Kastus Story

Пролог

Prologue

It is bitterly cold amongst the Rorzh'i Vrokyshyy mountains at dawn, and seems even colder when one is bleeding out alone on a rough stone floor. As life flowed sanguine and hot from the dagger wound in his gut, Kastus Iharovich felt the familiar sensation of thick white snowflakes, fresh from the heavens above, settling upon his face. Kastus let out a ragged, shuddering sigh, the effort of which wracked his body with pain. So this is how it ends, he thought. Gutted and left to die like some back-alley vagabond. I was so sure it would more dramatic than this. A valiant last stand, giving my life for some noble— At that moment a violent cough overtook him, and as his chest heaved Kastus felt a warm, sticky liquid spill from between his lips and splash across his chin. He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth, tasting metal. Blood. Suppose it'll be over soon, then, Kastus mused, and for the shortest of moments a smile crept its way across his face. He briefly considered calling for aid, or perhaps attempting that mental connection linking his thoughts to those of his fellow Companymen. No use. he ultimately concluded. No one knows of my presence here. No one is coming. Resigning himself to his fate, the dying man closed his eyes, softly uttering a prayer to the Lord of Lightning to ensure his wife and children would be kept safe in his absence. He took as deep a breath in as he could muster and held it, as if by refusing to exhale he could prolong this his last moment. A sharp cough finally forced his hand, and with one last breath out Kastus felt his life begin to slip away.

The sound of boots scuffing against the flagstones broke the delicate silence. Unable to open his eyes, Kastus could only listen as an unknown figure approached where he lay, kneeling beside him in the morning snow. Without warning, the figure placed their hands roughly over his wound, and with a low moan Kastus faded into oblivion.

The figure tilted their head in confusion, before leaning in close to the unconscious man's ear:

"Do not fear, my friend. Your work is not yet finished."

Один

One

Three Days Earlier

"Advance!"

"Deflect!"

"Counter, you must counter!"

"Too slow by far! Reset!"

It was a beautiful summers day at Vyssíjórgen Academy, and Archmaester Kastus Iharovich grinned as the two figures before him scrambled to get back to their starting positions. Closing his eyes for a moment, Kastus tilted his face up to the sky, basking in the warm sunlight that filled Valdimarr's Court. How blessed I am to feel the warmth of God's light once again, he mused. For it had been sunlit days like these that had drawn a much younger Kastus, still a student himself, to the secluded courtyard of the first Dwarven Archmaester over three decades ago.
The duelists in question,