BOOK OF IMMORTALS

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RAESE - Who am I?

Inner Forestway City, Mane Country

RAESE

Rodger Barnes was the first face in the first memory Raese could recall. It was a chilly, foggy late September day when he woke on grassy dirt and stumbled to the nearest town.

Rodger was driving his chariot after purchasing pastries for his mistress. He recognized Raese teetering next to the road. Naked with a pounding head and only twigs and mud for clothes.

“What happened to you man?” Rodger had stopped and demanded.

“I’ve…Not…I don’t-my head.” He swayed as he pressed a palm to his aching forehead.

“Must’ve been thieves.” Rodger announced. “Get in my chariot.”

Raese had mindlessly obeyed. Despite not knowing who this was. Having no idea what he should or shouldn’t do. Knowing as much as a new babe.

Raese remembered nothing. He pieced his history together from his friend. It’s fortunate he found me.

“You’re Raese, Lord Whiting of WhiteHall. Do you not recall any of it?”

Raese shook his head and immediately regretted it. Growing dizzied he slid down the inside of the chariot to huddle in the corner of the curved metal. Shivering though he wasn’t cold.

He felt immense loss. As if something precious was stolen from him.

Rodger took him to his Town Manse. Explaining their friendship.

Eventually Rodger introduced him to the Widow Parker. Reminding him of their acquaintance. Raese didn’t know her face but had to trust what his friend told him as it was his only guiding force.

That was until the first time he saw her

The wraith.


Boar's Tusk Tavern, Grier Country Border

TEVERIUS

Deragan’s Knights had done as bid.

Marcus Teverius lead in hunting down the birth of the infants. Emerging from the exact locations their shining souls fell across the sky to land.

Infant girls.

Once a month he and Sebastian would meet for a night of drinking and reveling then head out with the morning light, sharing the map, to go check on the Watcher children. Complete with splitting headaches.

At least for me, anyway. Teverius thought as they took the shape of feral beasts, dark eyes flashing in the night as their quiet paws hit the dirt. Crossing over moonlit meadows.

They passed houses, cottages, and castles checking for the scent of the tiny girls.

Then lurking until they could catch candlelit glimpses of their young faces.

Afterward with happy waves and promises for next month’s visit they’d part ways and return homeward.

Where I can safely recuperate from drinking with Bast.

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