The Patched Clockwork

Addendum: Caladorien, first king of Calador, was one of the first 17 gods to walk the earth. He sacrificed his immortality to cement his divinity for all time to come, and his kingdom reigned for well over 11,000 years. The last king of Calador, Marcaesius, doomed the kingdom when he tied the kingdom to scorched earth and ashen sand instead of upholding its prosperity. Many scholars disagree whether the fall of the kingdom was Marcaesius’ fault, or a long line of events set in motion by king Caladorien himself, but they all agree that the fanaticism of the last king was at the root of its downfall. Thus, he acquired the title ‘Mad King of Calador’.

At the Desert Farlands’ edge, where raging sandstorms merge sky and ground into one continuous gradient of yellow-ish brown, far from the middle empires, a robed figure walks along an obscured path held together by memory and scattered cobbles. Piercing the veil of sand in its wake, the figure emerges on the opposite end of the desert, where the sky once again separates from the yellowed sand into a bright blue. A lanky figure holds the frail frame of a child in their hands, bobbing from side to side in the desert sands as they walk. Every step is an uphill battle in the uneven terrain, it builds fatigue over time, leaving the lanky figure about to reach its limit. The storm behind the figure takes the form of a wall, yet it stays in constant motion. Like the outside of an aquarium filled with millions of tiny fish scattering in every direction, the updraft carries the sand up and away in a smooth curve.

“Sir, could I suggest we take a break?” the lanky figure says in-between bated breaths. Stings of pain from underneath their feet, and with a soreness that spreads throughout the entirety of the figure’s lower body as if swimming for miles. The old cobblestone road started to shine through a while back, giving some leverage to their steps, yet they’ve still been on the trail for weeks.

“Raegalt, you may take all the breaks you need.” A spindly figure says in a light tone of voice, although muffled by the arms carrying it. “But please, stop calling me sir.” It says, trying to unwrap itself a little from its clutches.

“I couldn’t. No matter where we are, you a-” Raegalt, the tall figure, slips for a moment, getting caught and cut up by the edge of a split stone underneath the sand. “Ow, ow!” The jagged motion rattles the child, leaving them confused and concerned.

“Raegalt?” Still muffled, but the concern definitely shines on through in the light voice. The spindly figure shifts around slightly again, exposing just a mouth and nose from the rags it’s borne in. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” It asks in succession. Their nose is small and pointed with a slim mouth, looking like that of a child.

“Sorry sir.” Says the lanky figure, coming to a halt and inspecting the underside of their foot with a few toes still sliding around the sand as they find their balance. “I lost my sandals in the dust storm… The rocks cut me up good.” Looking down, he sees the spread of a red-ish color in the sand. “Didn’t expect solid footing for a while.” The gaping wound underneath needs to be dressed, but looking around there’s few options to make rest at. They decide to stop at the side of a worn stone fence. About waist high with segments missing, the fence has an uncertainty about whether it’s the leftovers of an old house, or was intended as an actual fence, yet now it stands as little less. Regardless of its previous use it’ll make do as a temporary bench. Raegalt puts the tiny figure down carefully on the sand to his side. Their back to the fence, legs covered by some sort of tarp. They somehow look even smaller when not carried along.

“We’re almost there, you don’t have to strain yourself for much longer.” The child said, with a hint of discomfort in their voice. A sigh escapes Raegalt’s mouth, and a groan soon after, as they sat on the fence, no doubt unintended. He inspects the underside of his foot closer this time. A clean cut across the middle, right through the blisters, but not too deep.

“The things you do for love” he said with an exasperated tone of voice.

“Love?” said the child. “I hope you don’t mean me, I’ll remind you I’m 12 again.” They said jokingly.

“Of course not!” Raegalt countered rather quickly. “I’ve had my love. 40 years of it, and I’d never do her the shame!” The rustling revealed part of his face in the cloak as he muttered. The face of a man, riddled with age, sand poached into every crack, crevice and fold, white beard and wrinkles.

The sandstorms of Calador take more than they give, and whilst traveling in a hurry, they forgot about their attire. Raegalt paced on for miles in deep concentration as to not lose the momentum he had built, for fear that he might not stand again should he sit down. The rags had come slightly undone by his rattling, and now the top of his hood had begun prodding the crusted sand at the edge of his eyes. Caving sand into his eyes at every odd motion, he had reached the limits of his patience, removing the hood entirely, and dusting off all the sand in his face, thick with sweat.

“Do you think it’s safe to take them off now?” said the child.

“You can take it off, not a soul will be there to recognize you sir. See that building there?” The old man pointed. The child tried in vain to look, even taking down their hood for an unobstructed view, but in vain. It did, however, reveal a rather feminine complexion. Long worn golden hair and a slim face. Undoubtedly a girl, yet her title remains the name. Something about the look in her face speaks volumes of fatigue, and perhaps a hint of malnourishment.

“Raegalt, you know… my legs are quite… Could you perhaps?” The old man takes a short breath

“Apologies, let me help.” He flipped a leg over the fence and turned the frail girl around so she could rest her back partially on his leg. Raegalt pointed at the temple again, just over the fence in the distance. It looks red, or perhaps slightly tan if not for the late evening’s sun, hewn out of sandstone rock and ornately carved. It stands untouched by both time and sand, a marvel of the desert.

“This is it, the end of the world. Beyond this I don’t know what is anymore.” Said Raegalt with a pained expression. “The edge of the world has few visitors in this age, not a soul in sight to recognize you.” He said, gesturing at the girl’s hood. He took a good while to admire the temple, gathering strength, catching his breath. “I think these old legs… can carry you a little further, lord Damien. Just say the word.”

“I leave the judgment to you Raegalt.” The girl replied with a pause. “You are at nobody’s command but your own, and should you forget but one thing, let it be that which remains.” She said with a distant look in her eyes. “But I ask you again, are you sure? There’s time to change your mind, perhaps find another wa-”

“I made up my mind” Raegalt interjected. “You and I both know what we need to do, and I for one have no qualms with how you use this old corpus of mine.” He said, followed by stunted silence.

“Raegalt I can’t help but feel you don’t know what will happen if we do this. The serum is one of the biggest abominations of mankind, it won’t cause you anything but pain. Pure, unadulterated, pain.” she said after a pause.

“It warms my heart knowing that you wish no ill on me sir. That pain and suffering will come to me, is a little price to pay for those that I cherish. That you would care so deeply for me, sir Damien, I feel nothing but contentment at the thought of going blindly into a painful death as long as you guide me there.”

She said nothing, only looking at the temple in the distance, now within their reach.

Caladorien was known to be an artisan of stone; the Temple of the Abyss, also known as Ursol’s Watch, was one of Caladorien’s creations. Hewn out of the bedrock itself to stand the test of time, it stands to this day, as a monument of a bygone era, basking warmly in the sun’s light before the void.

“We arrived early, the full moon is still a month away.” The girl was the one to break the silence. “There’s a lot to see to after the ritual… But for now there’s little, if none. What do you make of it?”

“What do I make of this you ask?” A thought escapes Raegalt’s mind, as if riding the furrowed eyebrows on his face out of his conscious mind. “Under normal circumstances i’d have invited you to a game of hoopstone, but that would be rather…”

“Difficult?” As if ripped directly from Raegalt’s thoughts before he got the chance to put them into words.

“I was looking for another word, sir.” He pauses. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, I could use some rest. But perhaps we’ll have time for some sightseeing?”

“Sightseeing?” A slight chuckle emerges from the girl. “What do you expect to find around here?”

“Oh you never know. I usually find odd things around these abandoned temples.” A sly smile creeps up on Raegalt’s face, curling the hairs across his upper lip in tandem. Content at the thought, though the sting of his wound soon grounds him yet again.

Untouched for who knows how long, the sand and rocks of the desert bakes for days on end, making for one of maybe the cleanest cuts one could get. The sand, however, gets in everywhere.

“Uh…” A stupefied Raegalt rummages through his rags “Damien, sir. Do you by chance have some water left?”

“Raegalt… Do you know how terrifying that sounds, seeing as we already crossed through a desert to get here. The nearest source of water is all the way back we came” The girl holds out a hand, and like morning dew on a grass blade, droplets of water emerge. Droplets, small and big, all converge in the palm of her hand. A strained expression is painted across her face, furrowed brows and an intently focused gaze. The puddle cupped in her hand takes on the shape of bubbling, boiling water, yet no steam emerges. The water tips over at all sides, before she tilts it, pouring it over Raegalt’s wound. Although bubbling and bursting with all sorts of chaotic motion from her hand, the stream is serene and cool to the touch, and perplexingly unending. Raegalt, whilst a little hesitant, starts cleaning out the sand from his wound.

“Better?” The girl asks. “Another time, consider bringing more water when crossing the desert.” With a pained expression, Raegalt washes out the last of the sand, after which the girl tilts her hand back again. Clenching the hand softly, she ceases the flow, letting the bubbling water die down before simply disappearing into nothing. Raegalt then begins to shuffle his cloak around, grabbing at the end with a sigh.

“Well, sir… To be honest, I wasn’t expecting there might be another time.” He tears off a piece, but it curved out, turning into an odd noodle of a shape.

“I… I’m sorry” Mutters the girl, almost unheard. Mouth clenched shut, the previously furred brows have now completely turned upside down.

“Uh… I was joking sir.” His words are without much of an effect. Raegalt rips another piece. Perfectly straight! Or well, as straight as it gets, enough for treating the gash “Oh it’s alright sir, if it helps, then I too believe there might be another time.” The girl’s expression mellows out a little.

“Another time?”

“You never know what might happen. Besides, when my soul once again converges on the mortal plane, who knows, I might remember that little tid-bit of wisdom” He said with a content look on his face. However, the ever creeping sadness finally caught up to the young girl, and if not for the slur of salty tears obscuring her vision, someone might have noticed. Raegalt dressed his wound in silence, after which he once again picked up the girl, carrying her just slightly tighter than before.

Closer to the temple, what looks nothing more like hovels increases in density. Simple brick buildings have been mostly toppled and wooden houses rotted, yet they remain. Looking back from here Raegalt makes out the outline of the building before them, seeing the soft outline of what must have once been a farm. The fence behind which they rested was the remnants of a farmhand’s dwelling, a sad afterthought that could be traced across his face.

“Raegalt?” Said the girl in a now hoarse voice, deteriorating over time.

“Nothing sir, er- Damien” Raegalt’s attention diverted away from the farm, and onto the path ahead. “I just wondered… What do you reckon happened to the people once the water died out?” His gaze wanders around the broken hovels as he speaks.

“I… Suppose few might have made it back to the mainland.” She speaks roughly and slightly hushed out of necessity. “But the droughts… They came slowly to the outer reaches, and to Caladorien’s temple…” She pauses in-between every few words as they come out. “His temple must’ve been the last to get hit… Being so far away from anywhere else… I don’t believe anyone made it” Raegalt’s expression soured, a slowness instilled in him.

“I had a feeling.” His motion alone would not have been enough to worry the girl in and of itself, but the second his words let out she knew. A few words that could explain how Raegalt speaks would be things like ‘Raspy’, ‘Deep’, even ‘Dark’, but one thing that describes it perfectly, is ‘voluminous’. Raegalt speaks in a tone that fills a room, you could hear it echo throughout the town until now. This was the very first time Damien heard him speak in a hushed tone, the thought alone never crossed her mind, and now that it does, it sends a shiver through her body. Despite making little noise, her breath ceases in this moment as if frozen in place.

A ball?

A sack maybe. Round in shape, rolling like a flat tire, inspiring the image of a fat man throwing his weight in front of him as he walks. It emerges at a corner in front of the two of them, a shape and consistency that is odd to describe. Like a water balloon but it’s a slurry of solid matter packaged in skin. It is coated in some thick liquid-esque substance, yet shortly after being left behind it springs back into place like rubber. The way it discontorts it seems to change in size inconsistently.

“Raegalt.” The girl slowly clenches Raegalt’s cloak tight, not speaking louder than the peep of a mouse.

“Accursed. It can’t see us if we move slowly.” His tone is hushed, his movements calm and steady. He takes his next steps painstakingly slow. The tension could be cut with a cake knife, but he manages not to gather any attention.

“Don’t look at it, just walk past” The girl says, averting her gaze from the blob as it comes into view. “They can’t see, but they can feel intent.” On that note, Raegalt turns his head immediately. But confused, he freezes again.

“Sir, I-”

“Do as i do” Looking at the girl, Raegalt notices her eyes are fixed on the temple ahead. “Focus on getting to the…” Her voice gives out whilst speaking. Raegalt barely heard the rest of the conversation, with the girl now clearly distressed at her lack of strength. Raegalt would like for nothing more than to comfort the girl at this moment, say words of assurance, but an unusual stillness makes way to the creature, as if contemplating.

Words are dangerous. Raegalt must act before anything. The words of his master resound with the discomfort in his heart, guiding his gaze directly down to avoid staring. He must think for a second, gather his thoughts and make a move. Just as he thinks, a thought along with a nightmare.

They all died here… But there are no bones.

From behind, the sound of shifting meat. A horrible sight, visible only as growing shadows. Raegalt looks on in horror. There has to be at least three more. He takes a few shaky breaths, looking down- deep into his memories for something to help him. He was never a fighting man, never the spirit for it. People and academics revered him for his skills in conjuration, but what does that help now? The girl then tugs at his cloak as if pulling him out of his own bad thoughts wIthout speaking a word. He looks at the girl in his arms once again, still determined she stares at the temple as if nothing else matters. He can’t lose face at this moment, if nothing else he got guts. A gamble maybe, but he takes his steps confidently towards the temple.

At the first step, one of the oddly shaped creatures vibrates as if by reaction. He never had any intent to interact with the thing, and maybe that’s why it worked in the first place, for it shuffled to the side almost immediately thereafter.

“Incredible, it just-” Easing up for a moment, Raegalt made the mistake of paying no attention to his footing.The next few moments, three things happened: An accident, a mistake, and a stroke of pure luck.

The path the two of them had taken all day, unbeknownst to them, was a humble cobbled street that had gotten denser as they moved closer to the town. The desert leading up to this place, at some point, gains solid footing. The sand spreads little in the outer reaches of Calador, allowing for the bedrock itself to show much sooner than the middle continent. This fact allowed them to gain solid footing long before reaching this place. That, and that the entire town they walked into was also covered with sand, made it impossible to tell the difference between the road and solid bedrock. Lightly obscured underneath the sand, when Raegalt took his second confident step, an uneven stone’s rattle, or maybe even a little-too-smooth rock surface against his greasy bandage caused a ‘slip-up’.

As Raegalt slipped, he fell forwards. He reacted quickly by turning his body sideways. Instinctually, as if to protect the child in his arms. However, as we mentioned, the layer of sand had diminished greatly as they moved further out towards the edge of the continent. This fact meant that in some places the only sand cushioning his fall was but a thin sheet, and as he reached the ground he felt it firsthand. He collided with the cobblestone, hitting him not only the head, but the jaw. The fall wasn’t so bad in and of itself, but by carrying the young girl no hands could help cushion the blow. The jaw is a particularly favorable weak spot in both fistfighting and boxing for a reason- the instant knock-out effect. A punch by itself is not usually enough to cause this effect, but should it rattle the brain enough it induces a temporary loss of consciousness. This hit might have been painful, but it caused Raegalt’s entire body to go unresponsive before he could think of it. This whole tumble had not only caused a great deal of commotion, it completely shattered their focus, and knocked out some teeth too. This of course meant that their emotional state changed in the blink of an eye. Concern, worry, fear. While the two of them didn’t have any ill intent towards the creatures, fear is a strong and unpredictable emotion. Fear causes unpredictable actions in animals, and on primal instinct the creatures move in as if by self-preservation.

However, one key defining feature of an accursed that the child knew of, was that they actively seek out bones. The person who happened to be very familiar with this phenomenon, if not the most, was the only one coming out of this unscathed. And although weak, she knows of a trick that every child who ever held a garden hose in a water fight does- pressure. Although a gamble, she had to act fast before the situation escalated. Now, this was no situation where any child would think of something like this, let alone act on it. Maybe not at all even, having been dragged from one difficult situation to another having to adapt quickly. But something was undoubtedly off about her, and if not, they wouldn’t have walked to the edge of the world in the first place. She locked her hands together with her fingers as tight as she could, leaving only an opening between her thumbs, and like a hose, water sprung forth from the gap. First wide and heavy, but narrowing the gap with her thumbs it turned into a beam of pressurized water. Staunching the flow for a second, she turned over to her side, launching the teeth, in the direction of the three blobs behind them. Managing to launch one of them a little over the leftmost creature, and the other tooth to their side. By sheer dumb luck, the creatures recognized teeth as bone matter, getting distracted. This left only one of them, now on the approach.

“Raegalt!” The girl’s voice breaks as she says something out loud, shaking the unconscious man to little avail. She doesn’t have much strength to begin with, and little to no reaction can be found on his face from the rattling. It’s as if he’s caught in the moment between a dream and being awake, he mumbles and shuffles around on the ground slightly.

The only person with functioning legs in this town now lies dazed on the ground, leaving the girl with few options of escape. She tries to drag him, but manages to shuffle him maybe a few inches at best. The man is old and not at all heavy, but out of the two of them, he’s the only one with the strength to move anyone. Options are thinning out- the thought of leaving Raegalt must’ve crossed her mind at least once, but it wouldn’t work without him. Not to mention, there’s no telling who the blob would go after if she did. Those depressing thoughts help no one, so she casts them away. There are no options left, she must confront the creature or risk death.

Nothing can be made of nothing- which is a subject of intrigue for many in this world. Evidently, something like water could be made out of thin air, which means something doesn’t add up. Librarians from northern Lestran were the first to discover where it came from- energy. Nothing short of unlimited energy, massive amounts of it in every corner of every kingdom. Every breath, grain of sand, and especially sunlight carries an untold amount of potential energy. Whilst it’s almost impossible to convert to matter, in large enough amounts it’s almost difficult not to.

The girl, having given up on dragging the old man now crawls over him instead. The creature lurching towards them moves faster with each movement. Its solid content showing itself on the surface of its skin every time it throws itself further throws it off balance. Some of the shapes made out on its surface are rectangular, as if its been eating rocks in the last few days. Appalled by the sight, the girl also feels a sense of pity and sadness churning around in her stomach. Getting her arms over Raegalt, the girl once again cups her hands together for a repeat of her magic trick, yet something seems a little different. She struggles at getting any water out, as if it has a mind of its own. A little flow of water appears, yet it’s weaker than a rusted faucet, much weaker than before. Despairing at her own inability to control the energy around and within her, it’s almost a little too much for the young girl. She was born weak, hardly ever had the strength to do anything, always needing to work hard for the smallest things in life or getting the help for it. She knows not why all of this happened, only fragments of memories from another life guides her.

The cycle is broken. a thought, a single line that’s repeated over and over in her mind as she struggles to produce even a few ounces of water. Yet, as the thought wanders in her mind, a certain nostalgic feeling arises. A feeling of having been in this very situation before. It’s an odd sensation, like the feeling of being warm during a snowstorm. Her body feels calm, steadying the waterflow before her eyes. The girl’s body knows better than herself how to handle a fight, so she gives in to the sensation. Easing into that calm feeling, the water increases tenfold. An old memory of riding horseback in the countryside comes back to her. Like the flow of water, memories come flooding to the surface. She clasps her hands together again, focusing the blast of water in the direction of the creature. Water spills to the sides, but she manages to close it off enough for a straight line of water. It reaches the blob, but manages to do little more than a gentle shower. She lets the memory of the countryside ride alongside her mind, as she tries her hardest to condense the flow. The gentle shower turns uncomfortably strong in a moment, and then a pain- the feeling of getting stabbed by a hundred spears, and in the blink of an eye the stream turns into a jet of compressed water. It tears at the girl’s skin, flinging and mixing blood into it. Sharper than a sword, unrelenting and uncontrollable. The beam of water cuts the blob into two uneven pieces as it swerves across its surface, away and across a nearby ruin, decimating both. The recoil pushes her hands to the side, and by extension her arms. Drilling deep into the back of Raegalt in the short duration the water keeps steady, it soon grows unsteady, busting in her hands in a sputter of pink-ish and clear water.

The creature, now somewhat halved, poses little threat. The innards from underneath its skin can be seen from the clean cut through it. Bones are strewn about its insides, fractured pieces and more than a few skulls mixed in-between oddly proportioned organs. An oversized intestine track the thickness of a horse’s femur, lungs the size of a squirrel, and two hearts just a tad bit tinier than a human’s. The second the creature split, it’s oddly rectangular component was found to be, in fact, a brick. Perfectly square and well preserved, nestled between the guts of the thing and its skin. The sticky black coating on its exterior dissolved the second it died, turning away from it’s sticky gel-like texture and into a liquid form.

Several small and wet cuts color the surface of the girl’s hands with a transparent red. Along with the blood, a somber feeling rises to the surface, a sort of shame. Raegalt mutters louder still incoherent, he’s still dazed on the ground but the jab in his back compelled him to try and say something.

“Sssoky-” Barely comprehensive, Raegalt talks as if mouth still moves the way he wants, but the sound comes out like it was forced through the gaps between his teeth. He breathes heavily and squirms around on the floor, having gained some control of his body, but not enough to stand. The girl still on top of him tries to push herself around, but sharp stings of pain stops her from using her hands, causing her to sort of shuffle off of him with her arms. She gets off and rolls onto her side oddly exhausted, inspecting her hands. Shaking, cold, and wet. Her hands aren’t wounded enough to be severe, but the blowback left her shocked.

“Iss… Sokayy.” Raegalt says after a pause. Looking at the way her hands shake, she involuntarily starts sniveling. Not knowing why she feels shame at herself, there was nothing she could do, nor did the creature mean anything to her, she would think. She could have done something different, it didn’t have to resort to something so ungodly. Maybe she’s the reason they ended here, the reason for Raegalt’s concussion, being a burden at the best of times, not even knowing half of the story as to why she continues so desperately. There’s no reason to feel shameful, no reason to be sad, but the inability to do anything of what she wants, suddenly hits her like a double-decker bus.

“It’s… Okay…”