Whatever the changes, Arlandra knew that the energy of the anomalies had made him feel more alive, and yet he was afraid.
Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the next part of his morning ritual. As he continued to kneel he placed both of his hands in the water and held them there. It was a beautiful day. Clouds drifted like great balls of wool in the sky, the gentle breeze caressed his body, and the bees that buzzed from flower to flower were a relaxing tone for him to listen to. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He was calm.
Arlandra let the energy flow through his hands and he felt the warmth upon his fingertips. Tiny ripples began to spread throughout the water, radiating away from where he was as the energy seeped into the river. It took all of his concentration not to harm the life within the river.
This exercise was of his own design, and at first it took all of his will to continue doing it. Too many times did he lose control, and when he opened his eyes he found the lifeless bodies of fish floating upon the surface. This made him sad, but he knew that it was better off if the fish died, rather than human lives.
But he was getting better at it, and this time when he opened his eyes there were no bodies, as if the river had no notion of his presence. Arlandra stood up and let the relief sooth him.
Arlandra carried no sword, for even though he was an assassin, he had no need of one. Stepping away from the river, the assassin moved to a flat area of sand dotted with pebbles and stones. He listened to the tranquil trickling of water around him. This was his training ground. In one swift movement he clasped his hands together and a dazzling array of red and blue light dissipated from them like smoke. He moved his left hand away as if he were wiping a cloth down the length of a blade, and slowly, from amidst the light, his sword began to appear.
He named it ‘Ice’ due to the fine turquoise colouring of the blade. Taking on a shape of the assassin’s own design, Ice was often a short-sword – a small double-edged blade perfect for his kind of work. In his hands Ice rested as light as a feather, and whistled through the air with each precise stroke.
Standing in the clearing of sand, Arlandra had designed sets to practice – although his swordsmanship had little need for improvement. He liked to explore new ways that his powers would allow him to fight. For instance, he recalled from an earlier time that he had accidentally sent a blast of energy through the length of his blade, so as to use it more like a pistol. During his training he reattempted this strange technique, however the effort caused Ice to explode in a shining burst of dust – he hadn’t tried it since.
But the quiet sounds and smells of nature, and the slow dance that he performed with his sword acted as an excellent form of meditation. He needed to have absolute control over his mind and his emotions, else he would release the darkness that lurked inside of him.
Arlandra knew that he was evil by nature, such were the lessons of The Order long ago. He was required to sacrifice his humanity in order to serve a greater purpose, and now that he was hardly human at all, he understood what he needed to do. Using his powers made him a threat to mankind, but with more anomalies sprouting all throughout Noveria, Arlandra feared that he was the only one who could stop them. He also feared that if he wasn’t careful, he would become one of them.
Eventually the assassin’s peace and quiet had to end – sooner or later they needed him back. Arlandra Knight returned to his hut one day to find an old friend, Devin Shephard, waiting patiently outside.
Devin was sort of a scrawny fellow. He never had much of a heart for thrills and adventure. By trade he was an inventor, and before that he was Christel Saan’s partner, and helped the thief plan and organise his heists. Recently the man had gone legit and returned to his position at the royal palace. Over a nice cup of tea, Devin explained that the king had assigned him to a team of specialists, and tasked them with rebuilding Taelliwey – due the damages of the war.
“What’s this got to do with me?” Arlandra asked as he subtly used his power to cool his tea. “What would you want with the Assassin of Taelliwey?”
Devin frowned, and the expression augmented the narrowness of his face, and his small eyes. “You know the king revoked that title from you. You’re simply Arlandra now, but you are still an assassin. I know as well as anyone why you’ve hidden yourself here – because you’re afraid of losing control of those powers of yours. But it’s time to return to the world my friend; the anomalies are sprouting quicker than boils of Taelliwey’s backside and you’re the only one strong enough to do anything about it!”
Arlandra knew he couldn’t refuse, but he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He didn’t know if he was ready. “Have you tried talking to any of them?” he asked. “Surely there are some who would turn against other anomalies for money, or protection?
Devin snarled. “Yes of course we’ve tried that. The thing is, most of them don’t understand why they can do what they do, and they’re afraid. They feel like freaks, mutants, outlaws! At the moment they’re roaming the streets alone, but it’s only a matter of time before they unify!”
“So what’s your plan? You said it yourself, they don’t know what this is. Do you plan on purging them? I’m an anomaly too, you know.”
“Of course not! Those who have remained innocent will be placed in protective custody, and as for those who haven’t… well, that’s why we need you.”
ns 172.70.131.142da2