The Blue Falcon - Part 2 (Part 1)Mature

Griever, for all intents and purposes, had gotten over... well, everything. So what if he now had a talking armband that would shut it's fucking mouth for two seconds. So what if he was now a channel for magical - as Bash had stated just a moment before - wonders. And so what if there were people out there who could walk into nothingness and read his mind. 

The world was big, and Griever could only accept these things. 

He had once met a man named Hargoth Garris, who had lost his loved one. He had been a good man, honestly, despite being the lord of a small town. Garris cared for his people, made sure they were fed, and even put his best knights on trial if he believed they had done wrong, but, the death of his wife had ruined him. He had turned into a madman with a vengeance on the townspeople, though they held no blame for the woman dying. It was all due to his disbelief at her death, of course. 

Griever had heard that story from a knight under Garris. He had always been quick to adapt, but the sheer emotions the knight displayed while telling his tale had scared Griever. Could disbelief really be such a danger to ones mind? Well, if the current situation was anything to go by, he could believe it. 

That also went for his men. Their death was like dry paper for the fury in his heart, but it did not make him act any different. Griever knew that the moment he lost himself to that anger, he would most likely be killed before his vengeance was complete. And being unable to believe that would be even worse. 

'I'm amazed there are humans like you,' Bashenthar said, choosing to speak after a ever-so-brief moment of silence. 

"Not all of us are stupid enough to deny the obvious," Greiver growled at the Gear. 

'True, but I don't think I have ever met a human who felt an overwhelming sense of confusion and disbelief at me or the Fae.'

The Fae? So, those existed too? His grandfather had been right, then. Maybe it was destiny that made Griever be named after the man. Nah, more like coincidence. "Most men are weak. They stubbornly stick to their beliefs and refuse to change them even when presented with new evidence."

The Gear seemed to contemplate a minute before answering. 'I had thought you a mad soldier who revels only in death and bloodshed, but to think you have a more philosophical side to you... It's quite refreshing. And it makes it easier to understand why I was bonded to you so easily.'

"Is that a compliment?" Griever asked, mentally making a noted of the trees along the path. He was getting close to where the White Boar had likely made his last stand. He had been steeling himself for what the sight would bring. 

'Indeed, it is,' Bash said happily, 'And I'm sure in time you will come to learn to compliment me as well.'

"Shut up for five minutes and you'll get your wish." Trees were parting more and more, making the path wider. The Devil's Arm was opening up to the Edmint Plains. NOt long now, though Griever was hoping he would find the place later on and empty. He knew he wouldn't, but the vain hope still thrived on in his heart. 

'I'd rather have a compliment on my grand powers, though I suppose you lack the proper experience for that.'

Mostly in order to distract himself from the walking - they had been at it for nearly an hour - Griever decided to humor the Gear. "And, pray tell, what are your powers, oh Lord of Wounds?"

'You finally ask!' Bashenthar all but shouted. It was an odd sound coming from a metal band's disembodied voice, sounding both very close and very far away. 'First of all, let me reward your curiosity, no matter the reason you came to be curious. It is a healthy thing for any mortal to have. Why, in fact, curiosity helped your species develop some of it's most important-'

"Bash!" Griever interrupted with not just a little anger. "Mind getting to the fucking point?"

'Bah, you're impatient as any human, despite your irregularities.' The Gear seemed to hum in annoyance. 'But, I suppose I shouldn't rant and get to explaining what I can do.' Thank God and whatever deity the Fae worshiped. 'We worship the same God you do, first of all. Anyway, my power, like all of the Gear-'

"There are more of you!?" 

Bash said nothing for a moment. Always silent when Griever wanted him to talk, of course! 'Interrupting me is going to become a habit, isn't it? But, yes, there are fifteen in total.'

Damn... Could that hooded geezer had one of them? It would explain his power... "So, you were saying about your powers?" No need to worry about other Gear for now. He could deal with them later. 

'Yes, my power. Are you going to interrupt me again?' The Gear seemed annoyed, making Griever smile out of spite. 

"Who knows. Maybe not."

Bash sighed again. 'My power as Lord of Wounds is regeneration.'

Griever paused. Regeneration? "Like, healing wounds and the like? Don't they heal naturally already? Kinda makes you useless, unless you got some sort of special thing added to that."

'Yes, my regeneration is quick, depending on my magic level. I can heal minor wounds almost instantly and heal major wounds relatively quick. I can even restore limbs as you know.'

Griever looked down at his sword arm. "So, I really did lose an arm..." he muttered. But, if the Gear had restored his arm... The applications ran through Griever's head instantly. He always had been quick to grasp strategies and survival techniques, even in the midst of battle. It's what kept him alive. Of course, all of those included not getting hurt or only risking minor injuries... Now, though.

He could run into crowds of soldiers by himself, letting him get cut as much as he wanted. Vital spots would probably still need to be guarded, of course, but he wouldn't need to worry about bleeding out and could sacrifice a lot more than he had been forced to in the past. Of course, he would have to experiment with this power before he risked such a thing, but if Bash's implications were to be believed...

'I don't mean to interrupt your marvelous thoughts,' Bash said with no sarcasm, surprisingly, 'But we are here. And we are not alone.'

The End

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