Chapter 12 - Act II

The Collective: Act II
 
I completed the initial story. Started another. Took a hiatus. Now I'm back. I've decided to combine the two stories; don't know why I did the first place really. Anyways! I hope you enjoy, because since I have more time I'll be updating more frequently now.
 
-Vamp

~

Chapter 12
 
The wagon rustled and jolted as it made its way down the dirt road, rolling over stones and logs; this path had not been traveled in some time. It was midday in the fall, the leaves had just turned, the cargo’s journey almost over.
 
Two people on a journey, each bound by the ghost of the past. A man and a woman, as most of these stories go. They had crossed paths but a week ago, happenstance really, and had discovered that their terminus was the same. 
 
The woman, an elf, was Siena. She had been no stranger to the roads, traveling for much of her adult life as a priestess. It wasn’t until recently that she had abandoned the faith, now deciding to address more personal matters. She still wore the garbs of her people, vermillion robes embroidered with their brand; a large ash tree. Her hair was tucked away neatly; a light green bun. 
 
The man, a human, was Loran. Son of Golghar, potentially last of his line. He was an Ostigar, a shamed knight. Only allowed his blade and his strength; his entire family had been stripped of their title. The reasoning? They could not bring themselves to follow the orders given by their duke, commands they saw as dishonorable; look how far honor had carried them. The warrior’s chainmail was relatively maintained, but he was running low on coin, repairs could only do so much. 
 
The age difference between the two was vast, nearly 98 years, as elves had been known to live exceedingly long lives. To the woman her young adulthood had just ended, to the boy she was ancient. 
 
“We’ll be approaching Colifal soon, but make haste, I never stay too long”, the carriage driver called back. He had been quiet much of the day's ride.
 
Colifal was nothing more than a harvest town until a little over a decade ago, they used to be known only for their fruit production, but now things had changed drastically. What once was an entirely normal settlement was now lauded for its people’s immense hospitality. Times were hard in the kingdom, its inhabitants had grown callous, but never in this growing community. The harvest was always bountiful, celebrations filling the town square almost monthly. It was a passthrough for the weary; perhaps a new home even. In recent years people had even come to believe that the town had been blessed by a kind spirit of the woods, maybe even some forgotten goddess; ready to rejoin the mortal world.
 
Loran was not convinced. His family had known nothing of respite, of peace; they were a haunted clan. Something strange was going on in the town, he simply lacked the evidence. His new companion believed differently, perchance the settlement had been blessed; she simply refused to believe that it had been by a god. Regardless, their mission was entirely the same, they had begun their journeys at different times, but the level of commitment was the same. 
 
The two were hot on the trails of their targets, this may have been the final destination. Whatever awaited them was drawing near; each one would have the answers they sought. 
 
Loran, perhaps last of the Ostigars, was searching for his uncle. 
